Chapter 40
Josh
Ihad to keep myself from running to Celine’s house this morning. As happy as I was, my nerves were on edge. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with how much I had to lose. Because hope, as I was quickly learning, was its own kind of risk.
Things had changed yesterday. There was certainty now. The knowledge that this was real.
I gently knocked on the door and was met by a sleepy Celine holding a mug of coffee.
She offered it to me and I took a sip before handing it back.
“Morning,” I said, unable to hide my smile.
“Morning. Kids are still sleeping. I’m going to let them stay home today.”
“What about you? Do you have a sub?”
“Yes. I took today off as well in case things didn’t go the way I hoped and I needed time to recover.”
I wrapped my arms around her, anguish that it was even a possibility running through me.
“I’m so proud of you.” I kissed the top of her head.
“Anyway. I’m going to call the school. Figured I would let the kids do whatever today. Maybe we’ll bake or play games or build a Lego set. I just want to be with them. Soak this up.”
“You deserve that. All of you. You’ve waited a long time for this.”
Her smile was so broad and genuine it made my stomach ache. She’d spent so long in fear, yet now she was free.
She studied my face, her own still bright. “I’m just happy,” she said with a small giggle. “And it all feels possible now. A future. And—ugh. Sorry, I’m babbling. I need to get myself under control.”
I stroked her jawline, angling her face up to give her a gentle kiss. “You never have to be in control with me. You can say what you’re feeling. I will never judge.”
She kissed me again, slower this time, and rested her hand on my chest. “I’m so happy.”
“Me too. I have something to show you.”
I opened the security app on my phone and cued up the video.
She took the phone from me, squinting at the grainy night vision security footage. “Is that? The bear?”
“Yes.” I waited for her to notice what was hanging out of her mouth.
On screen, Betsy Ross waddled across the porch confidently.
Celine gasped. “Oh my God.”
I waited.
The bear paused under the motion light, turning her head toward the camera and staring at it with her lone eye.
“Wait.” Celine paused it and zoomed in. “Is that my Croc? That bear stole my shoe! It’s been missing for weeks.”
“In her defense,” I said, “it’s a very bold color.”
On the video, Betsy ambled off the porch with the bright pink Croc dangling from her mouth like a delicious salmon.
“I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to find that damn shoe. I blamed Ellie. I even suspected the dog.”
Wayne, who was lying next to the table, lifted his head in protest.
“I suspect that shoe is property of Betsy Ross now,” I said.
She handed me back the phone. “Unbelievable. She didn’t even take the other one. The kids will never let me live this down.”
“Sorry.” I bent down and kissed her head.
“Coffee’s in the pot. I’m going to shower before Julian wakes up. How do you feel about chocolate chip pancakes?” she asked.
She was gone a moment later, bounding up the stairs, so I wandered into the kitchen.
The space felt more warm and welcoming than it ever had.
Julian’s artwork was stuck to the fridge, along with a test or two from each of the girls, both proudly displaying good grades.
The table was cluttered with stacks of papers and half-abandoned Lego projects.
This wasn’t chaos; it was life. Loud and imperfect. Held together with effort and care.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and looked out the window at the northern side of the farm. I’d wanted this. The farm. The trees. To work hard and lead a simple life.
But these days I wanted more. I wanted challenge and adventure, and I wanted this incredible woman by my side.
The relief of knowing she wanted it too? It was overwhelming.
As the shower turned on upstairs, I started tidying up, filling the dishwasher, wiping down the countertops, and clearing the table.
I managed to move Julian’s creations to the living room without breaking them, then set to work stacking and sorting the papers on the table.
When a few items slipped from one of the folders, I gathered them into a pile, and as I was returning them, a colorful card caught my eye. Worried Celine might want to keep it, I put it on the top of the stack. Why I flipped it open, I don’t know, but when I did, my stomach dropped.
Rage flooded me, but fear swamped me even faster. Hot, sharp, and completely irrational. My mind jumped ahead—locks, cameras, routes, and worst-case scenarios all mapped out before history could repeat itself.
There was more to this story, yet I didn’t understand. Had she been threatened? While she lived here, on my property?
She came down the stairs smiling a few minutes later, her hair damp and loose, and padded to the coffee maker.
“You okay?” she asked, refilling her mug.
My mind warred with itself. What do I say? And how?
Rather than speaking, I just pushed the card across the table.
Her smile fell slowly. “Where’d you get that?”
