Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
They ate on the floor around Shane's coffee table in front of the fire, bowls of chili-and-cheese-smothered tamales, more warm tamales wrapped in corn husks waiting on a plate on the table.
The fire crackled and popped, throwing dancing shadows across the walls.
Outside, the storm had settled into a steady drumming rain, no longer violent but persistent—the kind that made April grateful to be inside, warm and dry and well-fed.
"This is so good," Kevin mumbled around a mouthful of tamale. "Mom, can we sell these at Riversong?"
"I'll talk to the owner," Shane said before April could answer. "See if they'd be interested in a wholesale arrangement."
April looked at him over her beer. "You don't have to do that."
"I know." Shane's smile was easy. "But why wouldn't I? Good food, good business. Everybody wins."
Kevin was already on to the next thing, his brain going in a million directions at once the way it always did when he was happy and comfortable. "Shane, how many stones did you skip when you were my age?"
"Honestly? I lost count. I was terrible at it until Waylon showed me the trick with the wrist."
Kevin grinned. “The one you showed me.”
“Yup. And picking the right stone. You want it flat and smooth, about the size of your palm." Shane demonstrated with his hand. "Too big and it sinks. Too small and it doesn't have enough momentum."
"Can we practice tomorrow?"
Shane glanced at April. “You’ve got school tomorrow, bud. But maybe after, if your mom says it's okay."
Kevin turned those big hopeful eyes on her. "Mom? Please?"
April felt her heart squeeze.
This could be every Sunday. Every weekend. Every ordinary Tuesday if we want it to be.
"We'll see," she said, which was mom-code for probably yes but I'm not committing yet.
Kevin grinned like he'd won the lottery. "Can we do this every Sunday? Come hiking and then have dinner at Shane's and practice skipping stones?"
The question landed heavy in the warm room. April's chest went tight.
Shane set down his beer, his expression careful. "Again, that's up to your mom, bud."
Kevin looked between them, picking up on something in the adult silence he couldn't quite name. "But we could, right? If Mom said yes? It’s okay with you?"
"Yeah," Shane said quietly, his eyes on April. "If your mom said yes, we could do this every Sunday. Every day, if she wanted."
April took a long sip of beer to hide the fact that her hands were shaking slightly. The weight of the moment pressed down on her—Kevin's hope, Shane's barely contained want, her own terrified longing for exactly this.
"Let's just focus on today," she said finally. "Today was pretty perfect."
Kevin seemed satisfied with that answer, or maybe he was just too full and warm to push. He settled back against the couch, Pete immediately arranging himself as a pillow. Within minutes, Kevin's eyes were drooping.
"I'm not tired," he mumbled, even as his head lolled against Pete's side.
"Of course not," April said, amused. "You're wide awake."
"Mmm-hmm." His eyes closed. "Just... resting my eyes..."
Shane caught April's gaze over Kevin's head, and smiled. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire, listening to Kevin's breathing even out into sleep. Pete's tail thumped once against the floor, but the dog didn't move otherwise—content to be Kevin's pillow for as long as needed.
"He's out," Shane said softly after a few more minutes.
April nodded. "He had a big day."
"I'll get him." Shane scooped Kevin up slowly, carefully, and stood. Her son barely stirred, just made a small sound and curled into Shane's chest. Pete stood, ready to accompany Kevin anywhere
April followed them down the hall with a blanket, her throat tight at the sight of Shane carrying her sleeping child like he'd done it a hundred times before.
Like he planned to do it a hundred times more.
The guest room was beside the main bathroom. Shane shouldered the door open and April got her first look at the space—a double bed with a navy quilt, simple wooden furniture, a lamp on the nightstand already turned to its lowest setting.
He laid Kevin down gently, and together they pulled off his shoes and tucked the blanket around him. Kevin mumbled something that might have been "love you" or might have been nothing at all, then rolled onto his side.
April smoothed his hair back from his forehead, the way she'd done since he was a baby.
"He really loves you," she whispered.
Shane was still watching Kevin sleep, his expression so tender it made April's chest ache.
They stood there a moment longer, side by side in the doorway, watching Kevin sleep in Shane's guest room like it was where he belonged.
