“Not as beautiful as you,” I murmur into her hair.
She laughs, that breathy sound that always hits me square in the chest.
“There’s the cheesy Chase I know.”
I chuckle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She twists in my arms so she’s looking at me, smile teasing. “It means, are we going to talk about what happened last night?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.” I smile wickedly, letting the words linger, enjoying the flush that spreads over her cheeks, reminding us both of the same request I made last night and what it led to.
“Chase, that’s exactly what I mean. You’re like this golden retriever man. Always happy, easy-going. The first one to make a joke. You’re incredibly sweet. You remember things most people forget. But”—her smile widens—“there was nothing golden retriever about what we did last night. You were… I mean—” Her cheeks flush deeper. “You were pretty commanding.”
I raise my brows. “I don’t know whether to take it as a compliment or focus on the fact that you just likened me to Buck.”
She laughs again. “Don’t get me wrong, it was very hot. It just wasn’t what I imagined you’d be like.”
I pull her closer, my lips brushing her neck, loving the way she shivers against me. “And just how long have you been imagining what I’d be like to fuck?”
“Too long,” she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.
Suddenly, I’m the one who feels ruined. I don’t know what will happen next. For too long, I let the shadow of my past tell me I couldn’t be enough for someone. I don’t know if I can ever be the man Serena deserves. But as she presses her body to mine, I know that I want to try.
The light rap of knuckles on my front door pulls us apart. Cold rushes in where there was warmth as Serena and I both drawback. The hesitance is back in her eyes. If she thinks for a single second I give a damn who knows about us, she’s wrong. I slide my fingers through hers and we walk to the door together.
“What if it’s Ryan?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head. “He’ll be sleeping off the whiskey and regret from last night.” Still, I move a fraction so my body is blocking Serena as I open the door, my face breaking into a smile at the sight of Mama on my doorstep, hair pinned back, her overalls dusted with flour, making me think she’s come to invite me for breakfast.
But one look at Mama’s face and my stomach drops. Instantly my pulse kicks hard and fast. Something’s wrong. “Is it Dylan? Izzy? The baby?” I ask, thoughts racing straight to the ranch and the horse accident that killed Dad, and I swear my heart stops beating in the second it takes Mama to reply.
“They’re fine. We’re all fine. It’s not that.”
I move back and she steps inside. Her eyes flick from me to Serena, and the barest hint of a smile touches her face. She sees it instantly—the line we crossed last night. Of course she does. But the moment passes, and we step into the kitchen. Serena makes coffee as Mama settles at the kitchen table, ushering me into a chair beside her and placing her hand on mine. I don’t miss the mist in her eyes and the way her hand is shaking a little. Pain is already cracking open my chest at the thought of her telling me she’s ill or some other bad news.
“Mama,” I say, voice urgent. “What is it?”
She takes a breath. “It’s your mom. I’m so sorry, Chase.” She pauses, twists her hands uncomfortably. “Leanna died last week. I got a call early this morning.”
Even as it seems like the world stills around me, it’s relief I feel first. Shameful and selfish relief that it’s not Dylan or Izzy or Jake or Harper. Not Mama. Not my family. And then a strangeemptiness takes hold. I don’t know how to feel or what to do with this news.
“How did you find out?” I ask. It doesn’t feel like the right question, but it’s the first one I think of.
“Her landlord went through her things,” Mama says softly. “He found an old address book with the ranch number in it and called first thing. They think it was a heart attack.”
Her voice shakes, and I know this is hitting her too, even after all these years of silence between them.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Because I don’t know what else to say. Because even if Mama and Leanna haven’t spoken since the day she left me on Mama’s doorstep, that doesn’t mean they stopped being sisters. If anything happened to Dylan or Jake, I’d feel it like a death in my chest, even if we’d spent a lifetime apart.
“I’m sorry too,” Mama says, giving my hand a squeeze.
Only minutes ago, I stood on my porch and told Serena I was ready to find her. All these years of doing nothing. Only sending one letter earlier this year, a letter returned and now shoved in the back of a kitchen drawer. I wasted so much time wrestling with the fear of rejection and what she’d say. If I’d made the decision earlier, if I’d tried harder, I could’ve found her. I could’ve had answers. Instead, the clock’s run out. Now, it’s too late.
I draw away from Mama and place my head in my hands. Her death means there are no answers to find. It means I can’t tell her I forgive her. I can’t try to heal a wound I’ve spent far too long pretending isn’t there. It means any chance of lifting that weight I’ve been carrying is gone.
“Where was she living?” I ask, voice rough.
“A suburb outside Oklahoma City,” Mama says gently. “The landlord didn’t want to throw anything away. He said I could come down this week and collect her belongings. He said it’s nota lot. I thought I’d drive there and bring it all back, then we can go through it together if you’d like to.”