I need to tell him. I really do. It’s been going on forwaytoo long now.
Charlie is yours.
You know that one-night stand we had years ago…
I left town pregnant.
Ugh, it’s too much. But I have to get the words out somehow.
My stomach tightens just thinking about it. The guilt, the secret, the fear that if I tell him, it’ll change everything… everything between us, and everything for Charlie.
It’s a weight that presses on my chest, but it’s also one I can’t keep carrying. Not anymore.
I set the sketchbook aside and rise to my feet, my legs unsteady.
But as I open my mouth to speak, to finally get the words out, Clint does something I’m not ready for. And it makes me freeze.
He steps forward, closing the space between us, and his lips are on mine.
I don’t even know how it happened. One second, I’m standing there, my heart pounding, trying to find the right words, and the next, Clint’s kissing me.
His lips are warm, firm, and so familiar, like coming home after years away. It’s as if my body recognizes him in ways I didn’t even know it could.
Everything else disappears. My thoughts stop spinning. The world quiets down, and all I can focus on is the heat of him, the way he pulls me closer, one hand resting gently on the small of my back.
His kiss isn’t rushed or forceful. It’s tantalizingly slow, the kind of kiss that makes everything feel… right.
It feels good. Really good. Better than I expected. Better than I ever let myself believe it would.
My hands find their way to his chest, and I can feel the calming beat of his heart through the fabric of his shirt. It’s strong, reassuring.
My brain is screaming at me to pull back, to stop this, to remember why I was supposed to be telling him the truth. But the way Clint kisses me, the way he holds me… it drowns out every protest.
I forget about everything. I forget about the house, the past, the secret I’ve been hiding for so long. I forget about the future, about whether or not I’ll stay. All that matters right now is that it’s him.
It’s always been him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Reid
Thanksgivingat the Walker house is a circus on a good day, and today? Well, it’s a full-on, three-ring operation.
There’s the noise. Laughter, constant chatter, the clink of silverware against plates.
Mom’s in the kitchen, whipping up the usual spread with the kind of efficiency that makes me wonder if she’s secretly some kind of kitchen wizard. Sophie’s making sure everyone has a drink, checking in every five minutes as if she’s the social director.
Then there’s Dad. He’s probably already started three new stories and is halfway through his second round of telling them.
And me? I’m here, just… existing.
I’m not sure how I ended up being the loud one at the ranch, with Sawyer and Clint, because here, among the people I grew up with, I’m quiet. Always the one with nothing to say.
Mom’s standing at the stove, her back turned to me, but I know she’s watching me through the reflection in the window. “Reid, Sophie’s talking to you. Are you ever going to answer her?”
I blink, looking up from my phone. “Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” she says with a smirk, flipping a turkey leg in the pan. “You’ve been sitting here like a statue for the last half hour. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
