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Page 23 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack

"I'm glad," I say, and I realize I mean that too, deeply and completely. I want things to work out for her, for Mason, for the baby she's carrying. I want them to be safe, to be happy.

To stay.

The thought blindsides me with its clarity, its certainty. I want them to stay. In Cedar Falls. In my cabin. In my life.

Mason tugs at my jeans, pulling me from this revelation. "Hungry, Josh bear."

"Are you now?" I ask, grateful for the distraction. "What do you think, Elisa? Lunch once we get to the cabin?"

"That sounds perfect." She hoists Mason onto her. "I'm starving, actually. Apparently job interviews make me hungry."

We walk toward Main Street, Mason now riding on my shoulders again at his insistence. The position gives me a legitimate reason to keep my distance from Elisa—a good thing, because I can’t help but notice the swing of her hair, her rosy cheeks, the way her dress moves around her calves as she walks.

As we approach the truck, we have to pass Riley's garage again. I feel the familiar tightening in my gut, the instinctive tensing of muscles. But this time, I also feel something else—a weariness with this decades-old grudge, this weight I've been carrying for longer than Elisa has been alive.

I look at her, at the gentle swell of her belly where her second child grows, at Mason perched trustingly on my shoulders. Brothers who will grow up together, who will fight and make up and have each other's backs. Brothers who might drift apart as adults, who might hurt each other in ways that seem unforgivable.

Brothers who should always find their way back to each other.

"I'm going to talk to him," I say abruptly, stopping on the sidewalk.

Elisa halts beside me, clearly caught off guard. "What?"

"Riley. My brother." I nod toward the garage across the street. "I'm going to talk to him. Today."

Her eyes widen with surprise, then fill with something warmer—pride, maybe, or hope. "Are you sure?"

I'm not sure at all. The thought of facing Riley after all these years makes my palms sweat and my heart race. But I nod anyway. "Yeah. It's time."

She stares at me, searching for something—hesitation, perhaps, or insincerity. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she smiles "I think that's a wonderful decision," she says. "Do you want us to come with you, or...?"

"No." The answer comes quickly, instinctively. "This is something I need to do alone." I lift Mason from my shoulders and set him gently on the ground. "Would you mind taking the truck and heading back to the cabin? I'll probably need to walk afterward, clear my head."

"Of course." She takes the keys I offer. "We'll be there when you're ready."

"Don't wait up," I warn. "This might take a while. Or it might end in about thirty seconds with him telling me to go to hell."

She shakes her head. "I don't think it will. But either way, we'll be there."

The simple promise—_we'll be there_—hits me harder than I expect. When was the last time anyone was waiting for me? Anywhere? When was the last time my return mattered to anyone but myself?

"Thank you," I say.

She reaches up and, to my surprise, places her palm against my cheek. Her hand is small and warm, and I find myself leaning into the touch without meaning to.

"You're doing the right thing," she says softly. "No matter how it turns out."

I nod, unable to form words around the sudden tightness in my throat. Then I step back, breaking the contact before it can overwhelm me further.

"I'll see you later," I manage. "Save me some dinner."

"We will." She takes Mason's hand. "Say goodbye to Josh, baby."

"Bye, Josh bear!" Mason waves enthusiastically. "See soon!"

"See you soon, buddy," I echo.

I watch them walk to my truck, help Mason into his car seat, settle themselves inside. Elisa waves once more before pulling away from the curb, and I raise my hand in response, feeling strangely untethered as they drive out of sight.


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