Chapter 6
SAbrINA
By Thursday night, I couldn't take it anymore.
The weight of my secret felt like carrying rocks in my chest. Every time Trace looked at me it was like they multiplied.
Every shared glance during wedding prep, every almost-normal conversation we'd managed, felt like another lie layered on top of the biggest one.
I had to tell him. Tonight.
The drive to his cabin felt both endless and way too short.
My hands shook on the steering wheel as I wound through the familiar mountain roads, past the turnoff where we used to park and watch meteor showers, past the creek where he'd taught me to fish when we were twelve.
Every landmark was a reminder of what I was about to risk losing forever.
The lights in his cabin glowed warm and golden against the dark sky. Smoke curled from the chimney. It looked like home. Wherever he was had always looked like home, even when I was too stubborn or scared to admit it.
I sat in my truck for a full minute after I cut the engine, rehearsing the words I'd practiced all day. Trace, I need to tell you something about the Ex-List. I was the one who wrote down your name. I called you The Heartbreaker, and I'm so sorry.
The words were too hollow, not nearly enough to make up for all the pain I’d caused him. How could I apologize for branding him with a label that followed him around for months? How could I ever make him understand that I’d done it out of hurt and frustration and love that had nowhere else to go?
Before I lost my nerve completely, I forced myself out of the truck and up the porch steps. The boards creaked under my feet… boards he'd nailed into place himself all those years ago while I stood by and pretended to help.
I knocked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
When he opened the door, he stood there in a pair of gray sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that clung to his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry. His hair stuck out like he'd been running his hands through it, and the surprise in his eyes quickly softened into something warmer.
"Hey," he said, stepping back to let me in. "Everything okay? You look..."
"Nervous?" I supplied, unwrapping my scarf with shaking fingers.
"I was going to say beautiful, but nervous works too." The compliment slipped out naturally, like the old Trace who used to make me blush without trying.
Heat raced over my cheeks as I hung my coat on the hook by the door. It was the same hook where I'd hung my jacket countless times before, back when showing up at his place unannounced was normal. Back when we were us.
“Want something to warm you up? I think I still have some of that chai tea you like."
The fact that he remembered made my chest ache. "I'm okay. I just..." I took a shaky breath. "I need to talk to you about something."
“Okay.” His expression shifted from warm to wary. We’d been here before… this was just like the night I’d stopped by a few years ago when I told him I was thinking about leaving Hard Timber. The night he almost kissed me. "Do you want to sit down?"
I shook my head. If I sat down, I might lose my nerve completely. "Trace, about the Ex-List—"
“It’s fine. I can handle the podcaster on my own.”
"But I—" I started, then stopped as he stepped closer.
"Sabrina." His voice was low and gentle, his eyes searching my face. “I don’t want to talk about the damn Ex-List. What matters is right now. This." He gestured between us. "Us working together again, talking again. It feels..."
"Like what?" I whispered.
"Like maybe we got a second chance."
The hope in his voice nearly undid me. This was supposed to be the moment I came clean, the moment I finally told him the truth. But he was looking at me like I was something precious, something worth a second chance, and the words died in my throat.
Instead, I took a step closer, drawn by the warmth in his gorgeous brown eyes and the familiar comfort I always felt around him. "Trace, I—"
"I've missed you," he said, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "God, Sabrina, I've missed you so much."
The confession broke something open in my chest. "I've missed you too. More than I wanted to. It doesn’t make sense.”
"When has anything between us ever made sense?” he asked, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone.
I laughed, but it came out watery. "Never. We've always been a mess."
"Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
He was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, could smell the familiar scent of sawdust and soap that always clung to him. The same scent that had comforted me through ups and downs and teenage heartbreaks and every crisis in between.
"Sabrina.” My name sounded like a question on his lips.
When he started to lean in, I met him halfway. His lips met mine, soft and tentative at first, like he was asking permission. I gave it by pressing closer, my hands fisting in the soft cotton of his shirt.
The kiss deepened, too many years of want and need pouring out between us.
It was familiar and new all at the same time.
He was still Trace, the man who'd always made my pulse race, but he was different too.
Older, steadier, more sure of what he wanted.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine.
"Stay," he whispered.
I should have told him then. Should have pulled back and explained everything before this went any further. But the word that came out of my mouth was, "Okay."
