Page 7 of Burly and Honorable

I should have followed her. Said something. Done something. But what would I say?

Eventually, I go to my room, shaking out my arms in a vain attempt to release some of the tension that’s been building inside me.

The motel walls are shockingly thin, and my chest tightens as I hear her moving around in her room. I imagine her lying in bed, her breaths soft and even, her face relaxed in sleep. My groin stiffens, and I instinctively stroke myself, wanting release.

I could pump my cock for a quick release while visions of Hanna filled my imagination, but it wouldn’t be enough. Only Hanna in my arms and bed would satisfy me because I know the reality would be exponentially better than any fantasy.

If only this could be enough—being close without feeling like my soul will implode if I can’t love her the way I yearn to.

But it isn’t enough. Being on the periphery of her life will never be enough.

I swear I’ve seen desire in her eyes. Is it real? Could she let me into her heart?

CHAPTER 5

HANNA

After another long day of driving, we arrive at our second destination.

The silence of the field greets us as we climb out of Jordan’s truck, the engine clicking softly as it cools. Keenan’s family’s cabin stands ahead, weathered and sturdy. The wind stirs the tall grass around it, bending the blades in waves that shimmer under the sun. Wildflowers dot the edges of the field in bursts of red, yellow, and purple. Beyond the trees, I can see a glimpse of the lake.

“It hasn’t changed,” I murmur, my breath catching as I take it all in. “Last time we were here was…five years ago. We never had enough time to visit when he was home on leave, or it was the wrong season to come out.”

Jordan steps up beside me, his hands in his pockets. “This place is frozen in time. It’s been years since I was here, and the only difference is the height of the trees,” he says, his voice thoughtful.

I hug myself as the memories press in. I remember Keenan whooping and hollering like a kid as he ran through the field, his energy boundless and contagious.

“He loved this place,” I say, my voice breaking on the words.

“That he did, Hanna. That he did.”

Jordan follows me to the cabin, and the door creaks as I push it open. The first thing that hits me is the smell—dust and aged wood.

Sunlight streams through the windows, catching motes of dust that swirl lazily in the air. The furniture is covered in sheets—a worn couch draped with a faded quilt, shelves lined with books that have been here for generations, and a small table in the corner, its surface nicked and scratched from years of use.

I move toward the shelves, my fingers grazing the spines of the books. Keenan always said they were his escape when he was a kid, full of maps and adventures he dreamed of having someday.

Jordan moves to stand behind me. “We came here every summer as kids.”

I smile faintly, pulling down a book. “He told me about those summers. How much he loved it here.”

Once we unload our things and open the windows to air out the cabin, we step outside, the grass brushing against my legs as the wind picks up. The urn is cool in my hand as we head out.

I walk toward the tree without thinking, my feet following a path I could never forget. When I reach it, I find the initials carved in the trunk, right where we left them—mine and Keenan’s.

My fingers trace the grooves, the bark rough and unyielding. The carving of our young love lasted longer than our marriage. The sight steals my breath.

“It’s still here,” I murmur, unable to look away. I reach up and touch the necklace around my neck holding our wedding rings, wishing again that Keenan hadn’t agreed to “one last deployment.”

Jordan is close behind me. I can feel him there, his presence solid and comforting.

I turn to see him watching me. The sunlight catches in his dark blond hair, and my stomach twists. The ache of grief collides with a heat that, if I’m honest, has been building since I arrived at his place on King Mountain.

“Sometimes,” I say, my voice breaking, “it seems like letting go of him means letting go of what we had together.”

Jordan steps closer, his hand hovering near mine but not quite touching. His warmth wraps around me, even in the open air.

“You’re not losing him,” he says softly. “You’re finding your way to the next stage of your life.”

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