Page 44 of The One Who Risked it All

“The only place I’d like to bury a hatchet is in Jim Putnam’s—“

“Harold!” my mom cut him off, shooting a pointed look at the kids.

I caught Carla’s eye, seeing a mix of gratitude and anxiety there. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, that we’d figure this out together, but the words stuck in my throat.

Dad disappeared up the stairs, grumbling to himself.

I debated following him. He was so darn stubborn, he couldn’t even have a conversation about this stupid feud. I should stomp up the stairs after him and corner him until he saw reason. But I wouldn’t do that, because as much as I wanted to talk some sense into my dad, I also still wanted him to look at me with approval in his eyes for once, instead of disappointment.

Instead, I focused on clearing the table, my movements deliberate as I tried to sort through the mess in my head. How was I supposed to build a future with Carla if our families couldn’t even be in the same room? The challenge seemed insurmountable. I glanced at her again, helping my mom pack up leftovers.

“You know,” I said, sidling up to Carla at the sink, “I meant what I said. About getting our families past this stupid feud.”

She raised an eyebrow, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. “Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan on making that happen, Eli the miracle worker?”

I grinned, feeling some of the tension ease. “I have my ways.” I just didn’t know what those ways might possibly be in this case yet.

Carla rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a real smile. “Well, if anyone can do it, I suppose it would be you. Just... be careful, okay? I don’t want to cause more problems for your family.”

“Hey,” I said softly, meeting her gaze, “you’re not causing problems. You’re worth fighting for.”

The vulnerability in her eyes nearly took my breath away. Did she not understand how special she was? I pulled her into my arms. It was the best way I knew to show her. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but it was heaven. For a moment, we just stood there, the rest of the world fading away.

“You shouldn’t give up so much for me, Eli.”

“I should have fought for you when I was seventeen, Carla. I’m not making that mistake again,” I promised. “It’s my dad’s own problem that he can’t see how amazing you are.”

She shook her head, obviously disagreeing with me. I held her tighter, vowing that I would tell her every day until she believed me.

Alex came barreling into the kitchen, breaking the spell. “Uncle Eli! The football game is about to start!”

I laughed, ruffling his hair. “Okay, buddy. I’ll be right in.”

I was nowhere near ready to let Carla out of my arms, but Thanksgiving wasn’t over yet. And I wasn’t going to let Harold Wells chase Carla out of the house. Let him stew upstairs all afternoon for all I cared. My family was celebrating the holiday. And from here on out, my family included Carla.

CHAPTER 17

Carla

The old wooden boards creaked under my feet as I stepped onto the porch. Eli followed close behind, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking. As we settled into the quiet evening, I couldn’t help but feel like we were stepping into some kind of liminal space, suspended between our complicated past and an uncertain future. Thanksgiving with his parents had been… well, it wasn’t the most relaxing holiday I’d ever shared.

Eli’s hand brushed my arm, and I followed his pointing finger to where a deer was emerging from the trees behind the yard. My breath caught in my throat. It was such a small thing, but the fact that he wanted to share this moment with me made my heart do a little flip.

“Beautiful,” I whispered, not just meaning the deer.

“Yeah,” Eli murmured, his eyes still on me.

We sat down on the porch swing, the gentle sway slowing the rhythm of my racing pulse. A cool breeze carried the scent of pine, and I pulled my cardigan tighter around my shoulders, trying to ward off a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Cold?” Eli asked, already starting to shrug off his jacket.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. The last thing I needed was to be enveloped in his scent, his warmth. It would make it even harder to keep my guard up. He laid the jacket over my lap.

As we rocked back and forth, I sneaked glances at Eli’s profile. The strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows—he looked deep in thought. Part of me wanted to reach out and smooth away that worry line, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap, fingering the seams of his jacket.

My mind raced with all the things I wanted to say, all the questions I needed answered. But the weight of our families’ feud, of years of complicated history, seemed to press down on my chest, making it hard to form the words.

So we sat in silence, the only sounds the creaking of the swing and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. It was oddly peaceful, despite the tension thrumming between us. In that moment, I could almost pretend we were just two people enjoying a quiet evening together, with no baggage or expectations.

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