Chapter 35
Sierra
Idon’t like the way he’s sitting.
There’s something wrong in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers curl into his knees like he’s bracing for impact rather than just talking to me. Like whatever he’s about to say is going to cost him something.
I wait anyway, keeping still, giving him space, even though a slow, uneasy tension is already tightening in my chest.
“You know about my childhood—about my father, right?”
I nod. He told me before, on one of those drunken nights where the truth spills out whether you want it to or not, when defenses drop and the past comes rushing in whether you’re ready for it or not.
An abusive father. Beatings. Fear. Until Reid got big enough—strong enough—to fight back and scare the asshole off.
One night, when his father was hitting his mother again, fourteen-year-old Reid grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed him in the arm. When the man tried to swing at him, Reid dodged, slammed him into a wall, and told him to leave—and if he ever came back, he’d kill him.
It worked. The man disappeared for three years.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell you the full story,” Reid says now, his voice quieter than before, rough around the edges. “Not the way it should’ve been told.”
I nod again, shifting slightly closer without thinking, giving him space but not distance, before saying softly, “I’m listening.”
He takes a breath, slow and deliberate, like he’s steadying himself.
“Back then, I saw everything in a straight line. Abusive father. Abused mother. Simple. If I got rid of him, everything would be fine.” A flicker of something bitter crosses his face, tightening his mouth.
“But it was never that simple. When you’re a kid, you want good guys and bad guys. Sometimes there aren’t any.”
My shoulders tighten, a dull nausea rising low in my stomach as I start to see where this is going, the pieces shifting into something darker than I expected.
“My father was an abusive drunk. That part’s true. But my mother…” He exhales slowly, his gaze dropping for a second. “She wasn’t entirely innocent either. Once he was gone, there was nothing to hide behind. She could be just as bad—sometimes worse.”
I swallow hard, my fingers curling slightly in my lap as a part of me recoils from what I know is coming, but the rest of me leans in, stubborn and steady, because I want—need—to understand him, and—somehow—help him carry it.
“At the time, I made excuses. Told myself it wasn’t that bad.
That she was hurting from years of abuse by her husband—my father.
I looked a lot like him—everyone said so—so I told myself it was only natural she would take it out on me, but that she didn’t really mean it.
” His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking. “I told myself maybe I deserved it anyway, for not standing up for her all those years when he was hitting her. Not defending her against his abuse.” He pauses, breath catching slightly before he forces it out.
“Took me a long time to realize what it really was.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I say, sharper than I mean to, the words slipping out before I can soften them, my chest aching for the boy he was—the one who had to twist himself into something small just to survive it.
He gives a faint, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know. But back then… I needed it to make sense.”
“You needed someone on your side,” I say quietly, softer now, gentler. “Someone who was actually good.”
His eyes lift to mine, something fragile breaking through the weight of everything else. “Yeah.”
“I get it,” I murmur, my thumb brushing lightly against my palm as if I can ground myself in the motion. “I used to do the same thing. Pretend one of my parents wasn’t as bad as they were, just so I didn’t have to face the truth.”
“Exactly.” He squeezes my hand, his grip firm, anchoring. “Except I had one person. My Uncle Matt.”
“The one whose gang you joined.”
“It wasn’t a gang,” he says automatically, rolling his eyes despite everything, the reflex almost automatic. “Just guys who rode together.”
“Sure,” I say, failing to hide my smile, even as the heaviness stays lodged in my chest.
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound brief but real. “He was estranged from the family for years. Reached out after my dad left. I told him everything. He hated that he hadn’t been there.” He pauses, his expression shifting again. “He’d cut my mom off long before that. Said she was the problem.”
I frown, my brows pulling together as something cold settles deeper in my stomach.
“He told me what they used to be like,” Reid continues. “Before I was born. Constant fighting. Toxic as hell. Most of the time, he thought my dad was the one getting the worst of it.”
My stomach drops, the room feeling just slightly off-balance for a second.
“Somehow, they stayed together, despite them arguing and fighting all the time. Apparently, she’d end up throwing things at him, and he’d just take off to the bar.
Then he’d come home drunk and sleep on the couch in his clothes.
The next day, they’d slink around the house, ignoring each other.
That was the pattern. Until I came along…
” He shakes his head slowly. “According to Uncle Matt, that’s when it turned physical the other way. ”
“God.” The word slips out of me, quiet but heavy.
“Yeah.” He lets out a slow breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “I only ever saw that half of it. The part where she was the victim.”
I nod, my throat tight, my fingers tightening around his without thinking. I have a bad feeling I know how this ends, and I hate that I’m probably right.
“She brought him back one day,” Reid says quietly, his voice dropping lower. “I walked in, saw him there, and…” He trails off, his gaze going distant.
I don’t need the rest. That story doesn’t have many endings—and none of them are good.
“What I’m trying to say is…” He looks at me again, and this time there’s nothing held back, something raw and exposed in his eyes that makes my chest tighten. “It doesn’t come out of nowhere. That kind of shit. It’s in me too. It’s in my blood.”
The words hit harder than anything else he’s said, settling somewhere deep and uncomfortable.
