Page 10 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #2)

The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard. I'd expected wariness, defensiveness, maybe even anger. Not this careful hope.

"Won't take long," I say, still standing. "Just thought it was time we talked."

"I've thought that for about twenty years now," Riley replies, a hint of bitterness creeping in. "What changed your mind?"

I consider lying, saying something vague about time and perspective. But I find I want to be honest, even if it makes me vulnerable. "A woman. And her kid."

Riley's eyebrows rise in surprise. "You've met someone?"

"Not like that," I say quickly, though even as I deny it, I wonder if that's entirely true. "New in town. Needed help. Got me thinking about family, brothers. The past."

Understanding dawns in Riley's eyes—eyes that are, I suddenly realize, exactly like mine. "Must be some woman."

"She is." The admission comes easily, naturally. "Anyway, I'm not here to talk about her. I'm here about us. About what happened."

Riley nods, his expression turning serious. "I've wanted to apologize for a long time, Josh. For leaving the way I did. For not coming back sooner. For... all of it."

"You left me with him," I say, the words coming out flatter than I feel them. "You knew what he was like, and you just... left."

Riley flinches as if I've struck him. "I know.

I've lived with that every day since." He runs a hand through his hair—another gesture we share.

"I told myself I was going to save up, get established, bring you to live with me.

But then there was always another reason to delay—another deployment, not enough money, not enough space. "

"You could have called. Written. Something." The old anger rises, familiar and hot. "Four years, Riley. Four fucking years with him getting worse every day."

"I know." He doesn't try to defend himself, which somehow makes it harder to stay angry.

"I was a coward. I told myself you were probably fine, that it wasn't as bad as I remembered.

That Dad was getting better." He shakes his head.

"I lied to myself because the truth was too hard to face—that I abandoned my little brother when he needed me most."

The raw honesty in his voice takes the wind out of my sails. I'd expected excuses, justifications. Not this straightforward admission of guilt.

"Why didn't you come looking for me after?" I ask. "Years later."

"I did." Riley leans forward, elbows on his desk. "I asked around, tried to find you. But you were gone—moved from town to town, never staying long enough to put down roots. By the time I heard you were back in Cedar Falls, buying that cabin on the mountain, it felt like it was too late.."

"I was angry," I admit. "For a long time."

"You had every right to be." Riley stands, moving around the desk but stopping short of approaching me. "What Dad did—what I let him do by leaving—it's unforgivable. I know that."

"But?" I sense there's more he wants to say.

"But I'm asking anyway." His voice roughens with emotion. "For forgiveness. Not because I deserve it, but because you deserve peace. Because we're brothers, and life's too damn short for twenty-year grudges."

"I don't know if I can," I say honestly. "Forgive you. Not all at once."

Riley nods, disappointment evident on his face but also understanding. "I get that. But maybe... maybe we could start somewhere else. A beer sometime. Dinner. Just talk."

I consider this, the possibility of building something new from the ashes of what was lost. It would be easier to walk away, to maintain the walls I've built over time. But then I think of Elisa's sons, of the future she wants for them, of the chance to break cycles instead of perpetuating them.

"Yeah," I say finally. "We could do that."

The relief on Riley's face is palpable. "That's... thank you, Josh. Seriously."

An awkward silence falls between us—twenty years of unspoken words, of separate lives lived in parallel, of shared blood but divided hearts. Too much for one conversation to bridge.

"I should go," I say, already feeling the need for space, for air, for time to process.

Riley nods, not pushing. "My number's still the same. When you're ready."

"I'll call," I promise, and I'm surprised to find I mean it. "Soon."

As I turn to leave, Riley speaks again. "Josh? This woman and her kid... they must be pretty special."

I pause in the doorway, considering this. "They are," I say finally. "More than I expected."

"I'm glad," Riley says softly. "You deserve that. Always have."

I nod once, not trusting myself to speak further and walk out of the garage into the bright afternoon sunlight. My chest feels strange—lighter, as if something heavy has been set down, but also raw, like skin exposed after a bandage is removed.

The walk back to my cabin is long, the uphill climb steeper than usual. But with each step, each breath of pine-scented air, I feel something settling within me. Not resolution—that will take more time, more conversations, more healing—but perhaps the beginning of it. A willingness to try.

As I near my property, the sun is beginning to set, painting the mountains in shades of gold and purple. Through the trees, I can see lights glowing in my cabin windows—warm, welcoming, alive in a way they've never been before.

For twenty years, I've defined myself by what I lost, by who left me, by the walls I built in response. But standing here now, watching this woman and her son in my home, waiting for me as promised, I'm confronted with the possibility of defining myself by what I might gain instead.

By who might stay, if I let them.