8. Forrest
EIGHT
Forrest
We didn’t talk about what had happened…but she also didn’t leave.
She stayed.
She stayed for two more weeks and we didn’t talk about that kiss, but we talked about damn near everything else.
Willa was curious…and it woke up parts of me I hadn’t even realized were sleeping.
I told her all about architecture first—then we got to know the goats.
She was hesitant to go outside, but after that first week, she started accepting Haven’s invitations to help her with the cattle and with the horses.
A couple times, she babysat. For Haven and Wyatt, for Millie and Gage…and she was so good with the kids.
And I started to see the shape of who she was, underneath the trauma, underneath her past, the conditioning.
She was kind. Exceptionally kind. Funny, but in this quiet, subtle way you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know her.
Curious about everything in a way that made you feel like whatever you were explaining actually mattered.
She’d ask questions nobody ever thought to ask me about my work. She listened like it was important.
She was smart. Genuinely, quietly smart in a way that shocked me given how she’d never been allowed to go to school.
Her past hadn’t buried her.
And it made me start to think…maybe I shouldn’t let my past bury me either.
My brother Sawyer showed up one evening about two weeks after the kiss, came in from a shoot in New Mexico with his truck full of gear and that particular ease he'd had since Daniela—settled in a way he hadn't been before her, like something that had been wound tight had finally let go.
He had dinner at the main house with the whole family, met Willa across the table, and said absolutely nothing.
He didn't have to. I saw him clock it in about four minutes.
…which is how he ended up being the first person I told about the kiss—because he was my brother, and I told him everything.
And now we were sitting on the porch steps as the sun went down behind the cedar, beers sweating in our hands, the goats moving in the pasture below us, and I was waiting for it.
"So," Sawyer said.
"Don't."
"I haven't said anything."
"You've been saying it for the last hour without saying it."
He took a pull of his beer. "She's good with the kids."
"Yeah."
"Haven likes her."
"Everybody likes her."
"Dolly likes her." He said it like it meant something. "Dolly doesn't like anybody."
I looked at the horizon.
"Forrest."
"I know," I said.
"Do you?"
"Sawyer."
He set his beer down on the step beside him and turned to look at me, giving me the look only a big brother could give you—like he absolutely knew better, and I knew he knew better, and I already should have known that.
“Sophie would want you to move on,” he said.
“Jesus.” I blew out a long breath, shaking my head. “Jesus fucking Christ…”
“Seriously, Forrest.”
“You don’t just move on,” I said. “She stays. If I invite someone else in…Sophie’s gonna be there. No moving on.”
“Okay,” he said. “A little kinky but—”
I glared at him.
Sawyer laughed. “Sophie would’ve laughed at that, and you know it,” he said. “She was funnier than you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Point still stands.”
“She’s twenty years old, Sawyer.”
Sawyer nodded slowly. “Yup.”
“She’s never—” I stopped. Looked at my beer. “She’d never had anything, Sawyer. Never had a choice about anything. And I don’t want to be one more man who—”
I stopped. Couldn’t even think about the details of what had been done to her.
“One more man who what?” Sawyer asked.
“Who takes advantage of her,” I said.
Sawyer snorted. “Sounds more like she was taking advantage of you. In a good way.”
“You’re so gross.”
“And you’re an uppity little shit,” he said. “Look—Forrest…it—I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a perv—”
“Too late,” I muttered.
“In that case,” he said, “fine. You’re acting like she’s innocent—”
“She is—”
“But not in the way you’re thinking of,” he said. “She was married, Forrest.”
“Not legally,” I interrupted again. “Only in the eyes of God, whatever the fuck that means—”
“Stop,” he said, shoving me. “I’m just trying to say she’s not some sheltered kid who doesn’t know what the world is. She knows exactly what the world is. Probably better than either of us.”
I couldn’t figure out how to argue with that.
He was probably right.
“And the shitty thing for her is—” he paused, like he was trying to figure out how to say this delicately. Apparently he failed to figure it out. “—she’s been through hell, she’s had someone really gross…touch her. And then she decides what she wants and she’s told it’s wrong.”
I reached up and squeezed the bridge of my nose, wincing. “Thanks, Sawyer. As if I didn’t already feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole,” he said. “You’re the best guy I know. But that’s also why, out of all the guys in the world, I would think you would be the safest person for her to…explore with. If that’s what she wants.”
"Explore," I repeated.
"You know what I mean."
"I know what you mean and I'm choosing not to think about it."
"Why not?"
"Because she's living in my house, Sawyer."
"So?"
"So it's—" I gestured vaguely. "It's complicated."
"Everything worth having is complicated." He picked up his beer. "You know what's not complicated? Being alone for the rest of your life because you were too busy being noble."
I said nothing.
“She kissed you and she told you she wanted you,” he said.
“I’m aware.”
“The first time could be impulse…but the second time is a choice.” He looked at me. “She was telling you with more than words that she means it.”
The sun was fully gone now, just the last of the light bleeding orange along the horizon.
"I keep thinking about Sophie," I said. Honest, finally. "Not in a — I'm not comparing them. It's not that. It's just." I turned the bottle in my hands. "It felt like something, Sawyer. With Willa. In that kitchen. And the last time something felt like something I lost it, and I—"
I stopped.
Sawyer didn't say anything. He let it sit, which was the right call.
"I don't know if I can do that again," I said.
"You can't know that until you try."
"Very helpful."
"I mean it." He wasn't joking now. "You've been out here for three years being careful and you're still miserable, so careful isn't working." He nudged my shoulder with his. "Maybe try something else."
I looked at the cottage window.
Still lit. She was still up.
"She's going to get hurt," I said. "Whatever happens. She's twenty and she's new to everything and at some point she's going to want things I don't know how to give her."
"Maybe," Sawyer said. "Or maybe you're borrowing trouble from a future that doesn't exist yet." He stood up, brushed off his jeans. "You know what I think?"
"You're going to tell me regardless."
"I think you're not scared of hurting her." He looked down at me. "I think you're scared she's going to be good for you. And then you'll have to actually be here. All the way. Not just functional."
I stared at the horizon.
He wasn't wrong.
God, I hated that he wasn't wrong.
"Get some sleep," he said. "And maybe—" he nodded toward the cottage— "leave her coffee out in the morning. The way she likes it."
"I already do that."
He grinned. "I know." Then he stretched his arms over his head. “Now…I’m gonna go get Daniela before she and Millie start sharing too many secrets, and then I’m going to show my woman a good time.”
“I’ll keep the windows closed so I can’t hear you all the way across the property,” I muttered.
He extended his hand to help me up.
Turned it into an involuntary high five instead.
“I’ll do the same thing,” he said. “Good luck.”
Then he left me there to stew…to think.
To feel bad.
To feel hopeful.