I shake my head immediately, leaning closer without thinking, refusing it. “I wasn’t innocent either. I pushed you. Picked fights. Tried to get a reaction.”
“Maybe,” he says gently, not arguing, not dismissing me either. “But I didn’t know how to handle any of it. I had both of them in me, and I was scared of where that could go.” His gaze drops to our joined hands, his thumb brushing absently over my skin. “I didn’t trust myself.”
“I don’t believe you would’ve hurt me,” I say, cupping his face, my fingers firm against his jaw, forcing him to look at me, to actually see me when I say it.
His jaw tightens under my hand. “Neither did my dad. At first.”
The words land heavy between us, thick and suffocating.
“I know,” I say softly, even though my chest aches with it. “I know.”
The look in his eyes crushes something inside me, his misery pulling at mine, guilt and shame sitting there like they belong even though they don’t, even though they shouldn’t. I want to take it out of him, strip it away piece by piece, leave him lighter, freer.
“When I met you, baby, I wanted to give you the world.” His voice is rough, thick with something he can’t quite contain, like it’s been building for years.
“I saw you there—beautiful, working hard, making the best of whatever life handed you, always watching, always careful. I wanted to protect you. Be with you. But I knew I wasn’t there yet.
Not mentally. Not financially. Hell, I thought I was too old for you.
” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head slightly.
“If I’d been stronger, I would’ve let you go.
But I wasn’t. I had you, and I kept messing it up.
That night… after we were together, after I knew I loved you…
the only thing I could think to do was walk away.
I figured you’d be better off finding someone who wasn’t me.
The only thing I could think to do was walk away.
I figured you’d be better off finding someone who wasn’t me. ”
My throat tightens, the words hitting somewhere deep and tender, reopening something that never really healed. I try to keep the tears back, pressing my lips together, but they slip into my voice anyway, fragile and unsteady. “That was a mistake. It hurt, Reid. It really hurt.”
His face crumples, the control he’s been holding onto slipping, and he leans in until his forehead rests against mine, his breath uneven against my skin like he needs the contact just to stay grounded.
“I swear I won’t do that to you again,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough, threaded with something raw and real. “I’m so sorry. I know I won’t fix this overnight. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying… if you let me.”
I search his face, my eyes moving over every line, every flicker of emotion, looking for hesitation, for doubt—anything that might tell me this is just the moment talking, just guilt or memory or the weight of everything pressing in on him.
But his eyes don’t waver. Not even a little.
“I love you, Sierra,” he says. “I have loved you since the very first moment I saw you. There’s no one else for me.”
My chest tightens, the words settling deep, heavy and impossible to ignore. “You really haven’t been with anyone else since we broke up?”
“No.” He doesn’t hesitate, not even a beat.
“After I left, I figured that was it for me. I couldn’t even look at anyone else without comparing them to you.
It wouldn’t have been fair. It still wouldn’t be.
” His hand tightens slightly around mine, grounding, certain.
“If you don’t want me, I’ll just… live with that. ”
The honesty of it hits hard, clean and undeniable, leaving everything inside me tangled and too big to sort through all at once.
My thoughts scatter, emotions pulling in different directions, too much and not enough at the same time.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, trying to pull the moment back from the edge just a little.
“So what—you started the retreat because you had too much free time?”
He almost smiles, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly, the tension easing just a fraction.
“No. I went all in on fixing myself. Therapy three times a week, CBT, meditation—everything I could get my hands on. Reiki just… stuck. It helped me feel stable. Balanced.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch careful, almost reverent.
“And yeah… I did it because of you. Because if I ever got another shot, I wanted to be someone you could actually rely on.”
“And are you?”
He holds my gaze, steady and unflinching. “I’m better than I was.”
That answer lands somewhere deep inside me, quiet but solid. Not perfect. Not some impossible promise. Just… honest. Somehow, that matters more.
I don’t know what to say. He’s handed me everything—his past, his guilt, his love—laid it all out in front of me without holding anything back, and I’m still trying to catch up, still trying to understand what it means for us now.
So instead, I lean forward and wrap my arms around him, holding on tighter than I mean to.
He pulls me in just as tight, his arms closing around me like he’s afraid I might slip away if he loosens his grip for even a second, and I feel it—that tension in him, the overwhelming need, the desperate hope he’s trying not to show.
We stay like that for a long time, neither of us speaking, the silence settling into something warm and steady between us, something that feels a little like peace.
Eventually, I shift slightly against him, my cheek brushing his shoulder as I pull back just enough to look at him. “I want to try something.”
“What?”
“Reiki. You said it helped.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in it.”
“I don’t know if I do.” I hold his gaze, steady, certain in a way I didn’t expect. “But you do, and that’s enough for me to try.”
He studies me for a second, searching my face like he’s trying to understand what changed, then nods slowly, a small, almost hopeful smile touching his mouth. “Okay. We can try it.”
We barely have time to sit up properly before the door bursts open, the sound sharp and jarring against the quiet we just found.
Luke and Talon fill the doorway, the energy shifting instantly, tension snapping back into place.
“Reid,” Luke says, urgency cutting straight through the room. “We have a problem.”