Page 20 of Mountain Man's Longing
His face goes white. “I don’t need to ask—”
“I came here to find myself, Graham,” I say, desperation bleeding into my voice. “To stop living my life according to other people’s expectations. And I thought I did. For one perfect moment earlier, I thought everything had clicked into place.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, clearly not wanting to hear what I have to say. He doesn’t want to admit I’m speaking the truth.
“You’re deciding for all of us without even having the conversation,” I continue softly, my heart breaking in two. “You’re so convinced you know how everyone else feels that you won’t even fight for what you want. What you deserve.”
“I…” he starts, raking a hand through his hair, “I need some air.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the echo of everything I just confessed.
I sink onto the stool by his workbench, my hands shaking. The silence is deafening until the rumble of his old truck’s engine turns over, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel as he drives away, leaving me completely alone. Outside, the sun sinks behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that should be beautiful but instead feel like an ending.
Minutes tick by as I sit surrounded by the evidence of his skill, his artistry, his careful attention to detail. Maybe, I was wrong. Maybe, one night was all we were ever going to have.
But as I breathe in his lingering scent, I can’t bring myself to regret it. Even if Graham pushes me away forever, for one perfect night, I felt as if I belonged somewhere. With someone. And that’s more than I’ve ever had before coming here.
Eventually, I make my way back down the hill to the rental cabin. I punch in the code on the lock again, and the green light flashes on the keypad. Inside, everything is as it was this morning when I popped inside. A cozy family room gives way to a small kitchen, a stone fireplace that reminds me of Graham’s again the far wall.
I head out to the back porch, and the sight stops me cold. This morning, the pottery wheel was covered with a sheet. Now, it gleams. Fresh blocks of clay, wrapped in plastic, rest on a small shelf next to it, along with tools and a basin of clean water. Even a canvas apron hangs on a nearby hook.
My throat tightens as I approach the wheel, running my fingers over the smooth surface. While I was in town sorting out my thoughts this afternoon and wandering up and down Main Street, Graham was here, making sure I had everything I needed.
Even as he’s pushing me away, his actions tell a different story. I sink onto the small stool beside the wheel, my heart aching with hope. Maybe, this isn’t over after all.
Chapter eleven
Graham
Eric’s cabin looms straight ahead as dusk turns to night. I’m in my truck outside, gripping the steering wheel so hard it might snap in half. The engine ticks as it cools. Through the front window, I see him moving around, probably making dinner.
This conversation might destroy everything. Years of friendship. The only family I’ve got left. But I can’t live with this secret eating me alive, especially with Brenna accusing me of making decisions for everyone without giving them a choice.
And she’s right. Of course, she is. I owe Eric the truth. I should have come clean the second I saw her earlier. The instant I learned who she was. Even if it costs me everything.
The porchlight flicks on, and Eric steps out the front door, concern creasing his brow as he eyes me sitting here like I’m conducting surveillance.
“Graham?” he calls out. “Everything alright?”
With a sigh, I climb from my truck, my boots hitting gravel. The chilly night air cuts through my flannel, but I barely feel it. “I need to tell you something.”
His face goes still. Wary.
“What?” he says, descending the steps two at a time.
The words stick in my throat. My hands shake as I shove my keys into my pocket. There’s no way to sugarcoat this. “I slept with Brenna. Last night. Before I knew who she was.”
I’m bracing for a right hook to the face, but Eric just stares at me. I watch him process the words and see the exact second they hit home. His face goes white, and sure enough, his hands slowly curl into fists. “What did you just say?”
The quiet menace in his voice hits harder than shrapnel, but I force myself to hold his gaze. “She got caught in the storm. Power was out at the rental. She stayed at my place.”
“So you saw a young thing in distress and made your move?” His voice is acidic, cutting.
“What? No.” The words explode from me. “Christ, Eric, you know me better than that.”
He takes a step backward, studying my face in the porchlight. Some of his fury dims as he processes what I’m saying, but his jaw stays tight. “You have exactly one minute to explain yourself.”
Fuck. Fine.
