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T hree years ago

Cool air brushed over Clara Hayes’s cheeks as the music boomed around her.

She’d been to so many of these Amber Ridge street parties. One a year since she was born. Well, except for the ones she’d missed while she lived in New York.

“It still hasn’t sunk in that Monday’s my first shift at Amber Ridge Hospital. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

She nodded absentmindedly at Malcolm’s words.

She’d needed a moment to sit and rest, because even though she hated to admit it, the chronic fatigue often weighed her down if she exerted herself.

Malcolm had joined her, sitting at the small table beside her.

They’d gone to high school together, and he’d just moved back to Amber Ridge to work at the local hospital as a doctor.

She should be paying more attention to him. But most of her focus was on something else…or someone else.

Holden. He stood beside a taco truck, beer in hand, talking to one of her older brothers, Jesse. They were both home on leave from the military. They were best friends. Had been best friends since joining the same dangerous Ghost Ops team. Now Holden was basically family.

At least, everyone else saw him as family. Not her. Not in the same capacity that she saw her brothers, anyway.

Suddenly, Holden’s hazel eyes caught hers, making the breath freeze in her lungs.

One side of his mouth lifted, showing a signature dimple.

She gave him a small smile before quickly looking away. Did he see the pink of her cheeks? The widening of her eyes?

Probably.

God, she’d become so fearless in every other aspect of her life. Why not with him?

Sure, he was a gazillion feet of gorgeous, with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. And he was kind and funny, and whenever she heard his voice, every hair on her arms stood on end.

But she was a grown-ass woman, dammit. A grown-ass woman who’d gone through a lot in her nearly twenty-seven years. She shouldn’t be blushing like a schoolgirl every time he glanced her way.

Twenty-seven. Man, she was getting closer to that big thirty, an age that once upon a time she hadn’t known if she’d reach. She’d done a lot in the last couple years, but she definitely hadn’t experienced everything she wanted to experience.

Sex. She hadn’t had sex. Argh .

Why? Because she’d always been too busy building her career as a lawyer. Then she’d gotten her diagnosis and moved back home.

Was that pathetic? To be twenty-seven years old and still a virgin?

“Were you treated at the Amber Ridge Hospital?”

Her attention snapped back to Malcolm. “What?”

“Hodgkin’s lymphoma, right? Were you treated here or in New York? I know there’s an oncologist who splits his time between here and Bozeman, but I wasn’t sure if you moved back before or after treatment.”

People rarely mentioned her cancer, usually because they didn’t know what to say beyond offering their sympathy and looking at her with pity. It was kind of refreshing that Malcolm had brought it up himself.

“I came back to do my chemotherapy here. I wanted to be close to Mom. I wanted to be home.”

Once upon a time, the word cancer had felt big and scary. But now? Now it was just a part of her story.

Malcolm nodded. “Your hair looks nice.”

Her hand twitched to reach up and touch her short blonde locks. A few years ago, she’d had long, thick hair. And even though it was growing back, it wasn’t as thick or soft as it had been.

But she was alive. Not just alive—she’d kicked cancer’s ass and become stronger for it. “Thanks.”

“Can I ask you something personal?”

She frowned. Asking about her cancer had already been personal. “Depends on what it is.”

“Did being diagnosed change your perspective on life?”

She could have laughed. “It changed my entire world—mind, body and soul. I don’t think it’s possible to hear a doctor tell you that you have stage four Hodgkin’s lymphoma and remain the same person.”

Malcolm leaned forward, seeming genuinely intrigued. “ How did it change?”

“It made me realize that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

I was living like I had forever, working a job I didn’t like because of the prestige.

Living in a city that was too busy and loud.

Always thinking I was building toward the life I wanted.

Then the doctor told me I was sick and all I could think was—what am I doing?

I could die tomorrow. I should be living the life I want now . ”

“So you came home.”