He led me down the hall to his bedroom, our fingers intertwined, and I let him.
Because for just a little while, I wanted to pretend that we were just Trace and Sabrina again, without the weight of secrets between us.
I wanted to pretend that this second chance was real and uncomplicated and mine to take.
The bedroom was exactly as I remembered: simple furniture, soft quilts, and windows that looked out onto the mountains.
He'd hung new curtains, I noticed. Navy blue instead of the old plaid ones.
They matched the throw pillows I'd bought him a few Christmases ago, the ones I'd wondered if he'd thrown away.
"Second thoughts?" he asked softly, noticing my hesitation.
"No." I turned to face him, my decision solid. Whatever happened tomorrow, whatever consequences came from my secrets, I wanted this moment. I wanted him. "No second thoughts."
He stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on my waist. "You're shaking,” he murmured.
"I know." My voice came out breathy. "It's been a long time."
"A long time for a lot of things," he agreed, his fingers tracing light circles on my hip.
His touch sent shivers straight through me. This was Trace—my best friend, the man I’d loved for decades, the one who'd seen me through every heartbreak except the one he'd caused without knowing.
His mouth found mine again, more demanding this time. The kiss wasn't gentle. It was pure hunger and need. Like three years of what-ifs and almosts pouring out between us. His hands slid under my sweater, calloused palms warm against my skin.
I gasped as his fingers found the clasp of my bra. "Trace—"
"Tell me to stop," he whispered against my lips. "Tell me and I will."
But I didn't want to stop. Not now, maybe not ever. I wanted this moment, this connection, even if it wouldn’t last. As his hands moved lower, unbuttoning my jeans, a wave of guilt crashed over me. I should tell him. Right now, before it went any further. Before I lost myself completely.
Then his mouth was on mine again, and my ability to think gave way to sensations I’d only ever dreamed about. He slid my jeans down my hips and sank down on his knees in front of me. The intimacy of the gesture, the way he looked up at me with those dark eyes… it was almost my undoing.
"Damn, Sabrina," he breathed. "You're so fucking beautiful."
His words sent a fresh wave of guilt through me.
If he only knew. If he only understood what I'd done.
I put my hands on his shoulders, intent on stopping him, of pulling him back to his feet to confess everything.
Then he tugged down my panties and eased me back onto the bed.
His tongue lapped at my core, hot and demanding, and all thoughts of confession dissolved into white-hot pleasure.
His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as his tongue worked magic that made my knees weak.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, gasping as pleasure spiraled through me.
When I could finally think again, he stood and tugged off his sweats. I reached for him, needing to feel his skin against mine, needing to erase the years of distance between us.
He groaned as my hands explored his chest, his stomach, then lower. "You're killing me," he murmured against my neck.
"Good," I whispered, because right then, in that moment, it felt like the truth. If this was how we ended, at least we'd have this memory.
But as he hovered over me, positioning himself between my thighs, I knew this wasn't an ending. It was a beginning, or maybe a continuation of something we'd started years ago and never finished.
And when he slid inside me, it wasn’t just heat — it was homecoming.
Slow at first, like he wanted to learn every inch of me.
Every breath. Every way my body whispered yes.
Then the rhythm shifted, deepened, turned desperate and reverent all at once until the only sound left was the thud of our hearts chasing each other through the dark.
After stars exploded behind my eyelids and he growled my name as he came, we stayed tangled together, our skin slick, too wrecked to move. The world outside didn’t exist… not the town, not the rumors, not the damn list that had ruined everything. Just this. Him. Me. Us.
Trace brushed his thumb along my hip, lazy and tender. “Where have you been all my life?” he murmured against my hair.
The question sliced right through me. Right here, I wanted to say. Always right here. But fear had a way of building fences, and I’d spent years pretending the gate was locked.
His breathing slowed, steady against my back, but sleep wouldn’t come for me.
My brain spun with everything I should’ve said, everything I still hadn’t.
I’d come here to confess. To finally tell him the truth.
But now… with his arm heavy over my waist and his warmth sinking into my bones, I couldn’t bring myself to shatter it. Not yet.
If pretending bought me one more night like this, I’d take it. I’d take every second. So I pressed closer, chasing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat until the guilt dulled to something that almost felt like peace.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him.
Tonight, I’d let myself believe he was mine.