Especially when it hurt.
“You don’t have to believe it for now,” Eve added. “You just have to stay with us until you do.”
One word.
One word penetrated the chaos of Becca’s mind.
It reverberated. Grew louder. Found purchase.
Stay.
Stay in the muck and the mud and the dirt of a secluded Montana lodge. Stay in the arms of the women who held her tight enough to keep her together. Stay in the circle of safety and protection offered by the men of the JTT. Stay with the person who loved her enough to wait seven years for her.
Jay.
Jay, who’d loved her enough to come for her. Enough to die for her. Enough to fight for her when she didn’t have the strength left to fight for herself. The father of her child and the only man to ever hold her heart, her body, her soul in his hands.
Stay.
The word rooted itself in her chest. Burrowed deep. Took hold. She inhaled a jagged breath. It hurt. Scraping down her throat like a double-edged razor. Her lungs burned. Her ribs ached. But it didn’t kill her.
She took another and felt her chest expand with the effort. If she asked it to, her body would support her. Keep her alive another day. And another. Until she no longer had to make the decision to live and breathe.
She just did.
Because she wanted to.
And—yes—she wanted to.
Here. Now. In this moment. With her new friends wrapped around her, offering their strength. Their men forming a protective ring around them, soaked to the bone, unmoving, unwilling to leave them alone, but somehow, understanding this wasn’t their fight.
She wanted to stay. Not for them. Not for Jay.
She wanted to stay for herself. She wanted to heal. Wanted to find herself amid this family who’d adopted her, taken her in, and given her a home. She wanted to be strong enough. Brave enough. To love herself. Her scars. Both seen and unseen. Her mind. Battle-driven and broken. Her heart. Empty for too long, and now too full to be contained.
Stay.
The word pulsed inside of her, one syllable. Steady. Strong. Resilient.
Stay. Stay. Stay.
Each heartbeat drummed against her ribs, keeping time, demanding she rise.
Around her, the rain fell, clacked against the tarp over her head, loud and sharp. Beneath her, the wet ground chilled her shins. She shivered, and the arms around her tightened. Gray offering her strength. Eve her warmth. Summer her compassion.
She choked back the sob threatening to keep her down and lifted her head.
“You got this,” Gray said, the fierce look in her eyes the push she needed to get to her feet.
“We’ll help you,” Eve said, using her body to support Becca’s.
“Take your time,” Summer added, rubbing circles against her back. “There’s no rush.”
Somehow, Becca managed to plant her bare foot, and with the strength of the women supporting her, she rose. Oh God! Her entire body ached as she unfurled one shaky limb at a time until she stood in the center of a family—bound not by blood, but by fire and fury. Grief and grace. Men and women forged in the dark by the battles they’d fought alone and survived together.
This was her story.
Where she belonged.
