Page 52 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

What? Why do you say that?

Logan

Things aren’t the same.

As if his words couldn’t be more true. Things aren’t the same, but talking to Logan again feels like stepping into sunlight after too long in the dark. Everything around us has shifted, but something at the center remains untouched.

It’s not love in the cinematic sense—no sweeping scores or dramatic decelerations. It’s love that was grown, not declared.

Sacred.

Steeped in reverence, like something ancient we stumbled into without knowing its worth until now. Time only proves what I’ve always known deep down. We’re tethered by something rare, even when everything around us unraveled.

I type, hesitate, then erase. Type again. I hit send before I can overthink it.

Tia

Tell me I’m stupid for letting us go.

His response is immediate.

Logan

I’ll never tell you that because you’re not. Far from it.

Logan

We’ll get there, T.

Tia

When?

Regret sits heavy in my bones as I replay our last night together—the certainty in my voice, the conviction that this time apart was necessary. And the way his face fell when I said it was what we needed.

All this time apart, and I’m still wondering if I’ve even grown? Changed? Or have I just used my mom’s sickness as a safe excuse?

But what am I really avoiding?

I moved back home. I’m showing up for my family.

I’m doing the right thing, being the dutiful, selfless daughter.

I shelved my career, packed up my life in Texas, let it all go.

I tell myself I came back to Oakwood Valley because I wanted to.

Even if Mom wasn’t sick, I would’ve ended up here … eventually.

I think.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm the surge of loss I can’t quite name. Loss of direction. Loss of identity. Loss of the version of me who knew exactly what she wanted.

I should feel purpose in all this. Helping my mom, helping my dad—that should be enough.

It is enough. Isn’t it?

I listened to Professor Silva’s mantra like it was a beacon to a silver lining in my fast crumbling world. Submitting to myself? That’s the point. Letting go of control.

But fuck, isn’t that what I’m doing? I chose to protect my friendship with Logan—the one thing on earth I have to hold tight and keep selfishly for myself, even if I couldn’t have him in the way I truly want.

So why do I feel so fucking empty?

Logan

You’ll know when.

I curl into bed, pulling my knees to my chest, the glow of my phone inches from my face. I read his message over and over until the words blur behind tears I’m too tired to wipe away.

You’ll know when.

Will I?

“Good, Tia! Stay consistent. Stay sharp!” Professor Silva’s voice cuts through the haze, steady and commanding from the edge of the mat. My brain is screaming, muscles burning, but I stay focused, pushing through the fatigue to mount my opponent.

His name’s Lucas—Professor Silva’s nephew. A few inches taller than me, lean but solid. Quick, too.

He’s been giving me hell for the past ten minutes, and even though it’s just a roll, it feels like war. Every movement is a test, every grip a challenge.

My adrenaline hasn’t let up, and I’m chasing every last drop of it. Fighting to keep control, to stay sharp, to finish.

Lucas pulls me down, and I land hard in half guard, breath knocking out of my chest. We sound like two bulls—grunting, panting, all pressure and grit.

We shift and grind, both chasing control. Then I catch a glimpse of space—just enough—and I react.

We scramble, spin, and I end up in top position, tightening my hold, smothering his face against my chest to kill his posture and air. He bucks, resists, but I can feel the edge tipping. It’s like I can hear his frustration in the way he moves.

“Good instinct, Tia. Good. Good!” Professor Silva calls from the sidelines, but his voice is far away now, buried under the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

I feel Lucas reach—overextend—and I trap the arm before he can retract. My legs swing up and around. I lock it in.

Armbar.

My neck tightens, muscles cord with strain as I anchor myself to the mat, arching my back, hips in perfect position.

I isolate the joint, feel the control. I don’t need to crank it. I just wait. A little longer …

Tap-tap.

Two quick slaps to my lower back. I release immediately. We collapse side by side, chests heaving. The mental fatigue hits before the physical, but both come crashing in. Lucas chuckles breathlessly as he reaches for my hand and we help each other up.

“You weren’t kidding, Unc,” he pants, readjusting his gi. “Tia’s a helluva opponent.”

Professor Silva beams, placing a proud hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

“Ela é meu orgulho e alegria,” Professor Silva says with a full-toothed smile.

Lucas feigns offense. “I’m your blood, Unc. What am I to you?”

“Você é um pé no saco,” Professor Silva deadpans at his nephew. Lucas barks out a laugh, tossing me my water bottle from the bench.

“What did he say?” My eyes dance with amusement between the two of them, squirting water into my mouth.

“You’re his pride and joy, while I’m a pain in his ass.”

The three of us laugh, and Professor Silva presses a kiss to the top of Lucas’s head before pulling him into a fierce hug. Then makes his way to me, cupping my cheek in the fatherly way he does.

“Excellent work today, filha. I will see you next time.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

He excuses himself, heading to the far side of the gym to help a few younger students, leaving me alone with Lucas.

Earlier, before class, we’d been introduced. I learned he’s only two years older than me, and that after the New Year, he’ll be moving here permanently to help manage the gym alongside his uncle.

“So, Tia,” he says, casual but purposeful, “you know any good places to eat around here that aren’t just wine and cheese?”

I wipe a few stray hairs from my face, and I don’t miss the flirtatious flicker in his eyes as he runs a hand through his thick, dark curls with almost comical ease.

He’s undeniably attractive. Sun-kissed skin that hasn’t known winter in years, and eyes so green they almost glow against his tan.

“Because I’m starving,” he adds with a grin. “Would you want to join me?”

An invitation. Maybe a date?

My cheeks flush, but it’s not from flattery—it’s discomfort. It feels wrong. Like I’m betraying something.

Someone.

Yes, I’m single. And yes, only an idiot would turn down dinner with someone who looks like Lucas—someone whose muscles I’ve already memorized under the tension of our roll.

But that was different. Rolling is never sexual.

It’s intense, intimate, primal even—but not that kind of intimacy. And whatever spark flickers in his eyes, it’s not what I’m looking for.

Because it’s not his eyes I want looking at me like that.

“You’ll know when.”

“Uh. Um—” The words clog my throat, unfinished.

Before I can answer, the door to the gym creaks open, pulling my attention like a magnet.

A figure steps inside.

Hazel eyes sweep across the room, slow and searching until they land on mine.

The air leaves my lungs. Not like a gasp.

Like a blow.

Harder than any hit I’ve taken on the mat. Harder than any choke I’ve fought my way out of.

Disbelief slams into me first.

Then relief, blunt and sudden.

Then fear coils deep in my gut.

She’s here.