Chapter 3
KINGSTON
I watched her disappear back down the hall, wishing I had the words and the courage to explain the decision I’d made all those years ago.
I’d spent fourteen years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit, and I’d do the same thing again, even knowing what it had cost me.
She’d wouldn’t have understood then, and I didn’t expect her to get it now.
So instead of going after her, I moved toward the fireplace and tossed another log onto the flames.
Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured her reading that letter.
Every word I’d written came back like it was carved into my soul.
I thought I was doing the right thing by letting her go and sparing her the wreckage of my life.
But all I’d done was torch the bridge between us and leave her to choke on the smoke.
The door stayed closed while I shrugged on my snow gear so I could go out and fire up the generator.
It was still closed a half hour later when I came back in and warmed up by the fire.
When it finally creaked open, I turned, half expecting her to storm out swinging again.
But she walked slowly, her eyes red, the letter still in her hand.
I didn’t say a word. Just waited.
She crossed the room and stopped a few feet from me, still wearing my sweatshirt, her steps making no sound against the hardwood.
“You meant all of it,” she said, her voice scratchy. “Every word.”
I nodded. “I didn’t know how else to say goodbye.”
She exhaled, choppy and uneven, like that hurt worse than reading the damn letter. “Then why didn’t you send it? I knew all along that you didn’t do what they said you did. Why didn’t you tell me before you went away?”
“I didn’t want to trap you. It was my fault Kacen got caught up with that gang. If I’d been paying more attention to what he was going through, he never would have been in that situation in the first place. He was a good kid, but I failed him.”
“Kingston, you were only a kid yourself.” She reached out and rested her hand on my arm.
It had been so fucking long since I’d felt her touch. I wanted to lean into it and have her tell me that we could go back to how things were, that we could still pretend that nothing had changed. It was way too late for that though.
“I was still the one in charge. My mom was out of her mind on whatever kind of drugs she could get her hands on. When she found out my dad cheated and moved Kacen and me to Chicago, she pretty much gave up. So when he got involved with those kids, I was the one who should have noticed.” The guilt still ran deep.
Even though I’d sacrificed my own future to give him a chance at his own, I hadn’t been able to forgive myself for not being there for him in the first place.
“Your dad should have stepped in.” She squeezed my arm before letting her hand fall away. I couldn’t stand being that close to her without touching, so I turned toward the fire.
“He was dealing with his own demons. It was just us. I did what I thought was best at the time.”
“And let everyone, including me, believe that you were guilty of armed robbery. It didn’t make sense.
I tried reaching out to your mom, then your dad.
I even called Kacen, but no one got back to me.
Do you have any idea how much that hurt?
You sent one text before you got arrested that you were going away for a long time and I should forget you. That’s it.”
My heart cracked right down the middle at the pain in her voice. “I didn’t want you wasting your life on a man who might never be the same. Six years into my sentence, I wrote you that letter, but I couldn’t send it.”
“Why?” Her brows pulled together. “I would’ve waited. I did wait.”
“That’s not what I wanted,” I said, my voice quiet. “All I could think about was how much I’d already taken from you. I thought… if I could let you move on, then maybe it would’ve been worth it.”
She shook her head. “You don’t get to decide what would’ve been worth it. I would’ve stood by you. Every single day. If only you’d asked.”
I moved closer, just a few steps, not enough to crowd her, but enough that I could feel the electricity hum between us.
“I didn’t ask,” I said. “And that’s on me. I was scared.” That admission landed between us like a dead weight. I wasn’t used to saying it out loud—hell, I wasn’t used to saying much at all anymore. But Scarlett had always been the exception to every rule.
“I don’t need you to be scared now,” she said after a beat. “I need you to be honest.”
I met her eyes. “About what?”
She hesitated, then tilted her head back to meet my gaze. “What really happened in there? In prison.”
I swallowed. Hard. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, the pain behind my ribs threatening to tear me in two.
“I don’t want to tell you that,” I said. “Not because I don’t trust you. But because it’ll change the way you look at me.”
She stepped forward, so close now I could see the freckles dusted across her cheeks, the flecks of gold in her dark eyes.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “You think hiding the truth protected me, but it only broke me worse. If we’re going to fix this—if there’s even a chance—we have to stop pretending the past didn’t happen.”
My heart pounded. “It’ll hurt you.”
“Then let it hurt.” Her voice trembled. “I can take it.”
I looked at her, standing there in my sweatshirt, her hands shaking, her chin high.
I’d never loved anyone the way I’d loved her.
