Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
HANNA
A fter another long day of driving, we arrive at our second destination.
The silence of the field greets us as we climb out of Jordan’s truck, the engine clicking softly as it cools. Keenan’s family’s cabin stands ahead, weathered and sturdy. The wind stirs the tall grass around it, bending the blades in waves that shimmer under the sun. Wildflowers dot the edges of the field in bursts of red, yellow, and purple. Beyond the trees, I can see a glimpse of the lake.
“It hasn’t changed,” I murmur, my breath catching as I take it all in. “Last time we were here was…five years ago. We never had enough time to visit when he was home on leave, or it was the wrong season to come out.”
Jordan steps up beside me, his hands in his pockets. “This place is frozen in time. It’s been years since I was here, and the only difference is the height of the trees,” he says, his voice thoughtful.
I hug myself as the memories press in. I remember Keenan whooping and hollering like a kid as he ran through the field, his energy boundless and contagious.
“He loved this place,” I say, my voice breaking on the words.
“That he did, Hanna. That he did.”
Jordan follows me to the cabin, and the door creaks as I push it open. The first thing that hits me is the smell—dust and aged wood.
Sunlight streams through the windows, catching motes of dust that swirl lazily in the air. The furniture is covered in sheets—a worn couch draped with a faded quilt, shelves lined with books that have been here for generations, and a small table in the corner, its surface nicked and scratched from years of use.
I move toward the shelves, my fingers grazing the spines of the books. Keenan always said they were his escape when he was a kid, full of maps and adventures he dreamed of having someday.
Jordan moves to stand behind me. “We came here every summer as kids.”
I smile faintly, pulling down a book. “He told me about those summers. How much he loved it here.”
Once we unload our things and open the windows to air out the cabin, we step outside, the grass brushing against my legs as the wind picks up. The urn is cool in my hand as we head out.
I walk toward the tree without thinking, my feet following a path I could never forget. When I reach it, I find the initials carved in the trunk, right where we left them—mine and Keenan’s.
My fingers trace the grooves, the bark rough and unyielding. The carving of our young love lasted longer than our marriage. The sight steals my breath.
“It’s still here,” I murmur, unable to look away. I reach up and touch the necklace around my neck holding our wedding rings, wishing again that Keenan hadn’t agreed to “one last deployment.”
Jordan is close behind me. I can feel him there, his presence solid and comforting.
I turn to see him watching me. The sunlight catches in his dark blond hair, and my stomach twists. The ache of grief collides with a heat that, if I’m honest, has been building since I arrived at his place on King Mountain.
“Sometimes,” I say, my voice breaking, “it seems like letting go of him means letting go of what we had together.”
Jordan steps closer, his hand hovering near mine but not quite touching. His warmth wraps around me, even in the open air.
“You’re not losing him,” he says softly. “You’re finding your way to the next stage of your life.”
I look at him fully now, my breath catching at the way he looks at me—intense, unflinching, and full of emotions that fill my stomach with butterflies.
For a heartbeat, I think about what it would feel like to let him pull me into his embrace. To let myself get lost in him instead of the ache. I can tell he wants me. I’ve always suspected he was attracted to me, but he’s always been silent about anything he felt for me.
But I don’t. I can’t.
I’m distracted when the wind strengthens, sweeping my hair into my face, but I don’t move to push it away. The urn now feels heavy in my hands—not its actual weight but everything it represents.
I kneel beneath the oak tree, the grass cool beneath my knees.
I twist the urn open, and the scraping sound jarring in the quiet. We each release a handful of ashes.
It breaks me.
The tears come hard and fast, blurring everything until all I can see is the swirl of colors in the sky. I clutch the urn to my chest, my sobs wracking my body.
I feel Jordan beside me before I see him.
“You’re not alone, Hanna.”
Jordan’s voice is low, almost too soft to hear over the wind, but it cuts through my grief.
His hand settles on my shoulder, warm and solid. Then it moves down, brushing my arm before cupping my elbow.
“You’re not letting go of him,” he says, kneeling beside me. “You’re making room for the rest of your life.”
His words stop me cold. I blink through the tears, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. Is he right?
“What if I don’t know how to do that?” My voice shakes, the vulnerability in it raw and unfamiliar.
“You don’t have to do it alone.” The certainty in his voice gives me pause.
I glance at him, and the way he’s looking at me—not with pity but with a blazing intensity—fuels the butterflies in my stomach. His eyes are locked on mine, unwavering, and I lose myself in the strength there.
I lean forward, my forehead brushing his shoulder. His arms come around me, hesitantly at first, then tighter, pulling me close.
His chest is broad and warm, and the deep rhythm of his heart pulses against my cheek. I find myself calming down, when I didn’t think it was possible. It strikes me that this isn’t the first time this has happened with Jordan. He’s always been supportive, but everything with us was always filtered through Keenan. I’m seeing Jordan in a new light.
For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to be held. I’ve avoided letting anyone comfort me like this because I was scared of messy emotions. People seem to have time limits on how long they support you, but the complete opposite is true with Jordan. He doesn’t try to minimize or ignore my feelings. Instead, he’s here, letting me work through everything and being a pillar of strength while I do.
His hand strokes my back in slow, reassuring circles, and the motion feels more intimate than it should. My eyes close, and for a fleeting second, I wonder what it would feel like to press my lips against his neck, to let this comfort become something more.
The thought terrifies me.
I pull back abruptly, hugging my arms around myself. My heart is pounding for all the wrong reasons.
I blink rapidly and mentally shake my head. This is not the time or place for these thoughts, no matter how overwhelming they are.
“We should head back before it gets dark,” Jordan says, his voice low.
I nod, but my eyes are on him instead of the horizon. “Yeah…”
He steps toward the field, his broad shoulders cutting a strong silhouette against the fading light. I can’t stop my eyes from following the line of his back, the way his shirt stretches across his muscles as he moves.
I bite my lip, the ache in my chest shifting into something entirely different. What would it feel like to have those arms around me again? To feel his hands on my skin?
I shake the thought away, following him through the field. Could we cross this line together? Would letting myself love Jordan be a betrayal to Keenan? My fingers find their way to my necklace, seeking solace in the weight of our wedding rings. Maybe it’s time to take this necklace off and focus on the future instead of lingering in the sadness of the past year.
The crickets are noisy as we walk back to the cabin, their hum filling the space between us.
I glance at Jordan from the corner of my eye, catching the way his jaw tightens, the flicker of something unreadable in his expression.
For a second, our hands brush, and neither of us pulls away.