My hands trembled where they rested on his striking face.

But it had shaken me.

Being able to finally see all the way past the gorgeous exterior. Down, deep inside this miraculous man with his huge, beautiful, bleeding heart.

To the man who had lost, who remained terrified and hurt. The one who had somehow taken on some of that responsibility when it clearly didn’t belong to him.

The one who was so clearly scared of repeating it again.

And my son.

He was sick.

I understood it in a way I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I wanted to ask him so many things.

How?

What happened?

I wanted to tell him it would be okay.

That it was all right to hurt.

That I understood.

Instead, I just sat there, waiting for him, needing this answer, knowing if I had it, I might be able to understand him on a level I hadn’t before. That maybe we could make sense of what was going on between us.

He peeled himself away and looked at me. Grief swam in that turbulent sea of blue. “Part of me will always love her, Hope. But what torments me is she didn’t get the chance to experience life. That I missed her symptoms and took that chance away.”

Sorrow clenched down on my chest, sorrow that he could possibly think he was responsible for his first love’s death.

His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed. “Then the other part of me wonders . . . wonders what my life would have looked like had I been able to save her. Would we be married? Would we have kids? Would she be an anesthesiologist like she’d wanted to be? Or would her dreams have changed, too?”

His voice cracked as he continued, “She deserved to experience everything life had in store for her, and I stole that from her. Failed her when she needed me most.”

I could feel my heart splintering under the devastation in his expression.

“I’ve been told that sometimes it’s the what-ifs that hurt the most. What haunt us the longest. But there is absolutely no chance you were responsible for her death, Kale. You have to let that go. Live and find joy. Because I promise you, you deserve it, everything life has in store for you.”

He flinched as if he wanted to refute my claim, so I was quick to add, “Believe it. I do.”

He took my hand and pressed his face in to my palm, kissing the flesh before he moved to kiss the inside of my wrist. “Incredible. Told you, Hope. You are incredible. And I don’t know how to make sense of it.”

“Do you want to try?” I asked him. Stepping out, that limb teetering beneath me, threatening to splinter.

And God . . .

The smile he sent me?

It rocked me to the core.

Confidence and naked vulnerability, the contours of his face lit up in the glow of the fading sun.

“I do . . . but the last thing I want to do is fail you. Fail Evan.”

I blinked at him, my chest tightening, and I started to tell him I didn’t think it was possible for him to do that.

Fail us. But then the sizzle and hiss of water boiling over onto the stove hit our ears.

“Shit.” He spun away and rushed that direction. He drove a pasta spoon into the pot, stirring quickly to settle the roil down.

I almost giggled when the sauce started to bubble and spit all over the place.

“Shit,” he said again, this time with an amused huff that came at his expense, his strong back bare as he worked to salvage our dinner.

Cute.

Confident.

Chaos.

He glanced back at me, the heaviness from moments ago gone. “Can’t even get spaghetti right.”

I ignored the questions still looming around us and slid off the counter. I slinked up behind him and pressed a gentle kiss to the warm, bare flesh at the center of his back.

He shuddered, the quiver of an arrow straight through the center of me.

“You are the most incredible man I have ever met, Kale Bryant. I am so sorry you had to go through that. I hate it for you. If I could take it away, I would,” I whispered against his spine, which stiffened the barest fraction.

I knew I needed to give him space, let him process. He had probably shared more with me than he had with anyone in a long, long time. I moved to stand beside him, nudged him with my hip, and sent him a smile. “Here, let me help with that.”

Kale laughed. “What? You don’t trust me in my own kitchen?”

I widened my eyes up at him. “Should I?”

He hesitated for a second before he busted up laughing. “No . . . no, you definitely should not.”

I shot him a grin. “That’s what I thought.” I snagged the spoon from his grip. “Give me that before someone gets hurt.”

He took his turn knocking me with his hip. “Fine. I relinquish these duties. Thinking they’re not so knightly, anyway.”

I gasped a horrified sound that was completely feigned. “And just what is it you’re implying?”

He laughed again. A bellowing sound that came from his belly, making his abdomen ripple and flex. “Absolutely nothing, Princess. Nothing at all.”

I poked him in the side. “I’ll let you off the hook this time. Just because I like you.”

