Chapter 6 #3
“I know.” She gave him a small smile, then added onions to the pan, the sizzle loud in the sudden quiet. “You had your reasons. Besides, it’s in the past.”
It felt too easy to dismiss.
In the past. What they’d had didn’t feel finished, didn’t feel relegated to memory. Watching her move through her kitchen, seeing how she’d raised Huck, being here in this house that felt more like home than anywhere he’d been in a decade—none of that felt past tense.
“What time’s church tomorrow?” The question surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her. Where had that come from?
Sierra’s spatula froze mid-stir. “You want to go to church?”
No. Yes. Maybe. “If that’s okay.”
She turned to study his face, clearly looking for the joke. “You do remember you weren’t exactly a believer before, right? Used to say church was for people who were afraid to think for themselves.”
Rowan winced and set a pan to dry on the rack. Grabbed a towel. Those words sounded even worse coming from her mouth than they had from his eighteen-year-old arrogance. “I said a lot of stupid things when I was eighteen.”
“So what changed?”
He leaned against the counter, considering how much to reveal.
“Being dead makes you think about, well, being dead. And over the past couple years, Saxon and I and a couple other buddies have been in some big scrapes. Wildfires that should have killed us, situations where we had about a one percent chance of survival.”
“But you survived.” Her voice came out softer than before.
“We survived. And after the third or fourth time that happened, I started thinking maybe someone upstairs was looking out for us.” He poured himself the last of the morning coffee and put it in the microwave. “Hard to explain unless you’ve been there.”
The truth was more complicated than that. He’d started questioning his lack of faith the night they’d survived a firestorm in Montana. And then his buddy Kane had looked at him and said, Someone’s got to be keeping score, brother. Otherwise, none of this makes sense.
But Sierra didn’t need the full theological crisis that had followed. Just, “There were a few Christians on our team, and they believed that God was looking out for us. Sort of rubbed off, I guess. So maybe it’s worth a look.”
Sierra studied his face with those dark eyes that had always seen too much. “Well. This should be interesting. Half the congregation thinks you’re dead.”
The microwave beeped. He rescued his coffee and added sugar.
Turned to her. “Are you ready for the questions?” The thought of facing a church full of people who’d known him as a boy, who’d attended his memorial service, made his stomach clench.
But if he was going to build a life here, it had to start somewhere.
For a second, that thought gripped him, sank in. Build a life here.
And then…yes. Yes.
“Are you ready for the questions?” She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, challenge sparking in her expression.
“It has to happen sometime if I’m going to stick around.”
And just like that, Sierra’s breath caught.
Something—hope? Worry? Panic?—flickered in in her eyes before she shuttered it away. Huh. He didn’t know where to land with his response.
“Redeemer Community, nine-thirty service,” she managed. “Unless you’d rather stay here and guard the place.”
“No, I’d like to go. If that’s okay.”
“It’s okay.” The way she said it suggested it was more than okay, and something warm unfurled in his chest. Maybe he’d misread the look in her eyes.
Huck thundered back down the stairs, his hair damp from actual washing. “Can I help cook?”
“You can set the table,” Sierra said. “And no complaining about the placemats.”
“The placemats are stupid. Who needs flowers on their eating space?”
Rowan grinned and helped him set the table.
The goulash was simple but fed his bones. Huck peppered him with questions about firefighting, military life, and whether he’d ever met any famous people.
“I met a movie star last summer. A guy named Spenser Storm.”
“Oh, I know him. He was in a TV series my mom likes to watch.”
He glanced at her. “Trek of the Osprey.”
“Can’t help that Quillen Cleveland is still my favorite leading man.” She winked.
Oh, she was cute.
“Can we watch a movie?” Huck asked as Sierra cleared the dishes.
“Homework first.”
“I don’t have any homework. It’s Saturday.”
“Reading, then.”
“Mom.” Huck’s voice carried a whine.
“What if we compromise?” Rowan said. “An educational movie.”
“Define educational,” Sierra said, but her tone suggested she was willing to negotiate.
“I was thinking maybe something from when we were kids. Show Huck what movies used to look like before everything was computer-generated.”
“Please, Mom?” Huck bounced in his chair. “I promise I’ll read extra tomorrow.”
Sierra’s mouth made a grim line as she looked between her son and Rowan.
And he didn’t know why, suddenly, he cared. Why he longed to sit in the old den with her, sharing popcorn, his arm stretched out over the top of the sofa so she could snuggle against him.
