The sun has already set before I turn down Court Way toward home.

I’m utterly exhausted. Even my bones are tired.

After I left the cemetery, I needed to pick up Momma’s medication for the month, stop by the post office for a week’s worth of mail, and buy a few groceries for Momma and myself.

It’s now past eight in the evening and I contemplate calling Shaw, desperately wanting to hear his voice, but I know he’ll insist on seeing me in person and I need one more day to process my jumbled thoughts. After only a few hours of restless sleep last night, I’m looking forward to a bath, a glass of wine, and my bed.

That plan goes out the window, though, when I see a car halfway down the street idling at the curb right outside my house.

I slow and contemplate my options. He’s facing this direction. If I turn around and speed away, he’ll likely give chase. Just as well, I decide.

It’s time.

In truth, it’s time to face everything head-on.

I’m ready to live, even if it hurts.

Our eyes meet as I take a left and creep to a stop in my driveway, making sure to stay to the left so Sierra has a place to park when she gets off work. I swoop up the bundle of mail held together with a thick rubber band and throw my purse over my shoulder. When I push the door open he’s already outside, waiting, a mixture of determination and awkwardness radiating from him.

“Grab the groceries from the back,” I tell him, heading toward the house. I unlock the side door. He follows behind five seconds later. I throw everything down on the kitchen table. Snagging a glass from the cupboard, I fill it with lukewarm water and down the entire contents before refilling it. I keep my back to him a few more ticks before spinning around.

He’s not even a foot away…on the edge of my comfort zone.

He knows it.

“What do you want, Reid?”

I set my left hand on top of my right bicep, pulling the glass across my chest, using it as a barrier. His eyes drop to my movement then back to my face. He presses his lips together and swallows as he shoves his hands in his front pockets, dragging his faded jeans low on his hips.

“I wanted to see if you were okay.” His mouth twists up but his eyes never avert from mine.

He’s nervous. The vengeful part of me is glad.

I reach around and set the cup on the counter behind me, skirting around him. “Well, you’ve seen.”

That doesn’t mean I’m not still peeved with him, though, and I don’t plan on making this a cakewalk. I have a lot of questions he’s going to answer, first being how he found out about my father, second, why he was using it as a bargaining chip instead of telling me like he should have. No matter his motive, it was wrong.

Shaw was equally wrong by not telling me, but now I understand it was out of love and concern. His intense devotion to his family is one of his most attractive and endearing qualities, and as I’ve worked through a gamut of emotions the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize he deserves to be forgiven. He said he was being selfish, only I think it was the complete opposite.

If he still wants a future with me, I want to see where this could go.

For most of my life, I’ve wondered if it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. After I lost my father, I was firmly in the never to have loved at all camp, but after meeting Shaw, I see the flaw in that logic.

I pick up the mail and tear off the binding, cursing when the rubber band breaks and snaps my fingers, stinging. I begin sorting the junk from the bills, anxious when the bills pile grows higher than the junk one. My attention zeros in on my monthly bank statement. I’m afraid to open it. I toss it to the side, pulling a Scarlett O’Hara.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

Reid comes up close enough behind me that I feel his body heat. I almost forgot he was here. “You don’t seem okay.”

I whirl on him, snapping. “Really? What would make you think that, Reid? The black circles under my eyes your first clue?”

He takes a step back. “Willow…”

“Don’t Willow me. You’re going to tell me everything you know, and then you’re going to leave and never come back.”

He looks crestfallen. There’s no other description for it. His eyes droop, his mouth falls, his shoulders slump. I want to feel sorry for him but I don’t because now I have confirmation he was hoping to slip into Shaw’s vacant slot. Only it’s not vacant. It never was.

“There is no good reason you kept this from me, Reid. Not one.” I lean my butt against the table behind me.

“And he has one?” he sneers as he crosses his arms and spreads his stance. Such a male thing to do. It must be ingrained in every stupid chromosome.

“We aren’t talking about Shaw. We’re talking about you.”

And yes, he has one, I don’t add.

