Page 108 of Where We Call Home

“You’re happy,” Aspen said softly, resting both hands on the counter as she peered at me.

I couldn’t deny it, I wasn’t going to deny it.

“I am,” I admitted, the words coming easily. “Rhodes has been so supportive, so kind. Being with him is... easy. I’ve always liked being alone, but being with him is better. He makes me feel understood, heard. He gives me a kind of comfort I haven’t felt in a long time.”

Penny and Aspen stayed quiet, their expressions tender as I confessed. My mind drifted back to the last few months, the time since Rhodes had walked into my life and quietly, steadily, changed everything. Who I was before, who I’d become, and who I wanted to be—these were different versions of myself I could barely reconcile.

Before Rhodes, before the baby, I was a lone wolf. No ties, no plans to settle. My life had always been about chasing the next adventure, the next country, the next thrill. I thrived on independence, visiting home only when the ache of missing my mom and my friends grew too sharp. Faircloud, Texas, had been nothing more than a pitstop, a place to refuel before I figured out my next destination.

I had sworn I would never get attached to anyone. Never again. Loss had taught me that. It had come too early, too fiercely, and it had left scars no one could see but me. It turned me cold, quiet, and detached, not cruel but guarded. I could take care of myself. Iwouldtake care of myself. No one would have to sacrifice for me, not ever again. Because sacrifice led to hurt, and I had carried enough of that for a lifetime.

When I met Rhodes, I was reluctant. Yet, something deep inside me whispered that I could trust him. I wasn’t a religious person, but the parallels between Rhodes and my dad were impossible to ignore. From the moment we sat outside the bathroom at The Tequila Cowboy, I felt it, felt like I’d known him my whole life. He was sent, put into my life for whatever cosmic reason.

Rhodes was gentle yet firm, steady and kind. Being with him was like stepping into a time capsule. It brought me back to the girl I used to be, the girl who once believed in love and connection and safety. I felt cherished, not just tolerated.

Somehow, without me realizing it, he became my center. He took a piece of my heart, and it didn’t stop there. That piece grew with every glance, every smirk, every quiet act of kindness. Until he didn’t just have a part of me. He owned it all.

“I have to go,” I mumbled, standing abruptly.

Before Penny or Aspen could respond, I ended the call and left my phone on the bed.

Their words and my internal reflection had sparked something in me.

I was done waiting. Done sidestepping labels and dodging the inevitable. I knew, deep down, that saying the words out loud wouldn’t change the life we had built. I also knew I needed to say them—not for him, but for me.

Because I was happy, and I wanted him to know.

My legs carried me down the hall and into the kitchen, my only thought was to find him. The basement door creaked as I opened it, and I descended the stairs slowly, one step at a time. The lights were on, but the silence was deafening.

“Rhodes?” I called softly, my voice trembling as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

I turned the corner and found him sitting on the floor with his back to me. His legs were crossed, a tote in front of him, its lid discarded to the side.

Quietly, I moved closer. That’s when I saw the tears streaming down his face. He held a picture frame in his hands, the dark wood encasing an old photo of him and Jess. The box before him was filled with remnants of their time together, a sweatshirt, a jar stuffed with folded notes, and other mementos of a love that had ended.

My chest tightened. I wanted to cry with him, to share his pain. Instead, I lowered myself down beside him, the swell of my belly making the motion slow and awkward. I rested my hand lightly on his arm.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve what had happened to him. Rhodes was one of the best men I knew: kind, gentle, and a soul so pure it shone. He deserved love, real love, the kind that cherished him as fiercely as he cherished others.

“This box has been sitting down here since she walked away,” he said after a moment, his voice rough and broken. He scoffed, tossing the picture back into the box like it burned him. “I came down here ready to throw it all away. I didn’t even plan to open the stupid thing, my curiosity got the best of me. I thought I could look at it and be okay.”

I leaned into him, resting my head on his bicep. My fingers trailed down his arm until they found his, threading together, our warmth mingling in the stillness.

“I don’t regret the time I spent with her but I don’t miss her at all,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “When things were good, they were some of the best moments of my life. But seeing all this again?” He gestured to the box with his free hand, his head bowing in defeat. “It hurts. It brings back every thought, every doubt about myself I worked so hard to bury.”

“People come into our lives for a reason,” I said gently, my thumb stroking his hand in quiet reassurance. “They’re part of our journey, part of what shapes us into who we’re meant to be. Jess is a part of that for you—of why you’re the man you are today. The man who’s so kind and caring, who loves so deeply.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his chest rising and falling as he absorbed my words. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I loved her. I loved her with everything I had. And it wasn’t enough.Iwasn’t enough.”

My heart clenched. “Rhodes,” I said, shifting to kneel in front of him. I placed my hands gently on either side of his face, turning him away from the box filled with the weight of his past. “She made a choice, and she will regret that for the rest of her life. She’ll look back one day, angry at herself for giving up someone like you, for leaving you behind. That’s her burden to carry, not yours.”

I held his gaze, my thumbs brushing softly over his cheekbones. His eyes, red and raw from tears, searched mine, as if looking for some truth in what I was saying.

“You aremorethan enough,” I whispered, my voice steady. “And anyone who doesn’t see that? They’re the ones who don’t deserve you.”

The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing, and I watched as some of the tension eased from his shoulders. In that moment, I hoped he could see himself the way I saw him: a man worth every bit of love he had to give and so much more.

“This box is the past,” I said softly, my voice steady but gentle. “It’s proof of how far you’ve come. She doesn’t deserve your tears.”

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