CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SARAH
Life’s full of beginnings and endings, isn’t it?
My mom, Sabrina, had a story just like that, a beginning that came at the cost of an ending. She had complications during childbirth, but she fought like hell to bring me into this world.
Stubborn, right? I definitely inherited that from her.
Dad’s only memory of all of us together was a moment he described to me a million times. He said he put me in her arms, and I locked eyes with her like we already knew each other. Michael, just two years old, was standing next to the bed, clutching the edge—too little to know he was losing her.
Before she let go, she touched my cheek and whispered, “My beautiful butterfly, be strong. You’re going to change the world.”
And then she was gone.
I never knew what she meant, but sometimes I wonder if she saw something in me I haven’t seen yet.
Lately, it feels like everything reminds me of her, probably because of all the stories Dad told me. Even the rain that came right after summer ended, canceling our trip to the town, makes me think of her.
We’ve been stuck in this house for seven days straight while the sky just keeps sobbing. Hard to believe it’s already been three months since we made the lake house ours. I never said it out loud, but I kept thinking something bad was bound to happen.
Today, I pick out this yellow summer dress with tiny white daisies all over it.
It’s one of those dresses you wear when it’s still warm enough to show a little skin.
The neckline dips in, hugging my curves and making my boobs look amazing without even trying.
The skirt is light and airy, the kind that makes you want to twirl.
I love it. It’s cute, simple, and totally me.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m being watched. Not in a scary way, but the kind that makes my heart skip.
Then there’s a soft creak behind me, and before I can even turn, his arms slide around my waist, pulling me in. His body presses against my back, firm and warm, and I feel his lips on my bare shoulder, sending little sparks across my skin.
“What are you cooking?” James’s deep voice rumbles in my ear.
“Apple pie.”
He rests his jaw on my shoulder and hums in approval. “Mmm… my favorite.”
“Lorelai is teaching me,” I add, though it’s hard to focus when his fingers start moving over my stomach in slow, lazy circles.
“I. Can’t. Wait. To. Eat.”
He punctuates each word, savoring them. I can’t tell if he’s talking about the pie or… me. Probably both. Either way, his words send a delicious shiver down my spine, making my pulse quicken and my thoughts scatter.
“You know, this house isn’t exactly the dream home you picture for us,” I say, leaning closer to him. “No bookshelves in every room, no wraparound porch… but it does have a soft carpet in front of the fireplace.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
“Yep. And I was thinking, maybe I can keep you company on your shift tonight and, um… test that out.”
His brow lifts, amused. “I’m supposed to be watching the property. You know, outside.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Technicalities.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
He turns me to face him, a dangerous grin playing on his lips.
“So, you gonna show me your ballet tonight? You’ve been training for what, one week straight?”
I reach up and loop my arms around his neck. “Yeah, well, the rain messed up my trip to the little town.”
“But you still gonna dance for me?”
“Only if you behave.”
“Come on, I’ve been waiting all week.”
“Think you’ve earned a performance from the world’s last ballerina?”
“Please, woman, I bought the first ticket. Front row. VIP access.”
“VIP, huh?”
He grins, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Yeah. This ballerina performs naked.”
I throw my head back, laughing. “Look who’s causing trouble now.”
Across the kitchen, Lorelai starts singing, hopelessly off-key but totally carefree. She twirls a spoon in a bowl of mashed potatoes. James glances her way, a smile tugging at his lips.
I look at him, curious. “You like her singing, don’t you?”
“I think it’s beautiful,” he says softly.
I swear there’s something more behind that smile of his, but I don’t press it. If her singing makes him smile like that, I’ll smile with him.
His gaze comes back to me. My blue ocean. The space between us disappears, and he crashes his lips into mine. His tongue is hot and hungry, tasting me like he can’t get enough. And I can feel him, hard, grinding into me through his jeans.
My hands slide down his stomach, fingers brushing over his abs through his shirt.
His grip tightens on my hips, staking his claim, and the pressure sends heat pulsing straight to the ache between my legs. I want him buried deep inside me, his lips wrapped around my nipple, his hand squeezing my ass.
He doesn’t let me pull away, keeping the kiss going as his lips and tongue set my skin on fire.
God, he’s delicious.
“This dress…” he mutters, tugging the hem up. “You look so beautiful… and hot.”
“I know, right?”