Finally, Shane eased the door mostly closed—not latched, just cracked enough to hear if Kevin called out. Pete settled on the floor outside the door, assuming guard duty without being asked.
"Good boy," Shane murmured, scratching behind Pete's ears.
They walked back to the living room together. The fire had burned down to embers, casting a softer glow. The storm outside had gentled further to a good soaking rain, the thunder gone. Shane picked up her beer can and offered it to her.
"Thanks." April took it, settling back onto the couch. Shane sat beside her—close but not crowding, waiting for her to make the first move.
She curled into his side like it was inevitable, like gravity pulling her there. His arm came around her shoulders, warm and solid.
"So," Shane said after a moment. "Today."
"Today," April agreed.
"Kevin had fun."
"He did. He hasn't been that happy in..." She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Since before the drive-by. Since before he started having nightmares. Since before he hired you to be my bodyguard.
"You had fun, too," Shane said.
"I did." April took a sip of beer. "This was... this was a good day."
"The best," Shane said quietly.
They sat like that for a while, not talking, just existing together in the warm quiet. April could feel Shane's heartbeat where her head rested against his pec, steady and sure. The flannel she wore smelled like him. Everything in this cabin smelled like him, felt like him—solid and safe and real.
I could get used to this, April thought. I could get used to him.
"So," Shane said eventually, his voice careful. "About that question I asked on the mountain."
April's pulse kicked up. "You mean the one about giving you another chance?" she asked, stalling.
"That's the one." His arm tightened slightly around her. "You said you'd answer after the hike."
"I did say that." April set down her empty beer, buying herself a moment. This was it—the moment where she either jumped or backed away from the edge. "Shane—"
"Before you answer," he interrupted gently, "I need to say something."
April tilted her head to look at him. His expression was serious, vulnerable in a way that made her chest ache.
"I know you're scared," Shane said. "I know you have every reason to be.
I hurt you once, badly. My father threatened your family.
You spent years building a life without me, raising Kevin on your own, proving you didn't need a man.
" He took a breath. "But, April, I'm not asking you to need me.
I'm asking you to want me. To choose this. Choose us."
"What if it doesn't work?" The same words from the night before came out quieter than she intended. "What if we try this and it falls apart? What if—"
"What if it does work?" Shane countered. "What if we're happy? What if Kevin gets to grow up with two parents who love him instead of just one? What if we figure it out together instead of you carrying everything alone?"
"But what if you realize Kevin's too much?" April's voice cracked. "What if the reality of a kid who asks a million questions and gets in trouble at school and—"
"April." Shane shifted to face her fully, his hands coming up to frame her face.
"Kevin's not too much. That kid is brilliant and brave and kind, and if you think for one second I don't see that, you haven't been paying attention.
" His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. "I love him.
I love him like a son already. That's not going to change. "
"Your family—"
"Doesn't get a vote anymore." Shane's voice was firm. "I told my mother—I won't introduce her to any future grandchildren unless she changes how she treats you. My father?" His jaw tightened. "He doesn't exist to me. Not anymore. Not after what he did to you. To us."
April felt tears prick her eyes. "What if I'm not enough? What if—"
"Stop." Shane's voice was soft but commanding. "April Taylor, you are more than enough. You've always been more than enough. The only question is whether you're brave enough to believe it."
His mouth found hers then—soft and questioning at first, then deeper when she opened for him. April's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, trying to pour years of longing into one kiss.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Shane rested his forehead against hers.
"So?" he whispered. "What's your answer?"
"Yes." The word came out choked. "Yes, I want this. I want you. I'm terrified but I—yes."
Shane's smile could have lit the whole Front Range.
He kissed her again, harder this time. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer.
April shifted, starting to climb into his lap, but she felt all the fear and guilt she'd been holding onto for so long, surface.
That old instinct to stay in control, to protect herself, to not give too much, threatened to overwhelm her, to come between them.
Shane felt it—of course he did. He pulled back, studying her face in the firelight.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." But even as she said it, April knew it was a lie.
"April." Shane's hands gentled on her hips. "Talk to me."
She tried to smile, to deflect. "I'm fine. I just—"
"You're holding back." It wasn't an accusation, just an observation. "Why?"