Aurora’s arms wrap around my waist as if they never left all those years ago, and all the familiar fluttery feelings come back with a vengeance.

She’s pressed against me, her legs straddling my hips, my back to her chest, her palms flush against my abdomen, and her fingers digging into my skin through my shirt. I groan and shift against my arousal pushed up against my jeans. Having Aurora’s curvy frame strapped to my body again feels even better than I remember.

I rev the engine—once, twice—to distract the flow of blood, then glance at her over my shoulder. “Ready?” She nods, my helmet swallowing her entire head, and my lip curls in response. There’s nothing sexier than a woman strapped into my gear, especially this woman. “Hang on tight,” I say before I gun the engine with a final warning.

She will hang on tight. Aurora will clutch onto me like her life depends on it, just the way I used to love. When she was fifteen, it was the closest she could be to me without us crossing that forbidden line. As much as she loved the thrill of the bike, part of her was always a little terrified. Her arms hugged me a little too tight and her thighs squeezed me a little too hard, but nothing felt better.

I pull out onto the deserted street, and we just ride. I steer us up the mountain passage, and we weave down the narrow streets for miles. It’s the perfect night—a slight chill in the air, a light breeze, a clear sky, and a crescent moon hanging big and bright in the sky. Nightlife croaks and sings, and the scent of burning wood from a nearby campground tangles with the aroma of pine and oak.

As much as I’ve always wanted to leave Balsam Grove to travel the world, I still love everything this town has to offer—its simple lifestyle, the familiarity of it all. And with Aurora wrapped around me again, I find myself drifting in and out of memories. Memories of waking up every morning with a kick in my heart at the thought of spending time with her. Of our adventures together. Of teaching her how to paint until eventually the mentor became the pupil. And of how easy it was to fall in love. Deep, soul-crushing, heart-murmuring, mind-bending love. I’m not even sure when the switch went off in my heart, but I’ll never forget the way she made me feel about my own art when she was just eight years old. Maybe it started then. The seed was planted. And every summer after would bring me closer and closer to delivering her first heartbreak.

I’ll never forgive myself for that. For shunning her at Hollow Falls when she was fifteen. For making her think I wanted anyone but her. I didn’t. I wanted no one else, and that scared the shit out of me. She was four years younger, and her feelings for me weren’t subtle. Around my friends, especially Tanner, that was dangerous. That night haunted me for two damn years—until I saw her again and could finally make up for everything we’d lost. Can we do it again? Yet another tragedy has brought her back to me—first her mother’s death, and now her father’s.

But will she stay this time?

I’m lost in all things Aurora when I see oncoming lights rounding the bend up ahead, highlighting the sway of the fir trees that line the road. Aurora tightens her hold around my middle, causing my heart to jump in my chest. Why is she holding on so tight? Is she scared? Excited? Does she remember how she went from clinging to me in fear when she was fifteen to hollering into the wind at the thrill two years later? She changed so much over those two years, growing more and more beautiful while sprouting wings of her own. Her love for the mountains grew. Her art flourished, and her level of stubbornness was far superior to anyone I’d ever seen before. I loved it all.

I loved how she soared despite the pain of her mother’s passing. She flew, and I fell madly in love.

My fingers unwrap from the left handle as I place my palm against the back of her hand, pressing it into my abdomen. I want her to know I remember. I want her to know I could never forget. Her fingers curl into my shirt, and I wish for a moment there was no fabric between us.

I exhale heavily, closing my eyes just for a second, embracing every bit of this moment before it’s ripped away from me like before. There’s so much to say.

The headlights up ahead are growing brighter, forcing me to squint from their blinding light. Shit. My heart jumps up my throat as I realize how much distance we’ve closed since I first spotted the car in the distance. The gap is closing…and the car is not in its lane. It’s in mine, barreling too close and too fast.

