Page 28 of Befriending the Bear (Forestville Silver Foxes #6)

Fraser. The thought of losing Fraser had brought it all back. It shouldn’t have. It couldn’t be the same, grieving my husband of fifteen years and processing the loss of a relationship that was never officially labeled. Yet…

I pressed a hand to my chest. I could still feel it, the echo of Fraser’s warmth, the solid weight of his arms around me in the dark.

That stupid, stubborn man who’d limped his way into my life and didn’t leave when things got hard.

Who looked at me like I was whole. Who listened, even when I couldn’t speak.

And I’d pushed him away.

But I wasn’t the same man I’d been seven years ago. Or even seven weeks ago. Back then, I would’ve let the fear win. I would’ve folded inward, retreated into quiet, maybe written a poem about it and called it survival. I would’ve called it enough.

Now? Now I wanted more.

I stood slowly, knees stiff, back aching from hours spent hunched over the keys and crying.

I padded down the hall to the kitchen, poured a glass of water with shaking hands, and stared out the window.

The wind had picked up again, rustling the last of the leaves on the maple out front.

The porch light across the street flickered and went dark.

I looked at the clock. Ten past one. Fraser would be asleep by now. He’d left hours ago, and he was an early riser, like me.

But if I didn’t do it now, if I allowed myself a night of sleep, I might lose that spark of courage inside me. I sat back down at the table, phone in hand. I opened my messages with Fraser, thumb hovering over the keyboard. I didn’t need to craft a speech. All I needed was honesty.

I’m sorry. I was scared.

I stared at it. Deleted it.

I don’t want you to go.

Deleted that too.

I don’t want to be left again.

No. Too sad. Too passive-aggressive and victim-like. I was the master of my fate and the captain of my soul, and all that. Though if William Ernest Henley knew how I would apply those last lines of his famous poem, he might regret ever writing it.

If I couldn’t say the right thing, maybe I could say something true.

Seven years ago, I lost everything. I never expected to find something again. And now that I have, I don’t know how to hold on without breaking it.

My thumb hovered over send, but then I added:

I want you to do what makes you happy. But I’m scared. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust that I’m enough to make you stay.

I sent it before I could second-guess myself. The answer wouldn’t come until tomorrow morning, but at least I’d taken action. Now, all I could do was wait.

But when I wanted to put my phone down, it buzzed, and my heart skipped a beat. It could only be one person.

You already are enough. You’ve always been. I’m scared too. Let’s figure it out together.

And for once in my life, I didn’t think before responding.

On my way.

I threw on jeans and a hoodie, stepped into my boots, and didn’t bother with gloves.

The air outside was sharp, biting at my exposed skin as I walked.

But I didn’t care. I needed that sting. I needed to feel every footstep, every heartbeat.

The town was asleep, but a single light glowed in Fraser’s front window.

He was waiting. I climbed the porch steps, heart hammering in my throat, and knocked once.

The door opened almost immediately. He was in sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt that clung to the lines of his chest and arms. His beard was slightly askew, like he’d run his hands through it too many times, and his eyes were tired but open. Willing.

He said nothing. Just stepped back and let me in. I walked past him into the warmth of his home, then turned to face him, still standing by the door.

“I w-wrote. I wrote the ch-chapter.”

Fraser blinked. “The one about after?”

I nodded. “All of it. M-marcus. The day he d-died. The silence after. And then…” I took a breath. “And then the p-p-part where I met you.”

Something cracked in his face. Not pain, not joy, but something deeper. Like walls falling down.

“I’m s-sorry,” I said. “Not for being scared. That p-part’s always going to be there. But for l-l-letting fear make the decision for m-me. For p-pushing you away when all you w-wanted to do was stay.”

Fraser didn’t speak. He crossed the hallway in three slow steps, watching me like I might disappear if he blinked. His palm cupped the side of my face like I was something precious, something worth holding carefully. I leaned into it without thinking, my whole body leaning toward his gravity.

“You didn’t push me away,” he said, voice low and rough with emotion. “You were trying to protect yourself. I get that. God, Calloway, of course I get that.”

I closed my eyes, breathing in the cedar-and-coffee scent of him.

That grounding scent that had become synonymous with safety.

“I don’t want to l-live like that anymore.

I’ve d-done nothing but protect myself for s-s-seven years, and all it got me was b-being alone in a house full of b-books and silence. ”

His thumb brushed over the corner of my mouth. “You’re not alone anymore.”

“I know,” I said, my voice cracking like thin ice. “That’s what s-scares me.”

He gave a soft laugh, the sound curling around the space between us like warmth. “Me too. But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

I opened my eyes. His were searching mine, offering space. Space to step forward if I wanted, or not, if I didn’t.

I stepped forward.

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath, and then we were kissing. Not a firework or a storm. Not this time. Just something quiet and certain.

Something that said, I’m here .

I’m staying.