My gaze stayed fixed on the woods, dark and endless beyond the yard. A shot rang out. A crack in the sky that made a shiver work down my spine.
He always came back from there quieter than when he left, like the trees stole pieces of him.
And yet, he kept going.
I pressed my palm against the window and whispered under my breath, “Come home to me, my love.”
The words fogged against the glass, fragile and fleeting, and then vanished as quickly as I’d spoken them.
The hours passed, and I started to worry. The early morning bled into afternoon and afternoon bled into night. My mother and father were away on some business bullshit, and I was angry that I craved attention badly enough to miss either of them. The shot in the woods echoed in my head, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the shot I heard was for an animal…or him.
I heard him before I saw him.
The crunch of boots on the snowy path outside was slow and heavy. The door creaked open. Then the low groan of the floorboards beneath his weight, and finally the rustle of his coat, hat, and gloves.
I didn’t move from the window. I couldn’t. My body stiffened like prey bracing for the predator’s shadow.
The door to the kitchen swung open, and there he was.
And my blood ran cold.
Shiloh filled the room like a storm, broad shoulders hunched, hair damp with sweat, and dirt streaking his jaw. The rifle strap dug into his shoulder, and he was covered in blood, like some sickening movie.
It looked fake, like the hunt. Like the pig’s blood we poured on the actors. He didn’t carry any deer or other game with him. His shirt clung to him, darkened in the thick sticky red. He was literally dripping blood onto the ground.
He didn’t look at me right away, just unlatched the gun, setting it against the wall, and stood there with his hands braced on the counter. He was breathing too hard. Like he’d run the whole way back, or maybe like he’d seen something out there that chased him home.
My throat went dry. My questions bounced in my mind, but the pain was louder.
“You’ve been gone all day.” My voice cracked more than I wanted.
He didn’t answer. Just stayed bent over the counter, his head hanging, blond hair dripping, and his back rising and falling.
“Shiloh.”
Finally, he lifted his head, and I wished he hadn’t.
His eyes looked…wrong. Wild and hollow at the same time, like the woods had swallowed him whole and spit out something I barely even recognized. There were no soft edges, no trace of warmth in his stare—just cold, haunted shadows of the man I loved.
“What happened, Baby?”
“Nothing.” The word was sharp and clipped.
I bit my lip, prepared to back down again and give him space, but something snapped in me.
“No. Don’t lie to me.”
That made him look at me. Really look for the first time since he got home without my brother. For a second, I thought he might break down and spill whatever truth was clawing at his insides. But his jaw clenched tighter, and he shook his head, shutting me out.
“Some things are better left buried, Alexandra. Drop it. You don’t want to know,” he muttered.
“Yes, I do,” I shot back, louder than I meant to. My hands trembled where I gripped the back of the chair, but I didn’t care. “You think I can’t see it? The way you come back from the woodslike you’ve left pieces of yourself behind in there? The way you won’t let me in despite every desperate attempt I make.”
His silence was worse than his anger.
I wanted him to yell, to slam his fists, to do anything that proved there was still fire in him. That showed an emotion…but no. Instead, he just stared at me, the kind of stare that felt like it burned straight through me and went beyond my soul.
He was unreachable.