After a five-second stare-off, he huffs and shoves his hands through his hair. He turns from me and paces to the counter where I left my glass. He faces me once more, gripping the edges with both hands, his elbows bending backward. It’s as if he’s holding himself away from me. Maybe he is.

“Several months ago, there was a threat against Preston that would expose all of this to the media. That’s why I was brought in to begin with.”

“What?” My knees suddenly feel like overcooked noodles and I grab for a chair, lowering myself. I think back to our conversation a few weeks ago about the governor of Minnesota’s mistress and how Reid dug up information he used to bury her before the story came to light.

“Preston knew about this?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I mean, at first it was a vague demand, but enough to be concerning given Annabelle’s history. The campaign manager Preston originally hired was young and inexperienced. It was his first big campaign and he had the foresight to know he was in too deep, but he’d heard of me and my…skills.”

He goes silent to see if I’ll say anything. I don’t.

“I’d heard good things about Preston Mercer, so I took the job.”

Question after question whirls through my mind, all of them at lightning speed. “What was the threat?”

“Extortion, obviously.”

He lowers his gaze to the floor for a second, before looking at me underneath long lashes I used to stare at as he slept. “I admit you crossed my mind when I accepted. I thought…well, you know what I thought.”

I push my lips together, sad for him.

“Anyway, it wasn’t until I got here and dug into the threat further that CJ’s name popped up and then I knew I was called here for a reason, Willow.”

I’m stunned. Processing all this is a bit of a challenge.

“Who made the threat? Was it…” I gulp. Could it be? “Paul Graber?”

“That’s confiden—”

“Oh, can the fucking excuses, Reid. We’re way past that.”

The corners of his mouth edge up slightly as if he’s amused with me. “No, it wasn’t Graber. It was Annabelle’s slimeball ex, Eddie Lettie.”

My heart falls. Her ex. Is this the same guy who tried to violate her? Who may have succeeded?

I have a hard time swallowing against the angst building in my chest.

“I don’t understand any of this. How did he know what happened that night? Was he there?”

Reid comes back over and takes a seat beside me, the legs of the chair scraping the floor. Leaning toward me, he plants his elbows on his knees and spreads his thighs wide. His clasped hands fall between them. “No. Got half a story one night from one of her druggie friends who was there and thought he had an opportunity to capitalize. Stupid fuck thought Preston would just roll over and pay to shut him up.”

I breathe again, not realizing I was starting to get dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“When did you find all this out?” I ask, my voice rough, my heart heavy.

He waits a few beats before answering. “In an ironic twist, the day I saw you again at Preston’s house.”

I don’t know why it hurts that yet another person was in on this secret. “So Preston knew all along.”

I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until Reid chimes in, “No, he didn’t.”

That catches me off guard. “But—”

“I never mentioned you or CJ. He never knew. Just told him the threat had been neutralized. It’s better for the candidate if they don’t have details anyway.”

“So they can play dumb?”

He smiles softly. “Something like that.”

“Is he still a threat?” I’m sick that this guy is walking around, waiting for his next chance to make trouble for Annabelle or the Mercers.

“Let’s just say karma is a bitch.” He picks up the broken rubber band and starts twisting it around his index finger. “Drug trafficking charges tend to keep a man in orange for a good long time.”

“Drug trafficking?” I remember our conversation about him burying threats to his candidate. “Did you…”

“I wish I could take the credit, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

I crack a small smile, relieved that a dangerous criminal is behind bars regardless of how it happened. We look at each other quietly for a long time as I let everything he told me sink in. His gaze is sad and tender. Mine probably is, too.

“Why didn’t you tell me this when you found out?”

He shifts away from me, leaning against the back of the chair. He hooks one elbow on the corner of the table, letting his hand dangle over the edge. “You know why.” One edge of his mouth pulls up. “I’m not saying it was the right decision, Willow. But I was…”

“Jealous,” I offer after he fades off.

“Yes. Incredibly fucking jealous. He had you and I didn’t. I’ve always wanted you, Willow. Even when you broke my fucking heart, I still wanted you.”

I know and I’m sorry.

“And you thought what? That Shaw would drop me like a bad habit if you threatened to expose all this to me?”

His eyes shift away apologetically. Yeah, that’s exactly what he thought.

