“Because…Sierra. I was raised in violence and anger and hurt, and all I knew was to punch back. And the military let me do that. But I was terrified of that version of myself, that…anger. I needed to get it out of my system, maybe, and then walk away from it until I could get it under control.”
She stared at him. “You were never that way…not with me.”
Oh. “No. But…there are sides to me that you don’t know. And yes, the military taught me how to stay in control, to think past my emotions. But sometimes…” He let out a shaky breath.
“You listen to me, Rowan Wallace. You’re nothing like Alden Jenkins. But you are everything like Sean Wallace. Gentle and kind and brave—” She put her hand to his chest. “I know your heart.” Sierra reached for his hand again, her fingers warm against his skin. “I’ve always known your heart.”
The touch undid something in his chest.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“Yeah, you do.”
The space between them disappeared. He cupped her face in his hands, memorizing the feel of her skin, the way her eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in.
And then he kissed her. Oh, he kissed her. Ten years of waiting, of missing her, of remembering how she felt in his arms. She tasted like tears and hope and everything he’d dreamed about during starless nights.
Sierra.
Her hands fisted in his T-shirt, pulling him closer, and he put his arms around her, pulling her to himself, and deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection between them.
She was warmth and home and forgiveness he didn’t deserve, but oh, how he wanted. His hands tangled in her hair, and she made a soft sound against his mouth that sent heat through his veins.
He just might lose himself again, and nearly pushed her back into the sofa cushions, when he broke away, breathing hard, meeting her eyes.
“There you are,” she said softly. But her eyes were dark with desire.
“I feel like Gramps is going to walk in any second,” Rowan said, his voice rough.
Sierra laughed, the sound bright and real in the quiet room. “He’s certainly watching.”
“That’s comforting. Sheesh.”
She laughed. “He loved you, Rowan.”
A beat, and then…oh. “He knew. About Huck. He knew.”
“Of course he did.”
He blew out a breath and sat up, put his face in his hands. “He must have hated me.”
Her hand was warm on his shoulder. “No. He saw you in Huck. Knew how much I loved you. He was a man of justice, but he knew mercy too. His faith was…” Sierra paused, as if searching for words. “It was his foundation. When my parents died, when I thought my world was ending, his faith kept me together. He prayed every night at dinner, and you were always part of those prayers.”
Rowan went still. “What?”
“Every single night. He prayed for your safety, for your peace, for your heart to find its way home.” Sierra’s voice was soft with memory. “And he grieved for you when you died. He loved you like you were his own grandson.”
The words hit Rowan dead center, a sternum hit that shuddered through him. For ten years, while he’d been convinced he was alone in the world, a good man had been lifting his name to heaven every night.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice thick.
“What?”
“How a man like him could see something worth saving in someone like me.”
“Because love sees potential, not just present circumstances.” Sierra traced patterns on his chest with her finger. “Gramps always said that God’s specialty was taking broken things and making them beautiful. We just have to let Him.”
God is good to those who are pure in heart. The verse echoed in his mind, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like condemnation. Maybe purity wasn’t about perfection. Maybe it was about being willing to let the broken places heal.
