I closed the last bit of distance, slid my arm around his waist, careful of the baby. My other hand came up to cup the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair. “I know we can,” I said.
He let himself fall against my chest, face buried in my shirt. I felt his shoulders shudder, then go still.
After a minute, he pulled back, wiped his face, and laughed again. “Sorry,” he said, “hormones are like—”
I kissed him before he could finish. Slow and deliberate, not asking, just answering.
When we parted, he was smiling. Not the fragile, maybe-this-is-a-mistake smile, but something bigger, something that made my own bones feel light.
“Let’s build it here,” I said. “On this rise. We’ll put the house facing the river. Make a fence for the goats. I’ll build the porch myself.”
He nodded, and for a second I thought he might start crying again, but he just took a deep breath and let it out slow and then said, “I’d like that.”
We stood there a while longer, watching the water move. When the wind got too sharp, I guided him back to the truck, hand never leaving his side.
Before we climbed in, he turned to me, serious. “You sure?” he asked. “About all of it?”
I kissed him again, just to make the point. “Never been more sure of anything,” I said.
He smiled, wide and easy, and for the first time since the world went sideways, I knew we were going to be okay.
The world had just started to settle under my boots again when Carter’s phone chirped, that synthetic triple tone he refused to change because it “reminded him to not care.” He didn’t reach for it right away. The first buzz, he ignored. The second, he grunted, dug the thing out of his hoodie, and thumbed the screen with the grim focus of a man opening a ransom note.
I saw the color drain from his face before I saw the message. The top of the screen read:“Barrett S.”The text was three words:“Lunch. Diner. One o’clock.”
Carter showed it to me, his jaw set, eyes hard as flint.
“Your brother?” I asked, just to be sure.
He nodded, then flicked the phone shut with more force than necessary. For a long moment, he looked out at the river again, back straight, hands braced on the small of his back like he was afraid his body might betray him.
“You don’t have to go,” I said. “Not if you’re not ready.”
He shook his head, chin high. “If I don’t, he’ll just come here. Or worse, he’ll send Dad.”
He was right. But I hated that he was right.
Carter must’ve seen the shift in my posture, because he sidestepped closer, shoulder pressed against mine, the way people in crowds sometimes touch so they know they’re not alone. He took a breath, and it steamed in the cold.
“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s just lunch. Not an ambush.”
I grunted. “You ever hear of a peaceful lunch with a Steele?”
He snorted, but there was no real humor in it. “No, but I’ve never gone into one with an alpha at my side, either.”
Something in my chest responded to that. Maybe not pride, exactly—more a sense of gravity, like the planet had finally spun into the right axis. I watched the tension in his neck, the way his hands were suddenly too still.
He turned, and for the first time all morning, looked scared. Not for the land, or the house, or even the baby—for me, maybe, or for himself, or for the version of Carter Maxwell Steele that had never stood up to anything in his life.
“Do you want to leave now?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. But—” He faltered, glanced at the cab of the truck. “Not yet.”
I followed his gaze, understanding dawning with a force that bordered on hunger. The space between us crackled. I took his hand, palm rough, and pulled him into me.
He didn’t resist. Just melted into my chest, his lips finding mine before I could even get a full breath in. The kiss was rough, messy, too much teeth and not enough air, but it was perfect. Ipressed him back against the side of the truck, body caging his, one hand locked on his hip, the other cradling the back of his neck.
Carter moaned, deep in his throat, the sound going straight to my gut. I wanted to map every inch of him, but I was too starved for it, too desperate to let go of even a fraction.
