Chapter 31
thirty-one
Anson had been on Maggie’s porch for hours, watching the sun sink behind the mountains, turning the snow-covered fields pink then purple then grey.
His hands were numb, even shoved deep in his pockets, and his ass had gone cold against the wooden step.
Bramble leaned against him, but the dog’s warmth did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled into his bones.
Still, he didn’t move.
Bramble whined, nosing at his elbow, again trying to lead him back to the forge.
But just like the last two times, he stayed rooted until headlights swept across the drive.
Bear’s truck rumbled to a stop near the cabin.
The engine cut, and his breath snagged in his throat as he watched Maggie climb out.
The splash of the headlights deepened the lines of exhaustion on her face, and her shoulders sagged under the weight of something more than just a long day.
“Hi,” he said, voice rough.
“You’re freezing.” She stopped in front of him, close enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t Bear tell you I was going to be late?”
“Yeah.”
She studied his face, then sighed and moved past him to unlock her door. He stood slowly, joints protesting, and followed her inside without asking permission. Bramble scrambled up beside him. The warmth hit immediately, pins and needles shooting through his frozen fingers.
Maggie dropped her keys on the small table by the door and shrugged out of her coat—still his flannel, he realized with a spike of smug satisfaction. She hung it carefully on the hook and unwound her scarf, fingers fumbling with the knot. The cabin felt smaller with both of them in it.
She turned to the woodstove, adding another log and stoking the embers until flames licked upward. The firelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the hollows beneath her cheekbones, the tension around her mouth.
Finally, she faced him. “We need to talk.”
“I know.” He tugged off his gloves, flexing stiff fingers. “Been sitting out there trying to figure out what to say.”
“Did you figure it out?”
He hadn’t, not really. Words never came easy, especially not the important ones. The ones that mattered.
“I’m sorry about last night.” His voice sounded strange in his own ears, too loud for the quiet cabin. “For asking you to leave. For sending River.”
She crossed her arms. “That was a dick move. Trying to push me away by pushing me toward someone else.”
He winced. “Yeah.”
She waited a beat. “Is that all you have to say? Just… yeah?”
He took a deep breath, searching for words that might bridge the gap he’d created.
“You’re the first woman I’ve wanted since before prison. The first woman I’ve touched. The first I’ve let touch me.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh.” She uncrossed her arms and took a step toward him, but he backed up. His heart rode high in his throat, and if she touched him now, he wouldn’t be able to say what needed saying.
“That’s not an excuse. Just the truth. I was scared.” The admission felt like ripping off his own skin. “Scared of failing you. Hurting you. Proving I’m still the same man who burned down a building and killed four people.”
Maggie stood perfectly still, watching him with those green eyes that saw too much. She knew this story. He’d written it in one of his earliest letters, but for reasons he couldn’t name, it felt important to say it out loud now, standing in front of her.
“I didn’t mean to kill Eddie Kowalski or anyone else.
But I did because I was so goddamn sure I was right, that I knew better, and Sentinel Defense deserved to pay for their greed.
” He shoved up his sleeves and held out his hands, showing the burn scars.
“That’s who I am, Maggie. And I’ve spent the last thirteen years trying to be better, but when I’m with you… ”
“When you’re with me, what?” she prompted when he trailed off.
“I lose control,” he admitted. “And it terrifies me.”
“Anson.” She took another step toward him, and this time he didn’t retreat.
She took his cold hands in hers and traced the scars there with her fingertips.
“The man who wrote to me for six years isn’t someone I need to fear.
You’re not violent. You’re not cruel. You’re good, Anson. Even when you can’t see it yourself.”
His throat tightened around words he couldn’t form. How could she have such faith in him when he had none in himself?
“I saw violence and cruelty today at Haven House,” she continued.
“A woman arrived. Sarah. She was beaten so badly that she could barely stand. I sat with her for hours. Heard her story. And all I could think was how easily that could’ve been me if things with Landry had gone differently.
If I’d been weaker or he’d been smarter, or if I hadn’t decided one random day to join a prison pen pal program. ”
He shook his head, not understanding what one thing had to do with the other. “How did that—”
“I got away from Landry because of you. Because of your letters.”
“My… letters?”
She stepped closer, hands sliding up to circle his neck.
“When Landry started showing his true colors, I recognized the warning signs because of what you’d written about your own journey.
About accountability. About change versus empty promises.
Without your letters, I might have believed Landry’s apologies.
Might have stayed. Might have ended up exactly where Sarah is now, or worse.
So you see, you didn’t just change your own life. You changed mine, too.”
His greatest shame had somehow been her salvation. The thought left him reeling.
She studied his face for a long moment. “Did you mean what you wrote in that letter last night? About loving me?”
He didn’t answer right away, couldn’t, and just stared down at her. This beautiful woman who’d seen him at his lowest and chosen him anyway, who was standing here asking him to be brave enough to choose her back, to say out loud what he’d only managed in written words until now.
“Yes.” No hedging, no retreat. “I love you. Have since the first letter. You were my light in the dark, Maggie. The only thing that kept me human. And now that you’re standing here in front of me, I’m fucking it all up, and I don’t know how to stop.”
“You haven’t fucked anything up yet. Not beyond repair.”
“I pushed you away.”
“And I let you because you weren’t exactly like your letters. But Bear reminded me today that no one’s exactly like they are on paper.”
Something like a startled laugh burst out of him. “Bear? The guy who speaks exclusively in grunts?”
“Yes, Bear. He was actually very insightful.” She smiled, a small upward quirk of her lips that was somehow both sad and beautiful. “And he’s right. We’re both more complicated and flawed than what fits on a page.”
“You’re not flawed,” he said automatically.
“Anson.” His name came out in an exasperated sigh.
“I’m stubborn, defensive, and almost sociopathically independent.
I push when I should wait. I want you to be honest with me, but I’m not always honest with myself.
Those letters were all the best parts of you, and I fell in love with that man.
” She moved closer and dragged her hands down to rest on his chest over his heart.
“But now I need the rest of you. The mess. The scars. The fear. Let me fall in love with all of you.”
He didn’t deserve this second chance—or third, or fourth, or however many they were on now. But he wanted it. Jesus, how he wanted it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. He brought his hands up to cup her face, thumbs tracing the curves of her cheeks. “I’ll do better.”
“I know you will.” She leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. “We both will.”
Then she brushed her lips against his, a ghost of contact that left him aching for more. He followed when she pulled back, chasing her warmth, but she placed a hand on his chest to stop him.
He understood why. They’d called a tentative truce, but he had more to do to make up for treating her like he had last night. He stepped back, but she caught his hand, lacing her fingers through his scarred ones.
“I miss our kittens.”
Our kittens.
Not his. Not hers.
Theirs.
A small thing, this shared claim, but it felt significant. Like building a foundation, one brick at a time.
“Me too.” It surprised him how quickly those tiny creatures had worked their way under his skin. The forge had felt empty all day without them tumbling over each other, demanding to be fed. “More than I thought I would.”
“We could go get them back from Lila,” she suggested. “I’m sure they’re missing us, too.”
“Now?”
“Right now. Unless you have something more important to do?”
He glanced toward the door, thinking of the half-finished horseshoe sitting on his anvil back at the forge, the leatherwork he hadn’t touched in weeks, and all the other work waiting for him.
It could wait.
Everything could wait.
“Nothing more important,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go bring our cats home.”