Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
It’s not forgiveness. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive what was done to me. But it’s mine now. My scar. My story. My choice to stay.
“Need help with that?” Calder’s voice comes from the doorway.
I glance over my shoulder. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, wearing a dark flannel that makes his winter-blue eyes even sharper. It’s been three months since Roman died, and Calder still carries tension in his shoulders like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.
“I’ve got it.” I turn back to the cake, smoothing frosting across the top. “Everyone should be here in about an hour.”
He moves closer. I feel him behind me before his hands settle on my hips. “You sure about this? Having everyone here?”
“It’s my birthday. I get to decide who celebrates with me.”
His breath ghosts across my neck. “Fair enough.”
I chose this gathering. My father, Allie, Sawyer, Levi, Elena, and a few friends from town who’ve slowly started speaking to me again. Small. Intimate. People who matter.
I don’t expect Kade to come. He’s been at the main house for weeks now, more withdrawn than ever, his anger simmering beneath the surface like a barely banked fire. He’s processing everything he’s learned about Emma Porter and who he really is, but the knowledge has made him volatile in ways that worry all his brothers. They take turns checking on him, but mostly they give him space to figure out who he wants to be now that Roman’s gone.
I understand that need. The need to rebuild yourself from the ground up. But I also understand the anger. The rage at having your identity stripped away and rebuilt on lies.
“You worried about your father?” Calder asks.
“A little.” I set down the spatula and lean back against his chest. “He’s been... tentative. Like he’s not sure what to say to me anymore.”
“He’ll come around.”
“Will he?” I turn in his arms to face him. “He hasn’t forgiven me yet.”
Calder’s jaw tightens. “You want me to talk to him?”
“And say what? That you’re sorry? That it was all a big misunderstanding?”
“No.” His hands tighten on my hips. “I’d tell him the truth. That I took you and I kept you, and I’d do it again.”
There it is. That brutal honesty that should terrify me but doesn’t anymore. Because at least with Calder, I always know where I stand.
“That’ll go over well,” I murmur.
“He’ll learn to live with it. Or he won’t. Either way, you’re mine.”
I reach up and trace the hard line of his jaw. “So possessive.”
“Always.” He catches my hand and brings it to his mouth. “You knew what you were getting into when you stayed.”
Did I, though? Some days, I’m still not sure. Some days, I wake up next to him and wonder what I’m doing. Other days, I watch him split wood or fix fence posts or simply exist in the space around me, and I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
It’s complicated. Messy. Wrong in ways I’ll probably never fully reconcile.
But it’s mine. We’re mine.
“I should finish this cake,” I say, but I don’t pull away.
He studies my face with that intense focus that still makes my breath catch. “Later.”
“Calder—”
“Later.” His mouth finds mine, and I taste coffee and want. His hands slide under my shirt, fingers splaying across bare skin. “Everyone won’t be here for another hour.”
“That’s not very much time.”
“I can still work with it.”
He lifts me onto the counter and pushes between my thighs. The cake sits forgotten beside us, half-frosted and perfect. The house is quiet except for our breathing, and the sunshine warms everything to a pretty gold.
This is what freedom looks like now. Not escape. Not rescue. Just choosing him. Choosing this. Every single day.
When he finally breaks the kiss, I’m breathless and flushed. He looks smug about it.
“We really should finish the cake,” I say.
“In a minute.” He traces the brand through my jeans, and I tense. He feels it immediately and stills. “Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes. Mostly it just... is.”
He nods slowly, hands gentling on my thighs. We don’t talk much about the brand. About what it represents. The violence and ownership and horror of that night.
But it’s there. Always there.
“I’m glad you stayed,” he says quietly.
“Was there really any doubt? After all we had been through?”
“Yes. I wanted you to be with me because you wanted it. Not because you felt forced to.”
“I know, and that’s why I chose to stay, because it would’ve been easy for you to keep me and never let me go, to never give me a choice, but you didn’t. You wanted this to be real, you wanted my love, and not my submission. So even if you think you’re selfish, I disagree, because you did give me a choice.”
The ghost of a smile touches his mouth, then fades. “You could still leave. Not saying I wouldn’t hunt you down to the ends of the earth and do everything in my power to convince you to come back, but you always have the choice now.”