God, we were kids. Just kids playing at forever, not knowing how fast forever can burn.
I move toward what used to be the living room. I can almost see the Christmas tree we decorated the year before my mom died. I can almost feel the warmth from the fireplace.
I crouch, brushing snow away from the stone. My fingers tremble.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the cold. “I’m so, so sorry.”
A sound crunches behind me—snow shifting under heavy boots.
I stand too quickly, breath catching.
Axel.
He stops a few feet away, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. His jacket is dusted with snow, the wind tugging at his dark hair, making him look more like the boy I knew and the man I’m still not ready to face.
But I feel him.
God, I feel him.
Warmth radiates off him in waves, hitting me even from this distance. He looks massive against the backdrop of the forest—tall, broad, built like a wall you can either hide behind or crash into.
He’s staring at me like he’s been punched.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he says quietly.
His voice is rough, deeper than I remember. It scrapes along my nerves and leaves a shiver racing down my spine.
I steel my expression. “I didn’t think anyone else would be.”
His jaw works, a muscle ticking on the side. “I saw your truck. And I knew where you’d go.”
Of course he did.
He always could read me, even when I didn’t want him to.
A gust of wind blows between us, lifting my hair into my face. Axel’s eyes track the movement, lingering longer than necessary.
He takes a slow step forward. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to ruin my breathing.
For a moment we just stand there, the only sound the crunch of frost, the distant rush of the Phantom River, and the frantic thrum of my heart in my ears.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t expect this.”
He frowns. “Coming back?”
“That,” I say, gesturing around us. “And how… intact it feels. Like time didn’t move on as much as I thought.”
He looks over the remains of my house, hands in fists at his sides. “Time moved.” His voice thickens. “Too damn fast.”
Something fragile tightens in my chest.
I look away, toward the river cutting through the snowy trees behind what used to be the backyard. “I needed to see it. To face it.”
He nods once. “I get that.”
Silence stretches between us again. Thick. Charged. Almost painful.
My eyes drift to the property line—and freeze.
