She practically sprinted from the kitchen, felt his gaze burning into her back as she took the stairs two at a time. Her hands shook as she quietly opened Huck’s door to find him already burrowed under his covers.
Huck’s bedroom was every ten-year-old boy’s dream—navy blue walls lined with string lights that cast a warm glow across framed rodeo stars. His ancient bed—the same one she’d slept in as a child—was covered in a denim comforter.
“Mom?” Huck’s voice was drowsy as she pulled his covers up. “Mr. R’s really smart about security stuff.”
“He is.”
“’Cause he was a soldier, like Dad was.”
She couldn’t breathe. So much lying, and her world was sand between her fingers. “Yes.”
“I’m glad he’s here.” Huck’s eyes drifted closed. “It feels…safer. I like him.”
And how was she supposed to hold it together now? Sierra kissed his forehead, her throat tight with unshed tears. “Sweet dreams, baby.”
For a second she stood at the top of the stairs, painfully aware that Rowan stood at the bottom.
And then, like a coward, she fled to her own room.
Tomorrow. She’d figure it out tomorrow, in the light of day.
After Huck had gone to school. And after coffee.
Maybe after a night of rehearsing the conversation, again, in her head.
Her bedroom was a sanctuary with its white shiplap walls and exposed wooden beams that her grandfather had restored himself. The antique iron bed frame held layers of soft white linens and a faded green quilt that had belonged to her grandmother. Simple botanical prints in weathered frames hung on the walls, and a small reading chair sat beside the window with its cream curtains drawn back to let in moonlight.
Maybe she could lock herself in, never leave.
She went through the motions of her nightly routine. Brushing her teeth, washing her face, changing into soft pajama pants and an old T-shirt. All the while, her mind churned.
Do you have something to tell me?
No, no—yes! Oh…
What would Rowan do when he found out? Would he hate her for keeping Huck from him? Would he try to take her son away? Would he disappear again, unable to handle the responsibility?
Or worse—would he stay out of duty but resent them both for “trapping” him?
Sierra pulled back her covers and slipped into bed, but sleep laughed at her. She stared at the exposed beams overhead, moonlight painting silver rectangles across the hardwood floor through her bedroom windows. The house creaked around her, settling into night sounds, but her mind refused to quiet.
Ten years of secrets. Ten years of lying by omission. Ten years of watching Huck grow up without his father because she’d been too proud and too scared to tell Rowan the truth.
But I was protecting him, she told her ceiling fan. He had dreams. He wanted to serve his country, see the world, be something bigger than the life he was living. A baby would have ruined everything.
Yeah, the words just felt hollow tonight. Especially after watching Rowan with Huck. They were two peas.
Maybe she’d been protecting herself more than anyone else.
Exhaustion finally claimed her somewhere around midnight, dragging her into restless dreams.
She was eighteen again, standing at her kitchen sink, when she heard the truck pull up outside…
Through the window, she watched Rowan climb out, moving stiffly, his shirt torn and bloody. Even in the twilight, she could see the bruises on his face.
Her heart lurched, then, guessing. She flew to the door, yanking it open before he could knock.
“Rowan! What happened?”
