She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then, "You're right. We are." She takes another step closer. "But Cade, I need you to know something. Even broken, even at your worst, you were never a burden to me. You were the man I loved."
Were. Past tense.
"I fucked it all up," I say. "Left you, missed seven years of our daughter's life, and now I'm standing here trying to figure out how to rebuild something from the wreckage."
"Maybe we both fucked it up," Sierra offers, and there's a slight smile playing at her lips despite the heavy conversation. "Maybe we were both too young, too scared, too busy trying to be noble instead of just being honest with each other."
"Is that what we're doing now? Being honest?"
"I'm trying to be." She closes the remaining distance between us, and suddenly she's right there, close enough that I could touch her if I was brave enough. "Can I be honest about something?"
"Please." My voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
"I never stopped thinking about you." The confession comes out rushed, like she's been holding it in for too long. "Eight years, Cade. Eight years of trying to move on, trying to date other people, trying to convince myself that what we had was just young love, something I'd outgrow. And I couldn't. I tried, God knows I tried, but nobody ever measured up to you."
My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure she can hear it. "Sierra—"
"I'm not telling you this to make you feel guilty," she continues quickly. "Or to pressure you into anything. I just… If we're being honest, then you should know. You should know that I've compared every man I've met to you for eight years, and they all came up short. Not because you're perfect. You're not, and neither am I, but because you were mine, and I was yours, and I never really let that go."
"I thought you'd hate me," I admit roughly. "Thought you'd have moved on, built a life with someone who could give you what you deserved. A house, stability, someone who wasn't haunted by the ghosts of people he couldn't save."
"I don't hate you." Sierra's hand comes up, hovering near my face like she's afraid to make contact. "I could never hate you, Cade. Even when I was angry about you leaving, even when I wasmaking the decision not to tell you about Ruby, I never stopped loving you."
Present tense. She said loving, not loved.
"Sierra." Her name comes out like a prayer, and I can't hold back anymore. My hand comes up to cup her face, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "I never stopped either. Never even came close."
Her breath catches, her eyes searching mine. "Really?"
"Really." I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers. "Eight years of trying to convince myself I was better off alone, that I didn't deserve a second chance at happiness. Eight years of keeping everyone at arm's length because nobody was you."
"Cade," she whispers, and then she's closing the distance, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that feels like coming home and falling apart all at once.
It's gentle at first, like we're both afraid this might be a mistake. But then Sierra's hands are fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer, and gentle becomes desperate. Eight years of longing, of missing each other, of wondering "what if" pours into the kiss.
I back her against the counter, my hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her flush against me. Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging slightly, and I groan into her mouth.
"We shouldn't—" Sierra gasps when we break for air. "We should talk more, figure things out—"
"Fuck talking." I kiss her again, harder this time. "We can talk later. Right now, I need—" I can't even finish the sentence, too overwhelmed by the feeling of her in my arms again after so many years.
"What do you need?" Sierra's voice is breathy, her pupils blown wide.
"You. I need you." I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her legs. "Tell me to stop if this is too fast. Tell me if you don't want this."
"I want this," she says immediately, her legs wrapping around my waist. "I've wanted this for eight years, Cade. I'm not stopping now."
That's all the permission I need. I kiss her again, my hands roaming over her body, relearning curves that are familiar and different at the same time. She's curvier than I remember, more substantial, and it's perfect. She's perfect.
Sierra's hands are under my shirt now, her fingers tracing the scars on my ribs, the ones from the warehouse fire. She pauses, and I tense, suddenly self-conscious about the damaged skin.
"Don't," I start, but she cuts me off with a kiss.
"You're beautiful," she whispers against my lips. "Every part of you."
Something in my chest cracks open at those words, at the acceptance in her voice. I pull back just long enough to yank my shirt over my head, and Sierra's hands are immediately on my bare skin, touching, exploring, claiming.
I help her out of her sweater, my hands shaking slightly as I reveal the soft skin underneath. She's wearing a simple white bra, and the sight of her gorgeous breasts makes my cock immediately throb.