“Jaxon, watch out!” I hear Aurora scream just as I swerve right to avoid the oncoming vehicle. It zooms past us, missing us by inches as pebbles fly out from behind the tires. Aurora grips me tighter, slamming her cheek between my shoulder blades as my breaths punch the air.

I pull over onto the dirt shoulder, as far away from the road as I can get, and I follow Aurora as she scrambles off the bike and clutches her chest.

“Are you okay?” I bend down, assessing her under the half-lit moon. “Hey,” I say, taking her hand in mine. She’s shaking. “Look at me, Aurora.”

She looks up, and it’s as if she’s squeezing my heart in her tiny, innocent hands. Her eyes are thick with tears, red from trying to hold them in, and so incredibly panicked. Every urge and feeling I’ve ever had for Aurora comes rushing back at once.

My thumb catches her first tear, but my heart catches the next. I’m reminded all too well of the Aurora that came back after her mother passed away, the girl who quickened to a panic at any loud noise or sudden movement. She changed after her mother’s life was taken too soon. Over the next summer, as she fought to take control back from her anxiety, her father’s behavior grew more and more erratic, hindering any chance for Aurora to heal herself. As Henry June began to steadily slip from one reality to another, Aurora’s energy went toward him.

Aurora’s panic attacks aren’t new to me. I’ve seen the suffocation in her eyes. I’ve held her through them, just like I did the other night after the explosion of wine and glass in the studio. I’ve done it dozens of times, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with now. I hate seeing Aurora in pain.

I press her cheek against my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around her as she breathes through the panic.

When I feel her breathing return to normal, I pull away to get a good look at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize they were in our lane until we’d rounded the bend.”

She looks back to the road with concern. “I’m fine. Do you think they were drunk?”

I shake my head, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. It’s like they didn’t even see us.” I don’t want to admit the discomfort in my chest at the fact that the driver never even swerved out of the way. Either they never saw us, or they were trying to hit us. I shudder. I can’t think like that, and Aurora doesn’t need any other reason to worry.

“Should we call it in? Did you get a description of the car?”

“I didn’t see much, to be honest. But I’ll call it in.” I whip out my phone and call the station. No one’s there, so I wait for the transfer and get Brooks’ voicemail. Frustrated, I shove my phone back in my pocket and look around at where we are. “You okay to get back on? We’ve got maybe a mile or so until we’re there.”

She nods. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

A couple minutes later, we arrive at an inconspicuous dirt trail. I know it’s here because it was my buddies and I who paved the path to Mountain Look, a secluded clearing that looks out over the edge of a cliff. Yes, we did it with dirty teenage intentions, but I only ever took Aurora there.

I park the motorcycle near a tree and let the headlight beam toward the cliff. After grabbing two blankets from the storage compartment, I take Aurora’s hand to lead her down the short trail to the edge of the cliff. Her warm hand in mine feels natural, familiar, like we never stopped holding on. A chill sweeps through me. Clearly, I never stopped.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing me to Mountain Look.” She laughs when she makes the connection. I smile.

“You fell in love with the stars out here.”

“That’s not all I fell in love with out here.”

I swallow and turn toward her, my chest thick with the weight of her words. How can someone who exited my life so coolly still warm me in the only place that matters?

We lay a flannel blanket down over the dirt and stone a few feet from the edge of the cliff. I sit beside her, close enough to let my knee brush against hers as we stare into the wide-open space.

“Try not to let them get to you.” I glance at her and catch her face flash with doubt. “I know it’s easier said than done, but they don’t know shit, Aurora. What you’ve been through, the reasons you’re here… It’s no one’s business.”

She sighs and kicks off her sandals. “I’ve told myself the same thing, but it still hurts, Jax.”

Jax. I think that’s the first time she’s called me that since she’s been back.

“I can’t win with these people.”

“It’s not a competition, and you have nothing to prove. You’re not him.”

