Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel as I drove down the long, winding gravel drive, the crunch of my tires sounding overly loud in the still, quiet night.
The porch light was on, just like Jake had promised.
About one hundred yards from the house, I slowed to a stop, letting the engine idle as I stared at the Mercer home.
A porch swing that hadn’t been there ten years ago swayed in the breeze while the porch steps—the ones I used to sneak down barefoot on the mornings I slept over, hoping his parents didn’t know I’d been there—were bathed in a soft yellow light.
Looking through my windshield felt like a memory and a dream all at once.
I should have felt confident about being here. I’d made my choice when I called Jake. I’d made it again when I grabbed my keys. But now, with the house looming in front of me, I was nothing but nerves.
I blew out a shaky breath and nudged the gearshift into drive, easing forward one slow yard at a time. You’ve already come this far , I told myself. Don’t back out now.
When I finally pulled to a stop in front of the porch, movement caught my eye.
Jake rose from the swing, his large frame silhouetted by the light, and my breath hitched.
I hadn’t even seen him sitting there. His hair looked damp, curling slightly at the edges.
He wore a plain gray t-shirt that clung to his chest and a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips.
His dark eyes locked on mine through the windshield, and suddenly I could breathe.
My pulse fluttered high in my throat. Then, for one suspended moment, all the doubt and noise in my head went absolutely silent.
This was just Jake. The man who’d once made love to me under a vast summer sky, who used to lift my chin with two fingers and look at me like I was the only thing in his world that ever made sense.
And just like that, the fear about being here, about telling him how I felt, loosened its grip on me.
I pushed the car door open with a trembling hand and stepped out into the cold, gravel crunching beneath my boots. The night air bit at my skin, but it was the way Jake looked at me that sent a shiver running through me. “Hi,” I said, my voice soft and tentative.
The porch steps were wide and worn in the middle where boots had passed over them for decades.
With each one I climbed, I felt the weight of ten years settle more firmly in my chest. As I reached the landing, the scent of him hit me full force—soap and pine and something warm and earthy that had always driven me wild.
That scent had lingered in my memory far longer than it should have. Longer than I’d ever admitted.
He watched me cross the last few feet like he couldn’t believe I was actually here.
Frankly, neither could I.
We stood inches apart, caught in that strange, suspended quiet that settles between people who once knew everything about each other but were strangers now and didn’t know what was safe to say and what wasn’t.
His gaze moved over my features with quiet focus, lingering a fraction too long on my mouth before meeting my eyes again.
His eyes—those dark, steady eyes I used to get lost in—still held the same quiet gravity that had pulled me in all those years ago.
My breath came slower now, more deliberate, as I tried to memorize him back. The faint line at the corner of his mouth that hadn’t been there before. The shadow of stubble along his jaw was now flecked with a few strands of silver.
“Hey.” He stepped back, one hand reaching for the door. It creaked open behind him, spilling warm light across the porch.
I crossed the last step with care, the toe of my boot brushing the welcome mat. I thought I heard a small intake of breath as I passed by him, my arm inadvertently brushing across his chest.
Jake closed the door behind us, the soft click echoing in the quiet.
“You’re really here,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I’m here.”
He gestured toward the direction I remembered the living room being, and we walked silently side by side toward it until the space opened up before us—soaring ceilings with exposed beams, a massive stone fireplace that dominated the far wall, and rich wood floors that gleamed in the lamplight.
It was grand but lived-in, a home built to shelter generations of Mercers.
The couch was worn, tan leather that invited you to sink in and stay awhile.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he admitted as we sat with too much space between us.
“Me either.” I offered a tight smile. “I almost turned around twice.”
Jake tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m scared,” I said, surprising both of us with my honesty. “Of doing this wrong again. Of hurting you. Of getting hurt.” As the confession settled between us, I shifted slightly, tucking one leg beneath me.
His brows drew together, and he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I wanted to call last night,” he said. “But I didn’t know what to say without screwing everything up.”
I nodded slowly. “That would have been nice. I was kind of freaking out … afterward. Wondering what that was. If it meant … I just needed to know it wasn’t nothing to you.”
His eyes met mine. “It wasn’t. Nothing with you ever was.”
The truth of it knocked the air from my lungs.
I looked down at my hands. “Then why did Colt feel the need to warn me off this afternoon? He said I needed to keep my distance.”
Jake exhaled slowly, his jaw working. “Colt’s just looking out for me. And for Cole. He remembers what I was like when you left. I wasn’t exactly a picnic to be around.”
“I get it,” I said quietly. “I do. And I don’t blame him. But I’m not the same girl I was back then.”
“I know.” He leaned back slightly, resting his forearm across the back of the couch, his other hand dragging along his jaw. “But we don’t really know each other anymore, do we? Sometimes, I wonder if I ever did know you.”
The words weren’t cruel, just honest, and I wasn’t sure which would’ve hurt more.
“That’s fair,” I said after a moment, my voice faltering. “I left before you ever really had a chance to know the whole me. And the truth is, I didn’t give you one. I was too scared of how real everything with you felt. Of how much I wanted to stay when I couldn’t.”
