I slammed my foot on the brakes. My attention jerked forward just in time to see a massive bull moose sauntering across the road ahead of us. We both watched in silence as the animal took its time—one slow step after another—before it paused at the edge of the trees to nibble on some alder.
“Take your time,” I muttered under my breath.
“Rude,” Kincaid teased, his chuckle rumbling across my nerves, which were already strung tight.
“I always wonder if it’s impolite to honk at moose,” I said.
“Probably not,” he offered dryly.
I gave the horn a gentle tap. The moose lifted its head, his antlers swinging toward us with majestic disinterest. He eyed us for a long moment and then—without any actual movement that resembled a shrug—definitely seemed to shrug before disappearing into the trees.
I eased the car forward again. When we got back to my house, Bella immediately curled up in her bed and fell asleep after a bathroom break in the yard.
I suddenly felt unaccountably nervous. Kincaid and I weren’t brand new to each other anymore, but we were still new in our connection. He’d been gone for almost a month.
Everything felt fresh again. Like the next step might be one we couldn’t take back.
I stood there uncertainly, looking over at him. He caught my hand and reeled me close, palming a cheek as he looked down into my eyes. “I missed you,” he whispered, just before he claimed my mouth with a kiss.
It started slow, and then we were tumbling into the fire that was so intoxicating. Our clothes came off in a messy rush, and he bent me over the kitchen counter, his palms sliding down over my bottom as he murmured, “I missed you, sweetheart.”
When I heard the familiar sound of him rolling a condom on, it was all I could do not to tell him there was no point. But I kept that thought silent, and let out a soft sigh of relief as he filled me in a slow surge. My release was already threatening, like lightning cracking across the sky before a storm. With each time he filled me, I heard myself panting his name before he reached around and teased me exactly where I needed it.
On the heels of that, I was crying out and shuddering, savoring the sharp pleasure and the sound of him saying my name in a ragged voice as he jerked against me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kincaid
We stumbled into the shower together. After we changed into comfortable clothes, we relaxed on the couch. Tori ordered pizza for delivery and made us both mugs of hot cocoa. I called my mom to check in and told her I’d be home tomorrow.
I could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Well, I’m glad you’re with Tori.”
I just shook my head, biting back the urge to tell her to ease up on her hopes for my relationship. “See you tomorrow, Mom.”
That night, falling asleep with Tori curled soft and warm against me was heaven. During our time out in the wilderness, some of the guys talked about how being gone made you really feel the absence of the people who mattered. I understood that now on a bone-deep level.
My fingers sifted slowly through her hair, and I savored the soft gust of her steady breath against my skin, where her head rested on my shoulder.
Into the darkness, I mouthed the words, I love you.
Over the following days, I spent every night with Tori. That wasn’t our usual rhythm. Before, it had been every third night, sometimes less. It had felt unspoken, like a quiet agreement. But this time, we didn’t talk about it. I just stayed with her. Night after night after night.
Maybe it wasn’t a decision. Maybe we both just needed more. As good as it felt—and it did feel good—I sensed a subtle barrier between us. Not big, or dramatic. Just a tiny divide neither of us was quite ready to cross. I told myself it was because we were both feeling a lot. Maybe too much.
I also talked to my father again. A video call, this time. He looked tired, and frankly, sick. He looked surprisingly like me, only older, with grayer hair and a hollow look around his eyes. He looked like the kind of tired that seeps into the bones.
Even though I was braced for disappointment, for blame, for him to say something that would crack the fragile bridge we were building, he didn’t. He owned his responsibility for what he hadn’t been to me. Paradoxically, that made me a little angry.
Because if he was adult enough now to own what he’d done, to say it was his fault, then he’d been adult enough to do that years ago. Yet, he hadn’t.
“You can’t change the past,” my mom kept reminding me.
Every time I spoke with him, she was more at peace. She seemed steady in a way that only time and distance, and lived experience could offer. Maybe it was age, or maybe it was just wisdom.
On maybe more than a whim, I decided to go visit him for a weekend. I didn’t want to be away from Tori, but something in me was telling me I needed to go. I knew the time for me to actually meet him face to face had an end date. Maybe that date wasn’t certain, but it was close.
When I told Tori about visiting him, she angled her head to the side and nodded slowly. “You need to, Kincaid. Not because I think you should,” she said, her voice quiet. “But because that’s how it feels for you. You’re not going to have forever.”
