But then he looked back at me and his eyes found mine. I nodded once, silently telling him I was here. That I knew this was big. That he wasn’t doing it alone.
The chain clinked to the ground, and he pushed the gate open before climbing back in beside me. He took a deep breath, his jaw tight.
“I’m right here,” I said softly, my hand sliding over his thigh.
He gave me a short nod and drove us up the long gravel drive, toward a part of him I wasn’t sure I knew how to handle, but I was sure I needed to see.
Chapter Forty-Two
WEST
It had beentwenty years since I’d made it past that old cattle gate.
Twenty years of telling myself I didn’t need to come back.
I’d promised my family, though, that before things started changing, I would revisit my past. At first, I refused, telling them it wasn’t necessary, that the past could stay buried where it belonged. But Easton had a way of getting under my skin. He told me he was afraid that if I didn’t go now, before he started work on it, I never would.
He also told me nothing was moving forward until I found some kind of peace with my old home.
Blue’s hand was warm where it rested on my thigh, rubbing gently over the denim as I steered the truck up the hill. My hands shook against the wheel.
I’d driven past this property hundreds of times, but I’d always made a point not to look. Eyes locked on the road. Head bent over my phone while Marcus drove. Sometimes I even timed my trips so the sun was in my face, just to have the excuse to squint and turn away.
I always thought when I finally came back, I’d be alone. That I’d park outside the gate, get out, and face whatever waited in the silence.
But somewhere along the way, I started trusting Blue with bits and pieces of me. And I couldn’t imagine walking into this without her.
When we got close to the house, I eased the truck to a stop and threw it into park.
The old oak tree was still there, standing guard, having never left its post. I used to sit under that tree for hours when I was a kid. Now, there was a swing hanging from one of its branches and I knew it was Easton’s handiwork for Max. I smiled, picturing the little guy flying through the air, Easton mowing the lawn nearby.
To the left, set back from the house, stood the old barn. Dad’s barn. His bush hogs, tractors, lawnmowers were probably all still in there. Miles and Easton kept them running, mowing and keeping the place looking as nice as possible. When it had been my turn, I’d hired someone else to take care of the place. It caused a blow-up at first because they thought I was letting strangers into something sacred. And maybe I was. But I didn’t have it in me to step foot here, and eventually, they stopped fighting me on it.
“This place is beautiful,” Blue said softly. “Even more beautiful up close than from the road.”
She was right. The white paint was chipped, the wood weathered, but up close, it had a kind of worn dignity you couldn’t see from a distance.
“I haven’t been back here in twenty years,” I admitted. “But I promised Easton I’d do this.”
Her brows lifted. “Easton?”
I nodded, rubbing my palms over my thighs. “He’s got plans for the place. But he won’t move forward until I find a little peace with it.”
I looked out the windshield again, tracing the lines of the property, and told myself I was staying in the truck. But then she turned to me, brushed her fingers along my cheek, and asked, “Can we go for a walk?”
I didn’t have it in me to tell her no.
The crunch of gravel under my boots felt too loud in the quiet. Blue met me at the front of the truck, her fingers sliding into mine. My heart was pounding so hard I half-expected her to feel it through my hand. If she hadn’t tugged me forward, I might have turned around and gotten back in the truck.
“Are those magnolias?” She pointed toward the trees behind the house.
“Yeah. When they cleared the property, Mom made them leave a few. They were her favorite. Every fall, she’d collect the seed pods and keep them in a jar.”
Blue started walking toward the side of the house, and instinct told me to stop her, but I didn’t. I didn’t want her to see the back because that was where all the darkness was. Yet, I wanted her to understand the whole story.
When she gasped, I kept my gaze locked on the magnolia trees, my jaw tight. But eventually, I turned. And all I saw was every year of my first sixteen flashing through my mind.
There had been so much love inside these walls. Dad wasn’t a fisherman like Gramps, so instead of weekends on the lake, I’d spent hours beside him in the barn. He taught me how to hand him the right tool, even if I didn’t know the first thing about fixing what he was working on. He’d talk about his dreams for this place. For us.