Fuck, the way I loved her still. I couldn’t give her all the details.
Not yet. But I told her about the fight.
About the man whose life I saved. About the broken ribs, the concussion, the scar on my cheekbone I still kept hidden under a beard and baseball cap.
And when I was done, her eyes filled again. But this time, she didn’t cry.
She reached up and touched the edge of my jaw, her fingers shaking. “You should’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“I’ve always seen you,” she whispered.
The silence that followed was so loud it made my ears hurt. I stepped back before I did something stupid. Like pull her into my arms. Like kiss her and beg her to forgive me.
Instead, I nodded toward the kitchen. “You hungry?”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Is this a peace offering?”
“It’s a grilled cheese offering. Don’t read too much into it.”
She let out a tiny huff of laughter. “Okay. I could eat.”
We moved around the kitchen like we hadn’t spent so much time apart. Scarlett sliced tomatoes from my fridge while I buttered slices of sourdough and set a pan on the stove.
“You used to hate tomatoes,” I said as I layered the cheese.
“I still do.” She passed them over anyway. “But you don’t, and I figured you’d forget to eat something fresh.”
“Thoughtful.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” she echoed, arching a brow.
The corners of my mouth lifted, the first real smile I’d felt in months. Maybe years.
We ate on the couch. Two sandwiches, two mugs of coffee, and enough silence to drown in. But it didn’t feel uncomfortable, just heavy. The kind of silence that comes after a storm has passed, but you’re still not sure if another one’s following right behind.
After, she wiped her hands on a napkin and turned to me. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Us. Everything.”
My answer was immediate. “Every single day.”
Scarlett didn’t flinch and didn’t smile. Just studied me like she didn’t know what to do with that truth. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
“I hate you for what you did.”
“I hate me too.”
“But I also… still feel things I wish I didn’t.”
My breath hitched. “You’re not the only one.”
She looked down at her lap. “If we do this, it’s going to hurt.”
“We’re already hurting,” I said. “At least I am, and it seems like you are too.”
Her gaze lifted to meet mine. “So what, we jump straight into more pain?”
“No,” I said. “We fight for what we didn’t get a chance to finish.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me with something fragile in her eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said finally.
“I won’t,” I whispered. “Not this time.”
The wind howled outside, but inside, something fragile settled between us. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But something close enough to hope that I didn’t dare move.
Then she got up and walked back toward the fire, her arms crossed tight again. “You know what the worst part was?”
I stood too, my stomach dropping. “What?”
“I didn’t just lose you. I lost myself. For a long time.”
I moved closer, careful with every step. “I know.”
“I stopped hanging out with my friends. Threw myself into school and took the first job I was offered because I thought that’s what moving on looked like.”
“I didn’t want that for you.”
“But you caused it anyway.”
Silence stretched. I looked into the fire like it might hold the answers she craved, or at least a path forward.
“I know this doesn’t fix anything,” I said. “But I thought about you every day. Every night. I pictured your laugh, your voice. You were my light in a place that had none.”
She closed her eyes.
“And after I got out, when I started building again… I did it all with you in mind. The scholarship, the bookstore, the diner… Everything I helped this town rebuild, I did because I needed to believe you were still here. Still whole.”
Her breath hitched. “I wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving you alone.”
She opened her eyes, and something raw burned there. “You weren’t. But maybe—” She paused, biting her lip. “Maybe you can start now. By not hiding anymore.”
I knew what she meant. The town. My name. The legacy of secrets I’d kept.
“Scarlett—”
“You don’t have to make an announcement on the steps of town hall,” she said. “But if you want us to be anything again, you can’t keep hiding from everyone and everything. You can’t keep being a ghost.”
My heart thundered. “Okay,” I said.
Her brow arched. “Okay?”
“I’ll tell everyone that I’m the investor. That I’m the one who helped rebuild. I’ll stop hiding.”
She studied me like she wasn’t sure she believed me yet. “Even if some people hate you for it?”
I nodded. “They already do. But I won’t hide anymore, because you’re right. If we’re going to be anything again… I have to show up.”
Scarlett’s shoulders relaxed a little. Then she looked down at the letter in her hand again. “This doesn’t fix it.”
“I know.”
“But it’s a start.”
She walked past me, heading toward the bedroom and paused in the doorway. “Thank you for the sandwich,” she said, her voice so quiet I barely heard it.
“Anytime,” I replied.
Then she disappeared into the room, and the door clicked shut behind her.
I stood there, my heart still racing, wondering how the hell I was going to survive another night under the same roof without telling her how much I still loved her.