Chapter Twenty Four
The Cost of Wanting
M y first thought should be what the fuck is he talking about? Quickly followed by a scream, a kick to his nuts, and me running for my life.
But, God… all I can think is: He’s broken. Just like me.
Kade Archer is a good man.
An ass, sure—snarky, rude, brooding more times than not—but underneath all that rough-edged armor is something honest. Steady and solid. He’s got a good heart.
How could he not, being raised by Beatrice Archer? She’s the single most selfless person I’ve ever met. You don’t grow up loved like that and not carry some of it with you. Even if it gets buried under guilt and grief. And it’s clear he has enough of that to last a lifetime.
He’s dark… broken in a way that calls to all the fractured, ugly parts of me I pretend don’t exist. I’ve tried to stay away. Tried to ignore the tether between us that drags me back into his orbit every time we get too close. But it’s getting harder and harder to pretend I don’t feel it.
Especially when he holds me while I fall apart, rocks me and soothes me like I’m precious to him— like I matter . He was there for me, no questions asked. Worried on my behalf—angrily so, about what happened to me today to make me fall apart in Aurora's room like a crazy person.
He was here for me despite the shit I pulled on the back of that horse last week. I wanted to stay strong, but God, when he pulled that lash off my cheek and told me to make a wish like he meant it , I couldn’t stop myself.
Kade didn’t make fun of me or laugh, he just accepted my childish dreams as reality, and gave me the only kindness he could in the face of my meltdown.
And now he’s the one unraveling.
I know how his dad died. William Archer passed from a sudden heart attack while Kade was halfway around the world. He had nothing to do with it.
No matter what logic says, grief makes liars out of us all, though.
I’ve been a liar for a long damn time, and it’s a lonely way to live. Maybe that’s why I move without letting myself overthink it.
Quietly, I slip off the dresser and smooth down my skirt. I step up behind him and press my chest to his back, wrap my arms around his waist, and just hold him the same way he held me.
He tenses at first, like he doesn’t know what to do with comfort, but then his hands come up, fingers wrapping gently around my arms where the sleeves of my sweater have ridden up. His palms are warm and rough, calloused and big.
Perfect .
I inhale his warm, clean smell—the notes of cedar and leather tamer than usual, and I wonder if it has something to do with the cowboy hat or belt he usually wears.
“What happened?”
His fingertips dig into my arm, body shuddering with a deep breath, before he says, “He died because of me. Because I wasn’t there. Because he needed me, and I left him alone.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but I clench my jaw, knowing he doesn’t need my opinion on his pain. He just needs to let it out, slowly and safely.
Kade told me to lay my broken pieces at his feet, promised me he could carry them. And maybe he’s right, but I can be that for him, too. I want to be that for him.
I don’t know what it means, but right now, I can’t bring myself to care.
So I simply whisper, “Tell me your story, Kade Archer. I can carry your pieces, too.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty—it’s heavy with the weight of everything he’s never said out loud. Of guilt buried so deep it’s woven into the way he breathes .
But slowly, his grip softens. His shoulders ease, just slightly, as if the act of being seen, truly seen , has loosened a thread inside him.
Outside, the sun sets, and warm, golden rays wrap around us like a blanket, broken only by the quiet ache between heartbeats.
And when he finally starts talking, finally lays down what he’s kept inside, I don’t rush him. Don’t fill the space with soft reassurances or hollow promises. I just listen and hold him, my grip never waning.
Because sometimes, healing doesn’t begin with fixing.
Sometimes, it begins with someone staying long enough to witness the break.
Kade tells me all about the house he built with his dad. About enlisting in the army and how his family, especially William, hated his choice to go. He tells me about meeting Griffin and Wilder, the guys who came all the way to Heart Springs to help him get ready for Aurora, no questions asked.
The words slow, becoming more fractured the longer he talks, the closer he gets to the part where I know William dies.
And when he finally tells me about the biggest hurt of all—the ache he carries deep inside his soul, I pepper his back in kisses that I immediately pretend don’t rewrite my DNA.
I told myself I could do this. That I could just be here for him. A friend, like he was for me. But the second his voice breaks and he softens in my arms like the weight of his pain finally found a place to land, I know.
Every wall I built to protect myself doesn’t just crack—they crumble.
Because there’s no coming back from this. No safe distance left to stand.