I cringe at my own words, knowing exactly how a similar conversation like this went years ago. The last thing I want is to dredge up a bunch of bad memories and move backwards. Aurora’s here. We’re alone. And we’re talking. But she needs to understand what I’m telling her, and I’m not sure she does.

“Yeah, well. I may not be him, but I have my own issues. These panic attacks are no joke. Before my dad was sentenced, they got pretty bad. I tried to learn how to control them naturally. Meditation, yoga, exercise—but I couldn’t get a handle on it. I finally gave in and went on medication, but I haven’t taken a single pill since I got here.”

“Why?”

I see the hesitation in her silence. “I left them by accident, but that’s not the only reason.” More silence. “I wanted to see how it felt to go without them after so many years.”

“And how has it felt?”

“It’s felt…okay. So far I’ve mostly been able to control the attacks on my own.”

“That’s good, right?”

She shrugs. “I think so. For the longest time, I was happy to numb it all and forget. I don’t want to be numb anymore.” Her eyes flick up to mine like she’s scared. Like she thinks maybe she’s doing something wrong.

“I get it.”

“You do?”

I nod. “Sometimes it feels like six years have passed, and all I’ve done is stand still against the rush of time.”

She glances up, her eyes scanning me like she’s curious about all those years, those passing moments. What has she missed? Who am I today? I want to know those same things about her.

My eyes lock on hers. “Ask me anything.”

She inhales sharply. “I’ve seen how women practically fling themselves at you. I guess I’m surprised you haven’t settled down with anyone by now.”

There’s a question in there somewhere, but she hasn’t asked it. When I don’t respond, she sighs. “Has it ever been the same for you? What we had together? Has there been anyone—?”

A fire builds and licks against the walls of my chest. Does she really think another woman could come into my life and compare in any way to her—to what we had?

My jaw hardens again, because as much as I want her to know there’s only ever been one love of my life, I’m not sure she deserves that peace of mind.

“Never mind,” she whispers after too much silence. “I don’t want to know.”

“I’ve dated others,” I tell her anyway. “Casually. But nothing like what we were. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Her expression softens and she tilts her head as her hand finds mine in the dark. “It’s never been the same for me either.”

“But you’ve dated?”

I hate myself for asking. Of course she’s dated. She’s beautiful and smart and sweet. She’s talented too, but if she’s given up her art, then she’s most likely hidden that fact about herself. Men would go crazy for Aurora if she put herself out there. I don’t want to find out that she has.

She starts to let go of my hand, but I grab it tightly. She looks down, then back up at me, the most heartbroken expression on her face.

“Shit, I wish I never asked.”

She scoots in, her face inches from mine as her free hand moves to my face. I love the way her fingers run against the hair on my jaw like she doesn’t know what to do with the texture. The scruff is new for her, but the feeling in my chest as she grips me is the same. Like my heart is breaking and falling for her all at once. The intensity of wanting her mixed with the fear of losing her all over again is incapacitating.

“There was someone else. We were friends and then dated.”

Her words are a punch in the stomach. “Like us.”

Her mouth opens again, and her brows scrunch like she’s in pain. “No, nothing like us. Jax, I left him to come here. I didn’t even tell him where I was going.” She swallows, and I try my best to stay quiet so I can hear her out. “After my dad died, I realized how much of myself I’d lost. I didn’t want to settle. I didn’t want to feel numb anymore. So I came back. And it’s the only thing that’s felt right in years.”

I need to be careful around Aurora. I realized this when I saw her standing in the café, looking more beautiful than ever. I could fall again so easily, and it would take nothing to get there. She’s everything I remember and more. There’s a sophistication about her now that’s hidden well behind her mountain roots. She reminds me of her dad in that way. The good parts of him.

“Do you think you made the right choice coming back here?”

She nods without any hesitation, filling me with relief. My head closes the gap between us to rest against hers.

How does she do this to me? After seven years, she’s still my everything. Despite the pain, the loss, and the agony of being apart, my love for her has only grown.

And for reasons only I know, that makes everything harder.