Chapter 16
Juniper
By the time we pull into the drive, dusk has started to slip over the mountains, painting the sky in pinks and bruised purples. The bags rustle as Rhett unloads them from the back of the truck, and I carry the smallest one inside.
The red bodysuit.
I pretend I’m not shaking as I walk it up to the bedroom and close the door behind me. The house is quiet. The only sound is the low murmur of Rhett hanging up his coat and the scrape of boots by the door. I slip out of my clothes, like I’m shedding the last pieces of the girl I used to be.
The bodysuit slides on like liquid sin. It hugs every curve, the lace barely containing me, crimson against my skin like blood and fire. I run my fingers over the edges, then grab the long, black silk robe with sheer sleeves, tying it loosely around the waist.
He’s sitting on the couch when I walk in, a whiskey in one hand, the fire casting gold across his face. His gaze lifts.
And stops.
The glass doesn’t even make it back to the table. It falls right to the floor, spilling.
“Juniper,” he says, voice thick. “Christ.”
I cross the room and step between his knees. “You said you wanted me in it.”
He nods but doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “You look like every damn fantasy I’ve ever had.”
I lean in, hands braced on the arms of the chair. “I wore it because I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For today. For all of it.” My voice goes quieter. “For buying the ranch. For giving me a future I didn’t think I deserved.”
His hands slide up my thighs. “You deserved it the whole time. They just made you forget.”
He leans forward, unties the robe, lets it slide down my shoulders and pool at my feet. His lips brush over the curve of my stomach, then lower, then lower.
“I’m gonna show you every day what you’re worth,” he murmurs, mouth trailing heat over lace. “Starting right now.”
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t rip or demand or devour. He touches me like he’s committing me to memory. Like this is more than just skin and want.
The fire pops beside us, casting amber light across the room as he lays me down on the rug, the silk of the robe pooled beneath my back. The red lace still clings to me, but not for long. He takes his time slipping it from my body, each motion deliberate, his mouth following the trail of fabric.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against my skin. “Every inch of you made for me.”
I arch beneath him, aching and open. “Then take what’s yours.”
His groan is low and rough as he does exactly that.
We move together like a slow burn—long, rolling heat building with every thrust, every kiss, every promise whispered into the space between us. His hand splays low over my belly, possessive and full of something he doesn’t yet say out loud.
Later, when I’m trembling beneath him, wrapped in his arms and surrounded by firelight, he brushes his thumb along my cheek.
“I want to build something here,” he says quietly. “With you. This ranch. A life. Maybe more.”
My breath catches. “You mean—”
“Yeah.” He leans down, kisses me like it’s already done. “You. Me. Maybe some wild little barefoot kids who take after their mama.”
I laugh, startled and stunned and so full of everything I never thought I’d have.
“I think I’d like that,” I whisper.
His smile is slow.
“Then we start now.”
And he takes me again, deep and sure, as the fire crackles and the future settles around us like a promise.
I’m still catching my breath when Rhett shifts beside me, one arm curled beneath my shoulders, the other resting across my bare stomach.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough but quiet.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Better than okay.”
“You always say that like you’re surprised.”
“I am.” I glance at him. “Not because of you. Just because I didn’t think this kind of thing was real. This kind of feeling.”
“It’s real. As real as it gets.”
We fall quiet, the fire crackling soft beside us. Then he speaks again.
“You meant what you said earlier? About wanting more?”
I nod. “Yeah. I do.”
“Good.” His hand slides lower, settling over my hip. “’Cause I keep thinking about it. What it’d be like to build something with you. A real life. One that’s ours.”
I glance at him. “You mean marriage?”
His lips twitch. “Eventually. But more than that. Waking up beside you every day. Watching you walk through this house barefoot and bossy.”
“Bossy?”
He grins. “Beautiful. Barely dressed. Barkin’ orders.”
I laugh and curl into his side. “You make it sound easy.”
“It won’t be. But it’ll be ours. And that’s what matters.”
We lie there for a beat, our bodies tangled, our hearts bare.
“I never imagined a future like that,” I admit.
“You do now?”
I look at him and nod. “Yeah. Because it’s with you.”
His gaze turns molten. “Then let’s build it, Juniper. Brick by damn brick.”
He kisses me again, and this time there’s no rush. Just Rhett.
And when he pulls back, he murmurs, “We’ll start with tomorrow. And go from there.”
We both drift off to sleep, and, for a while, I rest.
But then the room around me warps. And I’m not in Rhett’s arms anymore. I’m barefoot on cold stone, the air thick with incense and something darker. Shadows stretch along the pews of the church I thought I’d left behind. The one I never wanted to see again.
The cross looms high on the wall. The stained-glass windows bleed red.
And Chester stands in the aisle with that twisted smile, the one that made my stomach knot as a girl. He looks just the same. Too clean. Too calm. Like he never did a thing wrong.
“Juniper,” he says.
My knees lock. I can’t move. Can’t run.
“You always were a temptress. Even back then. Do you remember what you wore?”
I try to scream, but the air freezes in my throat.
He steps closer.