“Yep. I’m studying acupuncture and I love it. I’m living on my terms.”

“That’s brave.”

It was brave. She was brave. So why was she a twenty-seven-year-old virgin staring at her crush, too scared to tell him how she felt?

Her gaze shifted to her cousin Indie, who was wrapped in her husband’s arms. They looked happy. Sure, they had issues, but they loved each other. She wanted that. She wanted to experience a love— feel a love—so fierce that it made her feel alive every day.

Well, she wouldn’t get that by sitting over here watching Holden from beneath her lashes. She needed to put herself out there.

“Malcolm, I need to go talk to someone.” She stood and moved to walk away, but Malcolm was suddenly on his feet.

“Wait—”

She turned back at the same moment he stepped forward, and his drink hit her in the chest, cool liquid immediately seeping into the thin material of her cropped sweater.

Malcolm’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Jesus, Clara. I’m so sorry.” He turned and grabbed a handful of napkins that had already been on the table when she’d sat down, and started dabbing her top.

She gasped. “Malcolm, stop. I’m okay.”

He dabbed one more time before strong fingers suddenly wrapped around Malcolm’s wrist. “What the hell are you doing?”

Her body locked at his deep, raspy voice.

Holden.

His familiar cedar scent tinged the air, making her belly give a little kick. And when she looked up, she saw his deep hazel eyes were narrowed on Malcolm.

Malcolm’s mouth opened and closed. “I’m trying to dry her sweater.”

“By pawing my sister’s chest?” Jesse growled.

Oh God, now there were two of them.

The cool liquid began to slip down her belly, touching the top of her jeans. Yuck.

“Holden, Jesse, it’s fine. I’ve got a spare sweater in the car. I’ll go change.”

She turned and walked through the crowd, the wet material getting more uncomfortable by the second.

As she passed Indie, her cousin grabbed her arm. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Her husband, Colt, shifted his gaze from her to Malcolm like he was a step away from joining Jesse and Holden.

“Yeah, I just need a new top.” Not entirely true; she could also use a shower.

Indie stepped away from Colt. “I’ll come with you.”

Clara shook her head. “No, stay with Colt. He has to go back to California tomorrow. My car’s just around the corner anyway.”

Indie frowned but nodded.

She moved through the crowd again, the heels of her boots clicking against asphalt. When she reached her car, she searched her back seat for the spare she kept there.

Crap, where was it? She always kept a spare sweater in here. Hell, she usually had half her wardrobe in her back seat.

Then she remembered…the big cleanout last week.

Damn her spontaneous need to clean.

She straightened and turned—only to scream at the sudden sight of a large chest right in front of her.

“Whoa, Clara, it’s me.”

“Holden?” Air whooshed out of her. “Jesus freaking Christ, if hearts could jump out of bodies, mine would be on the ground.”

His lips didn’t so much as twitch. “Sorry. I didn’t like you being out here by yourself.”

“Unless a grizzly bear makes his way into town, I’d say I’m pretty safe in Amber Ridge.”

“You can never be too safe.”

Despite the cool evening air, warmth crept up her throat. He’d always been protective. From her brothers, she’d found it smothering, but with Holden, she felt a mixture of nervousness and comfort.

“I’m okay. Just sticky.” Sticky? Jesus, she was always so awkward in front of him. “And unfortunately, I don’t have a spare sweater, because clean Clara decided to take the spare out of the car.”

“Here.” He pulled his hooded sweatshirt over his head and handed it to her.

“No.” No, no, no. She could not take that. It would smell like him, and then she’d smell like him, and she’d be so distracted when she finally drove home that she’d probably crash her car. “You’ll be cold.”

“I’ll survive.”

“I’m not—”

“Please.” He held it out. “It will make me feel better. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

Her lips curved. “Well, if it’s for you…”

“It is.”

She took it from his hand, their fingers grazing and a tingle running up her arm. He turned to give her privacy.