Jake looked down, his hand dropping to his thigh, where his fingers tapped out a restless rhythm.
“I’d already accepted the job in Chicago before I met you,” I continued, my fingers twisting in my lap.
“It was everything I thought I wanted—prestigious, high-paying, a foot in the door at the kind of school teachers build their careers on. Mostly, though, it was proving to myself that I had what it took to teach there after having been a student on scholarship and never really feeling like I belonged. But then you came along …”
He looked up again, his dark brows drawing together. His expression was softer now, less guarded than before. The steady rhythm of his tapping stopped.
“I didn’t know how to reconcile those two things: the life I’d planned for, and the one that had started to feel right after only a couple of months.
So I did the cowardly thing and convinced myself that what we had wasn’t real enough to be worth staying for.
” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard.
“And so I said things to make it easier on me, but in doing so, I hurt you. Badly.”
Jake shifted forward slightly and braced his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, jaw tight. “Yeah,” he said quietly, not looking at me. “You did.”
The words weren’t sharp. Just tired sounding. And honest.
I could feel all the words I’d rehearsed piling up behind my teeth, and I knew if I didn’t say them now, I wouldn’t be brave enough to finish.
“I’m so sorry for that, Jake,” I whispered. “I was confused and angry at myself, and I took it out on you.” I shook my head, my pulse hammering. “I wasn’t mature enough to deal with my emotions, and I didn’t really have the right tools to be a better version of myself.”
He ran a hand over his mouth, then down his beard, before letting out a long breath.
“You told me I wasn’t enough,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet mine.
“That I couldn’t give you the kind of life you wanted.
” He paused, eyes narrowing just a little.
“Do you know what that did to me? I spent years wondering if you were right.”
His voice was quiet but raw when he continued.
“I stopped dreaming about anything bigger because I figured what was the point? If I wasn't enough for the one person I thought I could build a life with, then maybe I wasn’t meant for that kind of happiness.” He looked down at his hands.
“I convinced myself I was fine with less. That wanting more was just setting myself up to get crushed again.”
I winced, heat flooding my face. “I hate that I let you believe that that’s what I thought.”
The tension in his shoulders eased, but just barely.
“Looking back …” I continued, my voice quieter now. Thoughtful, introspective. “I think you knew the realest, rawest version of the person I’d been up to that point. You saw the girl underneath all the ambition. The one who wanted desperately to be chosen, even when she pretended not to.”
Jake’s eyes met mine, and they flickered with something deeper—pain, maybe—but he didn’t look away again. “You were scared,” he said. “So was I. But I thought we could get through it together. I would have fought for you.”
His words pierced something deep and unhealed inside me.
Because he was right. He had believed in us—in the love we were building—when I hadn’t had the courage to.
And instead of trusting in that—trusting in him —I’d let fear and pride drive me straight out of his life, and eventually, into the arms of another man.
“I know,” I said softly, my throat thick with shame. “I have no doubt about that. But I didn’t know how to let someone fight for me. I thought I had to do everything on my own—because I always had.”
I took a breath to ground myself. “I tried to move on and build a life without you, Jake. And it worked for a while. Or at least I convinced myself it did. But every time something in the illusion cracked, every time I was in a room full of people and still felt utterly alone, I thought of you.”
He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he shifted closer until our knees touched. I studied him in the low light of the lamp behind us, his eyes searching mine as he rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“Can you ever forgive me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as my eyes flicked back and forth between his.
Jake was quiet for a long moment … then, “I forgave you a long time ago, Eden. I had to, or it would have eaten me alive.” His words came out hoarse. “But forgiving you and trusting this—” he swung his finger between us “—that’s the part I’m still figuring out.”
“What do you need from me?” I asked.
“Time,” he said simply. “And honesty. No more lies. No more running when things get complicated.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” I whispered. “I’m here for the long haul.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
And then he leaned in, and when his mouth met mine, every thought, every fear, every … thing melted into that single moment.
His lips moved over mine with equal parts hesitation and heat. My hands slipped into his hair, and his found my waist, anchoring me as the kiss deepened.
When I finally pulled back for air, Jake cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
He rose from the couch in one fluid motion, his eyes locked on mine, and for one heart- stopping second, I thought he might say no .
Tell me to leave and never come back. Instead, he bent and swept me into his arms.
I gasped, clinging to him. “Jake!”
“You think I’m letting you go after that speech?” he said, his smile tender. “I’ve spent ten years trying to convince myself I was better off without you. But the truth is, Eden James, I never stopped loving you. Not even when I tried to. Not even when I should have.”
He carried me down the hall like I weighed nothing, the floor creaking softly under his boots. At his bedroom door, he nudged it open before closing it behind us with his heel.
The room was dim, the air still warm and damp from his earlier shower. I caught sight of a photo of Cole on the nightstand, along with a worn paperback beside it. A guitar in the corner.
He laid me down on the bed with careful reverence, and then he made good on the promise in his kiss, showing me exactly how much ten years apart had cost us.