The thought, however, seeped in and took possession. Please?
“Fine. One movie,” Sierra said. “And I’ll even let you pick the popcorn flavor.”
“Yes!” Huck pumped his fist in victory, and Rowan had to hide his own smile. Yes!
Twenty minutes later, they were settled in the den with a bowl of buttered popcorn between them.
Sierra had chosen The Princess Bride, and a jolt of memory hit Rowan so strong it nearly stole his breath.
They’d watched this movie together in high school, curled up on this same couch while rain drummed against the windows. As you wish, Sierra.
Rowan claimed the far end of the couch, his spot. Huck sat in the middle, Sierra across from them. So, no snuggling, and hello, he probably needed to shut down that kind of thinking.
She hadn’t exactly made any moves to suggest rekindling the past.
But she hadn’t kicked him out either.
“This is old,” Huck announced as the opening credits rolled.
“This is classic,” Sierra said.
“Same thing.”
“Watch and learn, kid,” Rowan said. “This movie has everything. Sword fights, pirates, true love, revenge—”
“Rodents of unusual size,” Sierra added, glancing at him. The easy way she fell into their old banter made his chest tight.
“I don’t believe they exist,” Rowan quoted automatically, earning Sierra’s laugh, the sound pure and bright and exactly as he remembered.
As the movie progressed, Rowan found himself watching Sierra more than the screen. She looked relaxed for the first time since he’d been back, some of the constant tension finally easing from her shoulders. When Westley revealed his identity to Buttercup, she mouthed along with the dialogue.
“As you wish,” Rowan murmured, remembering another night, another version of themselves who’d thought they had forever.
Sierra’s eyes flicked to his. She remembered too. The knowledge passed between them like an electric current, dangerous and impossible to ignore.
“Mom, can I have more popcorn?” Huck’s voice cut through the moment.
“There’s plenty in the bowl.”
“It’s all the way over there.” Huck gestured dramatically toward the coffee table like it was miles away instead of three feet.
“Then get up and get it.”
“But I’m comfortable.”
“Tragedy,” Sierra said dryly, and Rowan bit back a grin. Some things never changed.
Huck sighed heavily and hauled himself off the sofa with theatrical suffering. He grabbed the bowl of popcorn and settled back on the sofa.
In doing so, he leaned against Rowan.
Oh. He looked at the kid, feeling the weight, the warmth, and something shifted inside. He couldn’t move.
“This is actually pretty good,” Huck said as Inigo Montoya began his sword fight with the Man in Black.
“Told you,” Rowan said, but his voice emerged funny.
Calm down. It didn’t mean anything.
By the time the credits rolled, Huck was fighting sleep despite his insistence that he wasn’t tired. His eyes had gone heavy, and he was curled against his mother.
“Bedtime,” Sierra announced.
“Can’t I stay up a little longer? It’s Saturday.”
“It’s after nine, and we have church in the morning.”
“Five more minutes?”
“Now.”
Huck sighed, a little dramatically, but he got up. “Night, Mr. R,” he said.
“Night, big Huck,” Rowan said and held out his fist. Huck banged it and then trudged upstairs with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man.
“He’s a good kid,” Rowan said.
“He is.” Sierra began gathering empty popcorn bowls and glasses. “Gets that from his father.”
The words hit Rowan like a slap. Aw, shoot.
Sierra had a child with another man, had built a life with someone else. And while the logical part of his mind had accepted this reality days ago, hearing her mention Huck’s father so casually made it real in a way that left him breathless.
“Sierra—”
“I should clean up.” She stood quickly, clearly needing distance.
But Rowan caught her wrist. Gently. “Wait.”
She looked down at him, her pulse visible in the hollow of her throat.
“Talk to me. Please.”
Sierra sank back onto the couch. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. These past ten years, what happened to you, how you ended up…” He gestured vaguely toward the stairs where Huck had disappeared, then stopped. He had no right to ask about her relationships, no claim on her past.
“How I ended up with a son?” Her voice came out steadier than her expression suggested.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” She pulled her wrist free and tucked her hands in her lap. “I got pregnant without meaning to, but he’s my entire world.”
Each word felt like a knife between his ribs. She’d gotten involved with someone else pretty quickly after he left, it seemed, had been pregnant while he was stumbling through advanced training.
Maybe even during his first deployment.
“What happened to his dad?”
Sierra’s breath caught. “I told you. Died serving his country.”