Thoughtful. She could add that to the list of perfect things about him.

She switched the wet cropped sweater for his oversized hoodie…then he was everywhere. His scent. His warmth. It surrounded her.

“Thank you.”

He turned back to her and frowned. “Where’s your necklace?”

She absently touched her bare chest, where her amethyst necklace used to sit. It had been a gift to herself after chemo. The gem signified growth and transformation.

“I went bungee jumping in the Crooked River Gorge in Oregon last month. I forgot to take it off before I jumped.” Stupid.

His brows flickered. He didn’t say it but she could tell he didn’t approve. No one did. Any time she did anything remotely dangerous, she had a million voices in her ear.

“I’m sorry.”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s just a stone.”

“Come on. I’ll walk back with you.”

She stepped beside him. “Tell me the truth—I look like a guy with my baggy hoodie and short hair, don’t I?”

He looked at her, and even in the darkness, the way he scanned her body made electricity shoot through her system.

“You look beautiful.”

Butterflies—they took off in her belly. Hundreds of them.

The nerves suddenly sped up her heart, making her tongue-tied and her head feel heavy and completely empty of any smart or witty comebacks.

Her gaze moved to the street party, then to Holden again.

Now , the voice whispered in her head. Tell him now.

“Wait. Before we go back…” She touched his arm. He stopped. And the second his entire focus hit her, those dang nerves crawled around inside her, making her throat feel too tight to squeeze words out.

This man had supported her through chemo as much as her brothers. A million calls and texts checking in. Using all his leave to visit her between missions.

What if she told him and she lost him for it?

It’s worth the risk. The voice inside her was loud and so sure.

Holden tilted his head. “Clara. You can tell me anything. We’re family.”

“That’s actually the thing. You are family, but you’re also not.”

He frowned.

And she shook her head. “That isn’t what I meant. I mean…I care about you.”

“I care about you too.”

“No. This is different. I…” One big breath. “I love you.”

Silence. It hung in the air—thick, almost suffocating.

Holden’s frown deepened.

“And not like a brother,” Clara hurried to add. “I love you like count-down-the-days-until-you’re-back-in-town kind of love. Get-nervous-when-you’re-around kind of love.” She glanced at his lips and lowered her voice. “Want-to-kiss-you-whenever-I-see-you kind of love.”

There. She’d said it. The truth was out there in the world, and it was up to Holden to decide what to do with it.

Clara’s words hit Holden Forbes like a physical blow. They stole his breath and tipped him off-balance, as if the world had shifted beneath his feet.

“Clara…”

She inched closer, her soft palms pressing to his chest. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

She needed him to know that she loved him… love . She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. But it wasn’t. Nothing about love was easy. It was messy and complicated and could bring a man to his knees.

Not much scared Holden, but love…it terrified him.

How was he supposed to vocalize all of that to Clara when she looked at him with those big indigo eyes though? Eyes he’d been hopelessly chained to for so damn long.

His chest rose and fell faster, and before he could stop himself, words were slipping from his lips into the air. “You’d be so easy to love, Clara.”

So easy that he could lose himself. And then what? What happened if she got hurt and sick or decided she just didn’t love him anymore? Would his world be ripped from beneath his feet for the second time in his life?

“Holden—”

“That’s why”—he forced himself to step back, letting her hands drop even though he craved her touch—“I should stay away from you. I’m sorry.”

She frowned, confusion marring her features. A hint of tears began to glimmer in her eyes.

Fuck. Now he’d made her cry. He was hurting her just by being there. “I’m—”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry for not loving me. You were honest. I appreciate that. Thank you for your sweatshirt. I’ll wash it and get it back to you. But I should go.” Then she spun and walked away, almost running from him back to her car.

A voice in his head told him to go after her. It was loud, a fucking shout in his ears.

But he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t get his feet to move.

So he just stood there—a damn coward, too scared to love her, and too weak to move on from his past.