“I wasn’t snooping. I saw it on a stack of paperwork.”
“It’s not,” she said, putting the mug down. “It’s not what you think. It’s old.”
“It says found you, Celine. You’ve only lived here for a couple of months.”
She snatched it from the table and shoved it into the folder it had fallen out of. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
I gritted my teeth and exhaled loudly. “It means everything, Celine. I could have helped.”
“I handled it.” She lifted her chin, her tone defensive.
“You could have told me.” I wanted to grab her and make her understand.
How much I cared. How much I worried. But I kept my hands to myself. The last thing I wanted was to scare her. The thought of that man coming here pummeled me, making it hard to see straight.
“Someone who hurt you, who hurt your kids, was still contacting you, threatening your safety and you just, what? Figured you’d handle it on your own?” I sounded unhinged, and it disgusted me, but I couldn’t control myself.
Her spine straightened as she stared at me. “Yes.” She was bracing, not listening, on the defense, protecting herself.
Fuck, I wanted to reach for her, to pull her into my arms and magically fix everything.
But since that was impossible, I worked on lowering my voice. “That’s not okay,” I said.
Her eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t get to decide what’s okay.”
“I do when it puts you and the kids in danger.”
She stiffened. “I was not in danger.”
“Really?” I quipped. “Was this the only incident?”
She lowered her head, her focus dropping to the floor. “No,” she said softly. “There was more.”
I threw my hands up, my lungs so damn constricted I could barely breathe. “We could have taken steps, precautions, changed routines. Made sure—”
“How?” she cut in. “By locking the doors? Pulling the kids out of school? Hiding in the house constantly? I won’t live like that.”
“I’d have done whatever it took.” There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. Why didn’t she understand that?
“That’s the problem,” she said quietly. “You don’t understand how that sounds to me.”
I snapped my mouth shut, searching for the right words. I was trying to protect her, not erase her. Couldn’t she see that?
“You kept something serious from me,” I finally said.
“Because I knew the second you found out, you’d go straight into fixer mode, like I’m a fragile, helpless damsel in need of saving.”
“I’m not saying that.”
“It’s not what you say, Josh,” she ground out. “It’s what you do. It’s how you react.”
I dragged my hand through my hair. Fuck. How could I get her to understand? “I love you. And when I saw that card, my brain went straight to worst-case scenarios. I can’t just stand here and pretend it’s all fine.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend.” Her voice wobbled, her eyes welling. “I’m asking you to trust me. To respect me. And stop with the pity. Please.”
Fuck. I was the world’s biggest asshole.
“I don’t want your pity,” she said, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
I took a step closer and wiped it away with my thumb. “It’s not pity. It’s love.”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like you’ve got a superhero complex. Like your mission is to help the pathetic single mom who can’t get her shit together.”
“Do you actually think that?” I asked, lifting her chin. “Have you met you? You have your shit together. You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone.”
Her expression softened, but only for a moment.
Then it was harder than ever, and she was stepping back, putting space between us.
“I’ve spent years being scared,” she said.
“For years, someone else decided what was safe for me. What I could do, where I could go, who I could speak to.” She swallowed thickly.
“I won’t live like that again. Not even for you. ”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is being pitied.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“You do,” she said, her lips tugging down. “Maybe not consciously, but I see it. The way you jump in to take care of my messes. The way you brace yourself like I’m a bomb that could go off at any time.”
I stepped back, reeling. Her words were like a punch to the gut. “You’re not a mess. You’re a survivor.”
“I know I am,” she said. “Because I saved myself.”
We stood, staring at one another, the kitchen suddenly too small for this conversation, for all the baggage we were carrying.
“I don’t know how to love you without wanting to protect you,” I said softly.
She closed her eyes, her body deflating. When she opened them, her voice was gentler. “Then you need to learn,” she said. “Because I want you. I choose you. But I’m not going to shrink or change. I’m not giving up all my hard-won independence to make you feel useful.”
Her words landed with a heavy thud.
“I hear you,” I said. “I think I just need some air.”
She nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
“I’ll step out for now, but that doesn’t mean I’m leaving,” I said quickly. “This matters to me, and I don’t want to mess it up even more.”
With a nod, she picked up her coffee mug, her hands shaking.
So with one last look at her, I turned and headed for the front door.
Love wasn’t the problem here. Fear was. Mine. Hers. And we had to find a way to live with both.