His mother, who’d been digging through the pantry for Parmesan, peered over her shoulder. Her all-knowing eyes met his. “Sure, son. Take all the time you need. Lunch will be a while still.”

He walked behind Charli’s chair, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He’d asked her to be by his side today, but this was the one last thing he needed to do all by himself. “Thanks, freckles.”

She nodded, and he left her there in the kitchen, slipping out the side door and staring down the expanse of land behind his family’s farmhouse.

He rubbed his thumb along his wedding band, secured his hat atop his head, and set off on the path that led to the back corner of the property.

Someone was waiting for him.

THIRTY-ONE

Charli stared out the kitchen window in the direction Grant had disappeared. He’d been gone for a while, and uneasiness had crawled under her skin and set up camp there. Maybe she’d fallen asleep on the drive to Baton Rouge and was in some alternate dream world. Had Grant really said he loved her out there on that porch? She couldn’t even process that. Or the fact that somehow instead of being on the way to saying good-bye to Grant for the last time, she was sitting in his family’s home, listening to his mother call up Grant’s siblings to insist they come over.

Charli paced away from the window, walking over to the glass hutch in the corner of the room, trying to look like she was just browsing the knickknacks in the kitchen instead of running off nervous energy. She let her eyes drift over the family photos displayed on the shelves. Photos of children playing outside, family portraits, some old, some more recent. One that had to be Grant when he was a teen, basketball tucked under a gangly arm. Then her eyes hit one that definitely was Grant, his arm around a pretty blonde with a shy smile.

Without thinking, Charli picked up the framed photo, bringing it closer. Grant had laughter in his eyes and looked as if the ugliness of the world had never breathed on him. Innocent and happy—a couple with the whole world spread out before them, a lifetime to look forward to. The sight evaporated the air from Charli’s lungs. She ran her thumb along the edge of the frame, grief for the people in the photo clogging her throat.

Georgia stepped up behind Charli, peering over her shoulder. “I’m sure Grant told you about Rachel,” she said, her voice gentle.

Charli nodded, trying to swallow past the tightness in her chest. “She was beautiful.”

Georgia sighed. “She was. I remember the day we took that picture of them, remember thinking how perfect everything was. My family was together, my husband was by my side, and my children were starting to build their own lives.” She shook her head. “A year later, those murderers didn’t just take Rachel and that baby-to-be away from us; they took everything. The light in my son’s eyes, the tight bond we all had with each other, my ability to fix things for my children.”

Charli turned to her, finding Georgia wearing a sad smile.

“It’s a hard day when you realize you can’t save your own child or take away their hurt.” She took the photo from Charli and set it back on the shelf. “So, thank you.”

Charli frowned. “For what?”

She walked over to the island and poured a glass of iced tea from the pitcher she’d set there. “For bringing him back.”

Charli slid onto one of the stools flanking the island. “It was his idea to come.”

She held a glass of tea out for Charli, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s not what I meant, hon.”

Grant kneeled in the soft grass that blanketed the family cemetery. When he was a kid this area on the far side of the property used to scare him. He’d been convinced ghosts of his ancestors were hiding behind every headstone. Then when he’d buried Rachel here, this place had brought forth nightmares of a different sort. But today, with the sun shining and the bees buzzing around all the flowers, he simply felt the warm presence of family surrounding him.

He’d picked some wildflowers and placed them over his father’s plot, saying a good-bye he’d never had the chance to make. Then he’d settled himself in front of Rachel’s grave. The headstone had been simply stated—Rachel Waters, wife and mother. He brushed his fingers along the stone, feeling the engraved letters beneath his fingers, the finality of them. She wasn’t coming back. He could punish himself, lock himself into a miserable existence, pay penance until the day he had a headstone himself, and it still wouldn’t undo what had happened. He would just create another tragedy—his own slow death.

Is that what he would’ve wanted if the roles had been reversed? Would he have wanted Rachel to give up on being happy? Would he have expected her to shut herself off from real life and mourn him forever?

No. Of course not. He’d be pissed at her, actually.

Just like he couldn’t imagine his dad being angry with his mom for finding someone after he passed. He’d want her to be happy, to not be alone.

He stared down at his wedding band, the metal gleaming under the noonday sun. For years, he thought he’d been wearing it for comfort, a little piece of what he’d lost against his skin. But he realized now it’d also been a crutch, a subtle way of torturing himself daily, an excuse not to let himself really live.

He slipped it off and got to his knees, the lawn soft beneath him. He held the ring up and brought it to his lips, remembering the day she’d slipped it on his finger. The sun had been shining just like this. “I’ll always love you, Rach.”

He lowered his hand and pressed the ring into the earth, pushing it into the dirt beneath the grass until it was fully covered. “But it’s time I said good-bye.”

