"What if itdoeswork?" Shane countered. "What if we're happy? What if Kevin gets to grow up with two parents who love him instead of just one? What if we figure it out together instead of you carrying everything alone?"
"But what if you realize Kevin's too much?" April's voice cracked. "What if the reality of a kid who asks a million questions and gets in trouble at school and?—"
"April." Shane shifted to face her fully, his hands coming up to frame her face. "Kevin's not too much. That kid is brilliant and brave and kind, and if you think for one second I don't see that, you haven't been paying attention." His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. "I love him. I love him like a son already. That's not going to change."
"Your family?—"
"Doesn't get a vote anymore." Shane's voice was firm. "I told my mother—I won't introduce her to any future grandchildren unless she changes how she treats you. My father?" His jaw tightened. "He doesn't exist to me. Not anymore. Not after what he did to you. To us."
April felt tears prick her eyes. "What if I'm not enough? What if?—"
"Stop." Shane's voice was soft but commanding. "April Taylor, you are more than enough. You've always been more than enough. The only question is whether you're brave enough to believe it."
His mouth found hers then—soft and questioning at first, then deeper when she opened for him. April's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, trying to pour years of longing into one kiss.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Shane rested his forehead against hers.
"So?" he whispered. "What's your answer?"
"Yes." The word came out choked. "Yes, I want this. I want you. I'm terrified but I—yes."
Shane's smile could have lit the whole Front Range. He kissed her again, harder this time. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. April shifted, starting to climb into his lap, butshe felt all the fear and guilt she'd been holding onto for so long, surface. That old instinct to stay in control, to protect herself, to not give too much, threatened to overwhelm her, to come between them.
Shane felt it—of course he did. He pulled back, studying her face in the firelight.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." But even as she said it, April knew it was a lie.
"April." Shane's hands gentled on her hips. "Talk to me."
She tried to smile, to deflect. "I'm fine. I just?—"
"You're holding back." It wasn't an accusation, just an observation. "Why?"
"I'm not—" April stopped, swallowed hard. Because he was right. Even now, even after saying yes, part of her was still braced for impact. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Shane was watching her with those eyes that saw too much, his expression patient and concerned and so damn tender it made her want to cry.
"I don't know how to do this," she finally admitted. "I don't know how to just... let go."
"Why not?"
"Because—" April's voice cracked. "Because bad things happen when I let my guard down. Because I make mistakes and people I love get hurt and?—"
"And you've been trying to make up for it ever since," Shane finished quietly. "Haven't you?"
April looked away, but Shane's fingers gently turned her face back to his.
"April, you don't have to keep punishing yourself for leaving home. For what happened in Vegas. For any of it."
"You don't understand?—"
"Then help me understand." Shane's thumb stroked her jaw. "Because from where I'm sitting, all I see is a woman who's beencarrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for so long she doesn't know how to put it down."
April's breath hitched. God, he saw right through her. Right down to the core of everything she'd been trying to ignore.
"I hurt them," she whispered. "My parents, Hannah, everyone. When I left, when I disappeared for all those years—I hurt them. And I'm still trying to make up for it."
