Her stomach twisted.He’dbeen there.Watching.Likea storm on the horizon, waiting.
“Must be nice,” she said, bitterness leaking into her tone.“Tohave two women still hung up on you after all this time.”
“I don’t want two women,Rose.”Hisanswer was sharp, unhesitating.Heshifted one step closer, as if pulled by some gravity he couldn’t fight.
“I wantyou.”
The words were simple.Toosimple.
She met his eyes, her own tired but clear.“Thenstop talking and start proving it.”
She didn’t invite him in.Shedidn’t need the intimacy of shared walls and closed doors.Nottonight.Shestayed wrapped in her shawl on the porch, the mug cooling against her palms, a fragile anchor to keep her steady.
Acen stayed two steps down, shoulders tense but eyes steady.Helooked like a man braced for judgment, for either mercy or exile.AndRose—well,Rosedecided to let him sweat.
“You can say you want me all day,” she said finally.“Butwords are easy.I’veheard enough of them to last a lifetime.”
“I know.”
“I don’t need promises,Acen.Ineed truth.Ineed action.”
He nodded, jaw working.“Whatdo you want to know?”
Rose studied him.Reallystudied.Notthe boy she’d fallen for at eighteen, not the ghost she’d hated for twenty years, but the man standing on her porch now.Hishair darker, threaded with the faintest streaks of silver.Hisshoulders broader, marked by work and life.Hiseyes—the same, but older, too.
“Why did you leave like that?”she asked.Thequestion scraped her throat raw.“Thatnight—afterBrianakissed you.Youdidn’t call.Youdidn’t write.Youjust vanished.”
Acen rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tic she remembered all too well.Hisvoice came heavy.“BecauseIwas ashamed.BecauseIthought… you saw what happened and made up your mind.Youturned and walked away,Rose, andIfigured you were done with me.AndIthought maybe you were right to be.”
She swallowed, the lump in her throat thick.“YouthoughtIshould have fought harder?”
“No.”Hisanswer came quick, fierce.“IthoughtIshould’ve.ButIdidn’t.Ifroze.Itook the coward’s exit.AndI’veregretted it every damn day since.”
Rose stared into her mug, at the tea she hadn’t drunk, watching the faint ripples catch the porch light.
“I waited for you,” she said, barely more than a whisper.“Fora call.Aletter.Anything.Andwhen it never came,Imade myself hate you.Becausethat was easier than wondering whatIdid wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, voice low but certain.“Youwere the best thingIhad,Rose.AndIlet my fear ruin it.”
Her chest ached, a dull ache that carried twenty years of weight.Butshe didn’t let it soften her.Notyet.
“I need to know,” she said finally.“Ifthis is real.Ifthis is something you want.Notbecause it’s familiar.Notbecause you’re lonely.Notbecause we have history.Butbecause you see menow.AsIam.”
Acen’s gaze held hers, unflinching.“Ido.AndIwant to show you.Howeverlong it takes.”
The night pressed close, heavy with crickets and the occasional croak of a frog by the pond.Roselet out a slow breath, watching the condensation curl in the warm summer air.
“I need time,Acen.Iwasn’t expecting this.Iwasn’t expecting you to come swooping back into town and disrupt everythingI’vebuilt.”Shepulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders despite the heat of the night air.“Canyou give me that?”
“Yes.”Theword came steady.Solid.
She sighed, the sound carrying weariness and something else - maybe the faintest flicker of hope.“Okay.”Shesipped the lukewarm tea.“Istill need you to help coach the team.I’mnot so proud thatIcan let those ladies down after all their hard work because you andIhave some issues to work out.Theyneed the edge you can give them.So, this is what we’re going to do.Onthe ballfield, we are just coaches.Nothingmore.Nopersonal stuff.Ever.”
Acen nodded once.“Ican do that.”
And for the first time all night, she almost believed him.
“Good.I’llsee you at the game.It’sMadisonCountyand they’re tough as nails.”
