Chapter 29 Twenty nine
Chapter 29 Twenty nine
ORION’S POV
Sleep didn’t come that first night.
The penthouse was too quiet without her. No soft footsteps in the hallway at 2 a.m., no gentle bleat from Bessie’s corner bed, no faint hum of Reina singing off-key while she folded laundry. The sheets on my side still carried the scent of lavender from the rinse she insisted on using, mixed with the warmth of her skin but the other side was cold, untouched, accusing.
I stared at the ceiling until the city lights faded into gray dawn. Then I got up, showered (cold, again), dressed, and went to the office because staying in that empty space felt like drowning. Work was boring: signatures, emails, nods at meetings I barely heard. My phone stayed silent. She had told me not to follow, not to bombard her, and for once I listened.
But listening didn’t stop the ache.
By the second night the silence had teeth. I paced the living room until Bessie lifted her head and watched me with confused brown eyes. I sat on the sofa where we had last kissed, where her thighs had parted for me, where she had rocked against me until we were both shaking and pressed my palms to my eyes until I saw stars.
I couldn’t wait anymore.
I needed to see her. Needed to look her in the eye and say everything I should have said before she walked out. Needed her to know that Elena had never been a choice, only a mistake I hadn’t buried deep enough. Needed her to understand that the ring still in my pocket hadn’t lost its meaning just because she’d taken it off.
At six the next morning I called Gran.
She answered on the first ring.
“She’s at the farm,” I said without preamble. “I need the address.”
Gran was quiet for a moment.
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
A soft exhale. “I’ll text it to you. And Orion?”
“Yes?”
“Bring small and thoughtful gifts. Her mother likes good tea. Her father appreciates anything useful for the barn. As for her brothers, whiskey for the older two and something fun for the youngest. Don't forget that Bessie will want treats. This is your chance to show them you’ve paid attention.”
I swallowed. “I will.”
“And the ring?”
“In my pocket.”
“Good. Now go. And be honest. No excuses. No half-truths. She deserves the whole truth, even the ugly parts.”
I hung up and stared at the address that appeared on my screen: a rural route in upstate New York, coordinates pinned to a place called Willow Creek Farm.
I spent the next two hours shopping.
A tin of loose-leaf Assam and a delicate porcelain teapot for her mother. A hand-forged pruning knife with a walnut handle for her father. A bottle of small-batch bourbon for Caleb and Jonah. A high-end drone for Micah, something he could use to film the fields or chase the chickens. A bag of gourmet goat treats for Bessie. And for Reina… nothing yet. The ring would have to speak for itself.
I packed everything into the trunk of the SUV, slid the velvet box into my jacket pocket, and drove.
The city gave way to suburbs, then open highway, then rolling hills dotted with red barns and white fences. I rehearsed what I would say the entire way and discarded every version. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt enough.
When the GPS announced the final turn onto a long gravel drive, my hands were sweating on the wheel. The house came into view: two stories of white clapboard with green shutters, wide porch, flower boxes spilling geraniums. A barn stood off to the right, chickens scratching in the yard, a goat pen visible behind it. Bessie’s relatives, probably.
I parked under an oak tree and sat for a moment, breathing.
Then I got out.
The front door opened before I reached the steps.
Reina’s mother stood there, tall, dark-haired, eyes the same warm brown as her daughter’s. Behind her, a man who had to be her father watched me with steady, unreadable calm. Three younger men who were obviously her brothers, flanked them on the porch. All of them looked at me like I was a coyote who had wandered too close to the flock.
No Reina.
My stomach dropped.
Mrs. Hale stepped forward first.
“You must be Orion.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She studied me for a long moment. “She’s in the barn. Said she needed to be alone with the animals for a while.”
I swallowed. “May I see her?”
Her father spoke then, voice low and even. “Depends. You here to talk or to beg?”
“Both,” I said honestly.
A beat of silence.
Then her mother nodded once. “Barn’s that way. Don’t crowd her. She’s been quiet since she got here.”
I thanked them and walked across the yard.
The barn door stood ajar. Inside it smelled of hay, leather, and warm animal. Sunlight slanted through cracks in the boards, painting golden stripes across the dirt floor. Reina was in the far stall, brushing down a tall bay mare. Her back was to me. She wore faded jeans and one of her father’s old flannel shirts, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, strands escaping around her face.
She didn’t turn when I stepped inside.
I stopped a respectful distance away.
“Reina.”
Her hand stilled on the brush. The mare nickered softly.
She set the brush down slowly and finally faced me.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. Tired. But dry now. She looked smaller here somehow, more vulnerable but no less beautiful.
“You came,” she said quietly.
“I couldn’t stay away.”
She crossed her arms. “You should have.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t.”
She looked at the gift bag in my hand then at my face.
“Why now?”
“Because I love you,” I said. “Because I was careless and stupid and I let an old door stay unlocked when I should have welded it shut. Because I never wanted Elena. Not after the first time I saw you walk in with a goat and turn my entire world upside down. Because the thought of spending the rest of my life without you makes it hard to breathe.”
Her chin trembled, but she lifted it.
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You let her in our home.”
“I know.”
“I trusted you.”
“I know. And I broke that trust by not protecting what we were building. I should have changed the access code the moment we got serious. I should have told you she still had the card. I should have done a hundred things differently.”
She looked away, toward the mare. “I can’t marry someone who keeps pieces of his past lying around like loaded guns.”
“I changed the access. The card’s dead. She can’t get in again. Ever. I should have done it years ago. I’m doing it now because I never want you to doubt whose side I’m on.”
She was quiet for a long time.
I took one careful step closer.
“I brought gifts,” I said. “For your family. Small things. I didn’t know what else to do.”
She glanced at the bag. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
Another long silence.
Then she sighed, shoulders dropping slightly.
“I’m not ready to say yes again,” she said. “Not yet.”
“I’m not asking for yes right now,” I told her. “I’m asking for a chance to show you I can be the man you deserve. Starting tonight. I’d like to stay if your family will have me. I’ll sleep in the barn if I have to. I just… I need to be near you. Even if you’re still angry.”
She studied me.
Then she looked toward the house, where her family was probably watching from the porch.
“They’ll want to talk to you,” she said. “All of them. And they won’t be gentle.”
“I don’t expect gentle.”
She nodded once.
“Okay.”
She walked past me toward the door.
I followed.
At the porch her father stepped forward first.
“You staying?” he asked.
“If you’ll allow it.”
He looked me up and down.
“You sleep in the guest room. You eat what we eat. You help with chores. And you answer every question we ask. Honestly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her mother touched my arm. “Come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.”
The brothers watched me like hawks, but they stepped aside.
Reina went in last.
She didn’t look at me again.
But she didn’t tell me to leave either.
I stepped across the threshold carrying the gifts, the ring still heavy in my pocket, and the knowledge that tonight and every night after I would earn back the trust I had almost lost.
One honest answer at a time.
One chore at a time.
One careful step at a time.
Until she looked at me again the way she used to.
Like I was hers.
And she was mine.