Bound Lives (Steel Legends #6)

Prologue

Henry

I slump into Aunt Melanie’s kitchen chair wearing a comfortable pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. The coffee mug in my hand is warm, but I feel cold. Aunt Melanie pours herself a cup and slides into the seat across from me.

She eyes me over the rim as she takes a sip. “You look like a man who didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t,” I admit. “My head’s been in overdrive.”

She nods like she’s been expecting this.

I run a hand through my hair. “I told her to go.”

Aunt Mel raises her eyebrows. “Her?”

“Tabitha.” Her name feels heavy in my mouth. “I… Well, that’s a lie.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I didn’t tell her to go. I just left.”

“Back up,” Aunt Melanie says. “Yesterday you were tied up in knots about your birth mother, and today…”

“I’m tied up in knots about Tabitha Haynes.”

She cocks her head. “Tabitha?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I’m feeling something I’ve never felt before.”

“Yet you’re saying you pushed her away.”

“I had to.” I set the mug down too hard, and coffee sloshes over the side. “I haven’t dealt with everything. With what happened that night. What I did.”

She doesn’t flinch. “You protected your sister.”

“I killed a man, Aunt Mel.” I meet her gaze. “No matter how justified it was, it doesn’t just wash off. It’s still on me. Every damned day.”

She takes a breath and sets her mug down. “Trauma doesn’t make you unlovable, Henry. Nor does it make you unable to love. It makes you human.”

I shake my head. “She deserves someone better. Someone whole.”

Aunt Melanie leans forward, eyes sharp but kind. “No one is whole. Not really. And no one who’s worth loving expects you to be.”

I look away, jaw tight. “I didn’t treat her the way she deserved to be treated. She was starting to see the cracks.”

“Good.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “Love isn’t about showing someone your mask. It’s about letting them see behind it.”

I’m quiet for a moment, staring at the table.

“I really think I may love her,” I whisper.

Aunt Melanie touches my hand. “Then go after her.”

I blink.

“You’ve been through hell,” she says. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking you have to come out the other side alone. Love doesn’t wait around forever. And it damned sure doesn’t knock twice.”

I swallow hard.

She squeezes my hand. “Whatever else you’re going through, don’t turn your back on love.”

And just like that, I know what I have to do.

I stop back at my parents’ house to pick up Zach, and then I take the long way to my house on the ranch, winding past the old cottonwoods and over the cattle guard that still rattles like it did when I was a kid.

Dust kicks up behind my truck as I pull into the driveway, the tires crunching over gravel.

The house looms ahead—half covered in Tyvek wrap, half framed with fresh cedar planks that haven’t weathered yet.

It smells like sawdust and sunbaked wood.

The front porch is littered with ladders, stacked two-by-fours, and a forgotten Red Bull can. No one’s here. It’s Sunday.

Perfect.

I park by the barn and kill the engine. The silence is thick. No hammering, no compressors. Just the wind and the faint clatter of something loose on the roofline.

I step out, boots hitting hard ground, and walk to the front door—or what will be the front door once it’s hung again. Zach is beside me, panting with a big doggy smile on his face.

Even though the place is in shambles, he knows we’re home.

Inside, the place smells like drywall dust and pine.

Cool air rushes through the exposed studs where insulation hasn’t been installed yet.

I walk through what will be the living room, my boots echoing over subflooring.

The new windows are in—floor to ceiling.

They flood the space with light, even on a cloudy day like this one.

In the distance, the Rockies rise like the majestic mountains they are.

“Looking good, huh, boy?” I scratch behind Zach’s ears.

I step into the kitchen and grin. The island frame is done. I picture Tabitha standing there, barefoot, coffee in hand, hair a mess from sleep. I picture her here too easily.

That scares the shit out of me.

The bedrooms are framed in. The primary suite is taking shape—walk-in closet, private bath, corner windows. I run my fingers along the edge of the windowsill. It’s smooth, solid. The crew did good work.

It’s becoming real.

My house was beautiful, but after…

Fuck.

After I killed Ralph Normandy.

I need to just say the words. Or think them.

After I killed Ralph Normandy, I needed a change. A total renovation.

Even with the renovation, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to live here. Not after the months of pretending I was okay when I was coming apart.

But now…

Now there’s her.

Tabitha.

I close my eyes and breathe in the sawdust and the faint scent of lilacs from outside. I imagine her laughter echoing down the hallway. Her clothes hanging next to mine. Her toothbrush beside the sink.

I open my eyes. “It could work,” I say out loud.

Zach cocks his head at me.

“It could,” I say, “if I don’t fuck it up.”

I walk back out through the studs, past the place where the fireplace will go. The stones are stacked outside, waiting to be set. Just like me.

I head back to my truck, heart pounding now with something that feels like hope. I’ve got a full tank of gas and nothing left to lose.

“Feel like a road trip?” I say to Zach.

Time to drive to Boulder. Tabitha will get there several hours ahead of me, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.

And this time, I’m not letting her walk away.

Just as I’m about to leave, something shifts.

A soft crack behind me—sharp, almost like a tree branch snapping. I turn my head instinctively and scan the half-finished porch.

And then—

Crack!

Blinding pain explodes across my skull.

The world tilts.

Spins.

A sharp yap. I think it comes from Zach.

A support beam—one of the unfinished braces—lies on the ground beside me, splintered at the edge. I don’t remember falling. Just the jolt. The white-hot sting.

My knees gave out.

I hit the dirt hard, my cheek pressed into the gravel, blood pooling warm beneath me.

The last thing I think about before everything fades is her name.

Tabitha.