His eyes smoldered when he looked down at me, the edges brimming with something brilliant.

Something beautiful and whole. “You like me, huh, Shortcake?”

I didn’t know why I adored it when he called me that. That coaxing tease that clearly meant so much more.

I kept my focus trained ahead, stirring the noodles, the confession a breath on my tongue. “Yeah, Kale, I like you.”

I think I’m in love with you.

Sitting out on his gorgeous balcony, we shared our meal beneath the blaze of the setting sun. Engines hummed from below and voices carried on the breeze. The Alabama air thick and warm, comforting in a way I didn’t know it could be.

Or maybe it was just Kale.

The man who steadily stole more and more, each laugh and tease and smirk shackling another piece of me.

“That was delicious,” I told him, sitting back in the chair, my stomach so full it was close to painful.

He arched an eyebrow. “And just who are you complimenting?”

A giggle floated out on the air, every shield and guard ripped away, my ribbing so easy. “I was complimenting you, but I guess I really should give the credit where it belongs.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” I drew out.

Flying from his chair, he lunged for me, and I squealed, jumping to my feet and racing through the open doors.

He chased me. And God, I loved it.

Loved it when he caught me from behind. When he lifted me from my feet. When he hugged me against his bare chest.

Loved it when he kissed the back of my head. Loved it more when he started leaving dizzying trails of kisses down the side of my neck, nipping at the corner of my jaw, his cock growing thick against my bottom.

Oh.

He was undoing me.

My phone rang from within my purse, and I held back the groan at the interruption.

He set me back on my feet.

“Don’t think just because you have a phone call that you get a free pass. I’ll be waiting for you.”

I glanced at him from over my shoulder, putting an extra sway into my steps when I moved toward my purse, grinning wide. “Is that a promise?”

“Oh, Harley Hope, you are in so, so much trouble.”

I was.

I already knew it.

And I loved that, too.

I was grinning when I dug into the side pocket and found my phone. I glanced at the screen. A frown pulled across my brow when I saw Chanda’s name.

Quickly, I answered it, sure it was nothing.

But it took only the flash of a second before I knew it was something.

Dread curled through my insides when I heard her voice coming through the line. Frantic. Words so rushed, I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“Evan . . . breath . . . hurry.”

My insides trembled. Panic blew through me. Pummeling and beating.

A gale force.

“What?” I asked, eyes pinching shut as my fingers drove into my hair, yanking, struggling to process what she’d said. “What are you saying? Where are you? What happened? Slow down and tell me what’s happening.”

Chanda sucked in a breath. Trying to calm herself. “We’re just pulling up at the ER. The boys were tossing the football with Richard. The same as they always do. He was fine, Hope, he was fine, and then all of a sudden, Evan said he couldn’t breathe.”

A hand landed on my shoulder, grabbing hold, maybe holding me up.

Tension wound tight. Round and round and round.

“Is he okay?” I didn’t know if she could hear me, the words choked where they locked in my throat, not prepared for what she might say.

“I think so. I think so,” she rambled. Frazzled. Frenzied.

Or maybe all that frenzy belonged to me. Because I could feel it shaking through my system.

Speeding through my veins.

Seeping into my spirit.

Penetrating to my bones.

“Okay, we’re here. We’re here. I’ll call you back,” she said.

The line went dead and dread pressed down on my chest.

Too heavy.

Too much.

I couldn’t move.

Frozen.

Kale spun me around and pried the phone from my hand, setting both of his on my shoulders. He gave me a tiny shake, trying to snap me out of the daze. “Hope, what is going on? Who was that? Tell me what’s happening.”

“Evan.”

His name.

It was a plea.

A prayer.

Kale’s face blanched.

White as a ghost.

Or maybe I could only see what was reflected in me.

Tremors rolled beneath my skin, my muscles trembling as the freeze finally thawed.

It gave way to a raging river. Sweeping me away. Taking me with it and shooting me into action.

I fumbled into my shoes, grabbed my purse, and jerked open the door.

I could sense the torment of the presence behind me. The anguish in his silence. And maybe I did understand him better. His walls higher than mine. Why he couldn’t do this with me.

I didn’t pause to look back when I floundered with the latch and flew out the door.

The only thing I knew was I needed to get to my son.