The breeze swirled around him, ruffling his hair and drying the final tears he’d shed for the life that used to be. He closed his eyes, the scent of wildflowers surrounding him, so much like the fragrance Rachel used to wear. And in that moment, he sensed her there, and felt her forgiveness, her hope for him. He climbed to his feet and set his hat back on his head.

As he walked away, he knew the nightmares would never stalk him again.

Someone had finally chased them away.

And now he needed to thank her.

THIRTY-TWO

Charli sat on the wood plank swing that hung from the massive oak tree in the farmhouse’s backyard, letting her feet dangle. The afternoon sun was sinking toward the horizon and voices drifted out of the house. Georgia had apparently called every family member in a thirty-mile radius to welcome Grant home.

Charli had snuck out to call her brother and let him know they weren’t going to make it to Baton Rouge tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Max asked, concern in his voice. “Car trouble or something?”

She wrapped her fingers around the rope of the swing. “Not exactly. We stopped at Grant’s family’s house to visit.”

Her brother was quiet for a moment. “Char, why would he bring you to visit his family?”

The what-are-you-up-to tone was one she was all too familiar with. Her brother had the uncanny ability to sound just like her daddy. She ignored the question. “We’ll probably get to your house sometime tomorrow.”

“Ah, hell,” he said. “You got involved with him, didn’t you?”

God, how was it possible her brother could make her feel fourteen again with a few well-placed words. “Um, let’s file that under things that are none of your business.”

“Dammit, Char.” She could picture his scowl. He’d probably started pacing, too. “Grant’s my friend, a good guy, but he’s got baggage. Like cargo-plane-sized baggage. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Too late for that. And her brother’s fears only underlined hers. Grant had told his mom he loved Charli, but what did that change? She’d known he had feelings for her already. Didn’t mean he could act on them or that he wouldn’t always be looking at her wishing she were someone else. The L word hadn’t lightened that boulder in her stomach she’d been carrying around since she’d realized she’d fallen for him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Max.”

“Char—”

But she clicked off the phone before she could hear what else he had to say. She tucked her cell phone in her pocket and wrapped her other hand in the swing’s rope, pumping her legs a bit to get a sway going. She closed her eyes and leaned back, trying to let her despair slough off her with each arc of the swing. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. The wind rushed past her ears and the swing creaked beneath her, the knotted rope grinding against the well-worn wood. If her feet didn’t touch the ground, maybe she could push reality out for a little while.

“Enjoying my rope work again, Ms. Beaumonde?”

Charli’s lids flew open as she swung past a black cowboy hat. Grant reached out and grabbed the rope when she passed again, slowing her. She held on tight so she wouldn’t launch off the seat.

Grant continued talking as if she’d responded to his question. “I can’t even believe these knots held up. I put this swing up for my sister when she was like ten.” He ran his hand along the rope. “She used to stand on it to swing and then leap off. Would scare the shit out of Ma.”

She smirked. “She and I probably would’ve gotten along as kids.”

“No doubt.” His smile was light, but the weight of the unspoken hung heavy between them. He stepped in front of her, grabbing both ropes, framing her. “I’m sorry I kidnapped you today. And I’m really sorry that I dropped a bomb on the porch. It just slipped out.”

She looked away, toward the house, feeling as if she were constructed of stuff as fragile as the leaves falling off the tree. One more blow and she would scatter. “Of course, an accident.”

“That’s not what I—”

“No. Stop.” She turned her head toward him, nailing him with her glare, all her frustration bubbling over. “What am I supposed to do with that, Grant? Tell me. You sleep with me, then shut down. You kiss me, then freak out. You admit you love me and then you disappear, leaving me with your mother who’s talking to me like I’m your girl. Something I’m reminded over and over again that I can never be. That spot’s already filled.”

“Charli—”

But her tirade steamrolled right over his attempt to cut in. “I get it, okay. I so freaking get it. Your wife was amazing. Your life was perfect. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what happened to you. No one deserves that kind of tragedy. My heart hurts thinking about it. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep making me love you more, then yanking the rug out from under me. I’m tough, but I’m not the goddamned Terminator, Grant. I’m not—”

But his lips were on her before she could get the next word out, his hands sliding into her hair and cupping her head. She almost rocked right off the back of the swing, the shock jolting her, but he held her fast. Her eyes drifted shut, the feel of his mouth on hers like being dropped into some dream state where time slowed. Her fingers slipped from the ropes, her arms finding their way around his neck. His tongue twined with hers, his need and desire for her pouring into the kiss. She didn’t want it to end, didn’t want him to pull back, feared what would happen when he did.

But soon, the need for air trumped the wish to not break the spell. He pulled back, his hands cradling her face, caressing. “My turn to talk, freckles. Can you let me do that?”

Her heart was pounding so hard, she wondered if she’d be able to hear him over the thumping. She wet her lips. “Okay.”

“You’re right. You deserve someone who is going to love you without pretense, or caveats, or comparison. You deserve a guy who can look at you and know that he’d rather have no one else there next to him besides you. That no other girl could even come close to measuring up.”