James chuckles. “Well, Michael’s not gonna save you this time when I take you upstairs and put a baby inside you.”
My ovaries practically throw a party.
My lips part, a quiet sigh slipping out before I can stop it. Then his hand moves higher, sliding under my dress, fingers grazing my thigh in ways that make my legs tremble—
“James Hill, you are not getting this girl pregnant before she turns twenty-one. Do you hear me?”
We both jerk back and turn. Lorelai’s standing right beside us, clearly eavesdropping, hands on her hips, and her eyebrows drawn together in one furious line.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now get out of my kitchen.”
James snorts. “I’m not—”
“Out!” Lorelai cuts him off, giving his arm a shove.
He reluctantly lets go of me, backing away, but not without a little protest.
“Come on, Lorelai—”
“No, you’re distracting Sarah. Besides, she’s already burned enough food this month to feed a small army.”
“Hey!” I protest, but she’s not wrong. This is my fifth attempt at making apple pie, and while it’s going better than the last few, James is definitely not helping.
I watch as Lorelai shoves James out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Michael and Ryan are playing cards at the coffee table. They both look up at the commotion, eyebrows raised.
Once Lorelai gets James through the door, she spins around, claps her hands like she just finished a job well done, and marches right back inside.
“She kicked you out of the kitchen too?” Ryan asks.
“Yes,” James grumbles, sinking onto the couch across from them with a huff. “She’s bossy.”
Ryan laughs. “Oh, man, you have no idea.”
He shuffles the deck and taps it against the table. Michael picks up his cards, then nods toward the tattoo on Ryan’s shoulder.
“The astronaut tattoo,” he says. “What’s it mean?”
He sounds like he’s picking up an earlier conversation.
Ryan brushes his fingers over the ink. “Oh, the helmet. It’s about my dad.
He had the same tattoo. Never told me what it meant.
But I knew it mattered to him. After I lost him, I wanted to keep a part of him with me, so I got the exact same one.
” He laughs under his breath. “He never talked much, but to me, he was a genius.”
He looks over at James. “What about you? You got anything from your dad?”
James pulls the small, beat-up pocket watch from his jacket.
“This is all I’ve got left of him. It was my grandfather’s first, then my dad’s, and now it’s mine.
” He runs his thumb over the engraved name on the back.
“My old man wasn’t a soldier, but he sure as hell trained me like one.
He pulled me out of more trouble than I deserved.
I owe him my life. The only thing I regret… is that I couldn’t save him too.”
“I know how that feels,” Michael says, his voice quieter now. “My dad was attacked while I was hiding in the basement. If I’d been out there with him instead… maybe he’d still be alive.”
Guilt bleeds through my brother’s every word. Michael’s always been the strongest person I know, but I know what he lost. And it’s not just our dad. I see it in the way he looks away when James wraps his arms around me. I know who he still misses, even if he never says her name.
Ryan tilts his head, looking at Michael. “What was he like? Your dad?”
“My dad…” Michael starts, running a hand through his messy blond hair.
“He was the kind of man you follow. He kept our family ranch going for more than twenty years. Protected us from everything and everyone. And in the end… he gave his life to save us. If there are any real heroes left in this world, he was one of them.”
God, I’ve never been prouder of him in my life. Of both of them.
My eyes blur with tears, but I won’t let them fall—not when it’ll just put everyone’s focus on me. I turn back to the counter, trying to focus on the pie crust. My fingers move through the dough. The flour under my nails should ground me. But it’s not enough to stop the ache.
All I can think about is Dad’s voice echoing in the barn. His laugh on Christmas morning. The smell of smoke on his flannel jacket. The way he hugged me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“Do you have anything to remember him by?” Ryan asks after a moment.
“Sarah.”
◆◆◆
About an hour later, I’m carrying a plate of stew into the dining room when Michael says something from the couch that stops me in my tracks. I look over, making sure I heard him right.
“I’ve never been to a big city before. Thought I’d check out Denver.” Michael leans back on the couch, thoughtful. “What do you think, James?”
“No,” James says, his tone sharper than usual. “We don’t know Tyler’s rules. Stay the fuck away from there, Michael.”
“But—”
“I said no.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not safe, that’s why.”
“Still—”
“Don’t.” James’s expression hardens as he levels Michael with a look. “Just fucking promise me you won’t go.”
The air in the room shifts, turning heavy.