“Do you know Annabelle was almost raped the night of my father’s accident? Probably by that guy? I don’t know, maybe she even was.”

The color drains from his cheeks. I keep going, the anger building.

“Did you know she doesn’t remember anything about trying to jump or about the accident or that my father was even there? That this is news she learned at the same time I did? Can you imagine how that felt for her?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “No. I didn’t know any of that.”

And right here is the problem.

“Of course you didn’t because you defused a threat without understanding the threat in its entirety and you used half a story as a bargaining chip against the man I love. You saw what I went through, Reid. You listened to me cry myself to sleep for months. You knew I felt responsible for my father’s death. What you did was far worse than Shaw trying to figure out how he’s going to help his sister deal with this without either turning back to drugs or trying to commit suicide again. Why would you do that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it all the way through. All I could think about was you.”

Before I can reply he’s on his knees at my feet. His palms warm my cheeks. His fingers feel strong wrapped around the back of my neck. It’s the same possessive hold Shaw has, only when Shaw does it I mold like warm clay. It’s as if his hands could single-handedly shape me, smoothing out every one of my rugged, honed edges.

“What I did was wrong but my only excuse is I am blinded by desperation to win you back. I love you, Willow. I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for a second, a minute, an hour, or a day.”

“I…” This is brutal. “I know.”

His eyes drop to my lips and before I know it he’s tugging me toward him and placing his mouth gently to mine. His lips are warm. They taste familiar. The kiss is chaste and brief. Wrong and final.

“You’re going back to him.”

Even though I’m angry with him, his pain hurts me. I keep my eyes closed, whispering, “There was never a question.” And I realize as I say it that it’s true. Buried under the agonizing pain, I knew I couldn’t live without him. “He’s more than me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

His cheek presses to mine, lips resting against my ear. “You don’t need to.” His voice is grieved, dejected. He angles back out of my space and waits until I open my eyes. When I do, emotion closes my throat. The first tear pushes its way over his lid when he hoarsely whispers, “It’s the same way I feel about you.”

Words are weapons even when you don’t mean them to be. Sometimes they wound, and sometimes they kill.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you then. I’m sorry I’m hurting you now.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve finally let somebody see your soul. Don’t apologize for that.”

All I can do is nod, biting my lip hard to keep from losing it completely.

He flexes to stand. Pausing, he gazes thoughtfully down the plane of his body at me. He reaches out and lightly strokes a thumb along the edge of my jaw. His hand falls away, taking our past with him.

“If you ever need anything I’m a phone call away, okay?”

“Are you leaving Seattle?”

“I think it’s best I do.” He starts toward the door without a good-bye. I let him get as far as turning the knob before I run and throw myself around him and hold fast. His breaths are heavy, his desperate grip on me overflowing with love and finality.

“You’re different with him than you ever were with me. Not gonna lie, I really thought with his sleazy past and inability to commit I would win you back, but the second I saw you look at him in a way you never did me, I knew it was over. I just had a hard time accepting it.” He runs a hand down my hair. “Be happy, Willow.”

I nod against his chest. “Thank you.”

Kissing the crown of my head, he releases me and leaves. He walks to his car with sure strides. He slides inside; the whoosh of the door closing reaches me almost instantly.

As I watch him disappear from view and from my life, a part of me is incredibly sad. But I’m also incredibly proud. I’ve exposed myself more in the past two days than I ever have in my life. Instead of avoiding, I’m conquering. It feels good. Empowering. Liberating.

I opt for a shower instead of a bath. I eat a light snack of cheese and crackers before dropping into bed around nine thirty. I turn out the light, sans the wine, right as the chime on my cell goes off.

I don’t bother to look because I know who it is and I know what it says and the repose it brings me is indescribable.

You’re worth fighting for.

More than the words themselves, the steadfastness behind them smashes through my walls. It took months of repetition but his gritty, patient hard work has paid off.

I finally believe.

I believe in him.

In love purely for love’s sake.

I finally believe in living again.

I believe I am worth fighting for.

But so is he.

And tomorrow, if he’ll have me, I’m going to grab his hand and never let go again.