I’m frozen in the same goddamn pew. The one where he first touched me. The one where I learned what it meant to be prey.
“You wanted it,” he says.
“No.” My voice is barely audible.
“No?” His tone mocks me. “Then why didn’t you stop me?”
I can’t breathe. My hands claw at the wooden pew, but I can’t feel it. The walls press in. My skin burns. The air reeks of sweat and sin and silence.
“Don’t look away,” Chester growls. “You know what you are. You’ve always known.”
I shake my head, trembling. “I’m not yours.”
His eyes flare. “Aren’t you?”
He reaches for me and I scream.
“Juniper.” The voice is deep, familiar, firm. “Juniper, wake up!”
I jolt upright, gasping, drenched in sweat. My heart pounds like it’s trying to break free from my ribs.
Rhett is crouched in front of me, worry carved into every line of his face.
“You were dreaming,” he says gently. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
I can’t speak. My throat feels raw. My whole body shakes.
“Breathe, sweetheart. In and out. Right here with me.”
I do as he says, shaky but obedient. In. Out. In. Out.
When my eyes finally meet his, I whisper, “The church. I was back in the church. He was there.”
Rhett’s jaw tightens, but his hands never leave mine. “He can’t touch you now.”
A sob escapes me. I hate it, but it comes anyway. He pulls me into his lap like I weigh nothing, holding me like he’s anchoring me to the earth.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “No more hiding. Not from him. Not from me. I see you. All of you.”
“I hate that he still lives in my head,” I whisper. “That he still finds ways to ruin what’s good.”
Rhett cups my face, tilts it until I’m forced to see nothing but him.
“He doesn’t own your story, Juniper. You do.”
More tears fall.
“I should have stopped him.” My voice cracks. “I should have fought harder.”
Rhett shakes his head, his eyes fierce with quiet grief. “No, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. None of it.”
But the words don’t sink in. They hit some wall inside me built from guilt and memories I can’t outrun. I push away from him and stand, the blanket falling to the floor.
“I need air.”
“Juniper—”
I don’t wait.
The night air slaps my skin as I burst through the front door, barefoot and shaking.
I don’t care that I’m naked, or that the gravel bites at my feet.
The cold feels like punishment, like proof that I’m still here.
I keep running—past the truck, past the barn, out toward the dark silhouette of the hills.
When I finally stop, my chest is heaving. The moon hangs low, silvering the fields, and for a second I can still smell incense and old wood from the nightmare. I bend over, hands on my knees, gasping until the world steadies.
The screen door creaks open behind me.
Rhett’s voice carries softly through the night. “You’re gonna freeze out here.”
I don’t answer. The sobs have left me hollow.
He walks toward me slowly, the gravel crunching under his boots. He stops a few feet away. Close enough that I can feel the heat from his body but far enough not to trap me.
“I don’t want you to touch me right now,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “I’m not here to touch you.”
The wind cuts between us, carrying the smell of cedar and smoke.
“I’m here so you don’t have to stand in the dark alone.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. A tear slides down my cheek.
He keeps talking. “You didn’t fail, Juniper. You survived. You did what you had to do to get out. That’s what fighting harder looks like.”
Something in me cracks at the word survived.
I sink to my knees in the cold grass. He still doesn’t move. Just waits.
“I hate that it still hurts.”
He says, “That means you’re still healing.”
And, slowly, I reach out a trembling hand. Rhett takes it, giving it a tight squeeze. The night stretches around us, silent but not empty. For the first time in a long time, the ghosts of the church don’t feel quite as close.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you inside.”
I let him guide me. The floor feels warmer than the outside, but not by much. Rhett doesn’t say a word as he steers me into the kitchen, his hand light on my back like he’s afraid I’ll bolt again.
He grabs a mug, honey, whiskey, and a lemon. I watch him move with practiced ease. It’s the opposite of the storm inside me.
He sets the mug in front of me.
I sniff it. “What is this?”
“A hot toddy,” he says, voice soft. “My mom used to make them when I couldn’t sleep.”
I take a sip and immediately grimace. “Yuck.”
That gets a quiet laugh from him. “It’s not supposed to taste good. It’s supposed to slow you down.”
He leans back against the counter and watches me over the rim of his own mug. There’s something in his eyes I can’t name. Not pity. Not even worry. Just a man who sees me, the messy parts and the mangled ones, and doesn’t flinch.
I sip again. It still tastes terrible. But the warmth starts to spread, slow and low in my belly.
Rhett speaks after a moment. “You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Okay.”
The silence stretches again, but it’s a gentler kind this time.
I look down at the mug, my fingers wrapped tight around it. “Do you ever think that some parts of us are too broken to fix?”
Rhett sets his cup down and moves toward me. “No. I think some parts just take longer. And need more care.”
I blink fast, but it doesn’t stop the tears this time. They slide down silently, one after the other.
He doesn’t wipe them away.
He just stands beside me, lets me cry into my mug and the quiet, until the hot toddy is gone and the only thing left between us is breath.
Then he whispers, “You’re not broken, Juniper. You’re surviving.”
And for the first time tonight, I let myself believe it might be true.