“I don’t know,” he admitted, his honesty refreshing. “Grace wants to meet him eventually. Wants to know her brother, to understand that part of her mother’s life. But right now, she’s got enough to deal with. The baby’s due in just a few weeks. And she’s still processing everything she just learned about her mother, rewriting her entire childhood in her mind. She doesn’t need more complications piled on top of everything else.”
“And you?” I pulled back slightly to look up at him, searching his face.
“Me?” He looked down at me, and I saw the exhaustion in his eyes, bone-deep and soul-weary. “I just want to be there for Grace. Want to be the father I should have been all along—the one she deserved. Everything else... we’ll figure it out as we go. Take it one day at a time.”
I nodded. “That sounds like a plan.”
“Not much of one, I’m afraid. There’s more in the journal, though. A lot more. Pages and pages I haven’t read yet. Pages I’m honestly afraid to read. Every time I pick it up, I can only get through a few entries before I have to put it down again.”
“We’ll get through it together.” I reached up, cupping his face in my hand with tenderness. His stubble was rough against my palm, his skin warm and alive. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Stephen. You just have to show up. Be present. Let Grace know you’re not going anywhere, that she can count on you.”
“I’m not,” he said, his voice fierce with determination. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. Never again.”
“Good.” I stood up, holding out my hand with purpose. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To bed.” I pulled him to his feet with surprising strength. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, and I’m not letting you ride back to the clubhouse like this. You’re a danger to yourself and everyone on the road.”
“Trudy—”
“Don’t argue with me.” I led him down the hall toward my bedroom, my hand still wrapped firmly around his. “You’re staying here tonight. We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow when you’ve had some rest.”
He followed me without protest, without his usual gruff resistance, and I realized how exhausted he must be. How much he’d been carrying alone, shouldering burdens that would have crushed a lesser man. How desperately he needed someone to take care of him for once, to let him be vulnerable.
When we reached my bedroom, I pulled back the covers and gestured for him to get in. He kicked off his boots, stripped down to his boxers without self-consciousness, and climbed into bed with a grateful sigh. I turned off the light, slipped in beside him in my nightgown, and curled up against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His arms came around me immediately, holding me close with an intensity that spoke of desperation and need. I felt his breath against my hair, felt the tension slowly drain from his body as he relaxed into the mattress, into my embrace.
“Thank you,” he said again, his voice rough and raw in the darkness.
“Stop thanking me.” I pressed my hand over his heart, feeling it beat steady and strong beneath my palm, a reminder that he was here, alive, real. “This is what people do when they care about each other. They show up. They listen. They hold each other when things get hard and the world feels like it’s falling apart.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” he asked, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Caring about each other?”
“Yeah, Stephen.” I smiled against his chest, felt the rightness of it settle into my bones. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
I felt him relax further, felt his breathing begin to slow and deepen as exhaustion finally claimed him. Within minutes, he was asleep, his arms still wrapped around me protectively, his chest rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm.
I lay there in the darkness, listening to him breathe, thinking about everything he’d told me. About Christina and her impossible choices, the decisions that had shaped so many lives. About Samuel and Grace, all connected by threads of blood and trauma. About the weight of secrets and the cost of survival—how both could crush a person if they weren’t careful.
But mostly I thought about the man holding me. About how he’d walked into my bakery six months ago and turned my carefully ordered world upside down, shaking the foundations I’d built so carefully. About how I’d fought him every step of the way, building walls and maintaining distance, convinced I didn’t need anyone, that independence was the same as strength.
About how wrong I’d been.
I had spent decades alone, telling myself I was fine, that I didn’t need anyone, that I was better off on my own, where no one could hurt me again. But lying there in Stephen’s arms, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I realized I had been lying to myself all those years.
I did need someone. I needed him. I needed this connection, this warmth, this feeling of being part of something larger than myself.
And maybe, just maybe, he needed me too.
Christina was gone, lost to whatever demons had finally claimed her. Those twenty years with Grace were gone, lostto circumstances beyond anyone’s control. Stephen couldn’t change any of that, the same as he couldn’t turn back the clock or undo the damage.
But he had it now. He had Grace—a daughter who loved him despite everything. He had me—stubborn and set in my ways but willing to open my heart one more time. He had a chance to be the man he should have been all along, the man he’d always wanted to be.
And I was going to make damn sure he didn’t waste it.
Not this time.