Not when he’s giving me pieces of himself like they’re sacred, and all I want to do is hold them like they’re mine .
When he finally stops talking and darkness bleeds into the room, only lit up by the two nightlights I got for Aurora, I loosen my hold, but he clutches onto me like I’m the only thing keeping him standing.
“Don’t,” he rasps, voice thick. “Don’t wanna see the look in your eyes yet.”
“What look?” I breathe, blinking back more tears.
“Look that says you see me differently now.”
I could lie, could promise nothing’s changed, but that would be a different kind of cruelty. Because something has changed. Not the way he thinks, though. Not in fear or pity. But in the quiet, terrifying way that feels a lot like falling .
I rest my forehead against his shoulder, heart thudding so loud I’m sure he can feel it.
“You’re not the only one who’s been carrying something,” I whisper. “Not the only one who’s been afraid of what the truth might sound like out loud.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t press or prod. Just listens.
And maybe it’s the way his body molds to mine so perfectly, or the way he lifts my hand to press a soft kiss to my palm, and then the other—but something inside me breaks open with it.
“I killed my mom.”
Kade goes completely still. Doesn’t turn around, but his grip on my arms tightens like he’s trying to anchor me to him, or maybe the other way around.
“What?” he whispers, as if saying it too loud might break the bubble we’ve built around us. This moment, this pause, feels like a fragile truce. A sacred, shaky kind of peace I’m desperate for. “What are you talkin’ about, darlin’?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe slowly, just like he told me to when he was keeping me together, his body surrounding mine, holding me up and letting me fall apart, all at once.
“My mom,” I repeat, voice cracking. “She died during childbirth. And I know I didn’t actually kill her, I know it’s not my fault, but…” I cling harder, and he clings right back. “But if she hadn't had me, or been pregnant or alone, she would still be here.”
“Oh, Georgia.” He sighs, trying to turn around.
I shake my head. “No, let me just… I need to get it out. I need to tell someone.”
He stills for a long moment, then softens. “I wanna be that someone.”
My breath hiccups, and I ignore the way those words make me feel.
“She was eighteen when she passed. Born and raised here, in Heart Springs, but she left at some point. I’m not sure if it was when she was already pregnant, or if that happened after she left, but she wound up in West Virginia.
All I have is my birth certificate, hers, and her death certificate.
No pictures, or records of anything else. ”
“How…” He trails off. “Never mind, you don’t—”
“She hemorrhaged,” I murmur and he flinches. “The hospital couldn’t handle the extent of her blood loss. She passed quickly, I think, but she was alone, and she didn’t list a father, so I…”
“You were in foster care, weren’t you? Like Aurora?”
I nod against him, but don’t I answer. For a long time, neither of us speaks, but when he finally breaks the silence, I’m surprised by how quickly he’s put it all together.
“That’s why you’re here. In Heart Springs. You’re lookin’ for answers, then you’ll go back.” He releases a rough breath. “Said you only signed a six-month contract.”
My eyes snap open, and I loosen my hold on him. “You remember I said that?”
He scoffs, chuckling quietly and glances at me over his shoulder. In the dark, I can barely make out his stormy eyes. “Spent nearly a decade in the Rangers fightin’ for my life, baby. Really think I didn’t pick up a skill or two?”
I blush, my body lighting up at the nickname—nearly fell out of the saddle the first time he said it. That paired with the smile on his face, laughter in his deep voice, and the feeling of his soft shirt against chiseled muscles brushing my skin—it’s too much and not enough.
It’s also a terrible time for my core to wake up, or my nipples to stand at attention.
Really terrible.
He’s going to think tears and death make me horny.
“I guess,” I murmur, stepping back. “But yeah, my contract is six months—so is my lease. I figured if I can’t find anything in that amount of time, I never will.”
Honestly, I’m not sure what my plan is. I love Heart Springs. Love the people I’ve met, the shops downtown, and the environment. I’ve missed the country. Missed the storms that rage, and the rainbows that follow. Breezes filled with petrichor and animals instead of smog.
There’s not a whole lot tying me to my life in New York. I gave up my apartment to move here, sold half my belongings, and yeah, quitting Safe Haven was hard, but I’ve loved the work here just as much—maybe more.
Abby’s in New York. But, she’s about the only person I’d truly miss. My heart would ache for the other friends I’ve made, but nearly two months away and I haven’t heard from a single one of them. Just her.