I feel something else.
Something that starts low and slow and impossible to ignore once it’s there.
I look at the way he moves, the way people around him adjust without realizing they’re doing it, the way he watches everything and still somehow keeps track of me and Hadley like we’re the center of it all.
And it hits me, quiet and certain in a way that doesn’t leave room to pretend I don’t understand it.
This isn’t just about trust.
It’s not just about safety.
It’s not even just about being here.
It’s about him.
And the fact that somewhere between the moment I stepped back into this town and the moment I watched him reach for my daughter without hesitation…something shifted.
I tighten my grip on Hadley’s hand, grounding myself in something real, something that doesn’t move under my feet.
Because this—
This is the kind of thing that changes everything if you let it.
The kind of thing I’ve spent five years avoiding.
And the worst part is…
I don’t want to leave River Bend.
But because for the first time in a long time…being here feels like something I actually want.
And that realization settles in slowly, deeply, and undeniable.
I’m not just choosing to be here for tonight.
I’m choosing him.
And that might be the most dangerous decision I’ve made yet.
Chapter fifteen
Building Something Real
Jace
The house is almost done.
A couple weeks have passed since everything shifted, just enough time for the dust to settle on the surface, not nearly enough time for anything underneath it to go quiet.
It’s the first thing I focus on this morning, something solid I can see, touch, and measure in straight lines. Finished work instead of questions that don’t have answers yet.
Framing’s been up for weeks. The roof’s sealed, and the windows are in. The wraparound porch is finally finished. The boards aresanded smooth, stained dark, the kind of place you can sit with a cup of coffee and see half the property without moving your head.
Inside, the cabinets went in yesterday, and the guys are finishing trim work today, moving through it with the kind of rhythm that comes from doing this a hundred times over.
Normal work, normal noise, with hammers tapping, sawdust drifting, and country music playing low from someone’s radio.
It should feel like progress, and it does, but it isn’t clean anymore.
