Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Wind whistles low through the broken remains. For a moment I swear I hear my father’s laugh. My mother humming in the kitchen. Axel telling me not to climb the damn oak tree barefoot.
A painful smile touches my lips.
God, we were kids. Just kids playing at forever, not knowing how fast forever can burn.
I move toward what used to be the living room. I can almost see the Christmas tree we decorated the year before my mom died. I can almost feel the warmth from the fireplace.
I crouch, brushing snow away from the stone. My fingers tremble.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the cold. “I’m so, so sorry.”
A sound crunches behind me—snow shifting under heavy boots.
I stand too quickly, breath catching.
Axel.
He stops a few feet away, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. His jacket is dusted with snow, the wind tugging at his dark hair, making him look more like the boy I knew and the man I’m still not ready to face.
But I feel him.
God, I feel him.
Warmth radiates off him in waves, hitting me even from this distance. He looks massive against the backdrop of the forest—tall, broad, built like a wall you can either hide behind or crash into.
He’s staring at me like he’s been punched.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he says quietly.
His voice is rough, deeper than I remember. It scrapes along my nerves and leaves a shiver racing down my spine.
I steel my expression. “I didn’t think anyone else would be.”
His jaw works, a muscle ticking on the side. “I saw your truck. And I knew where you’d go.”
Of course he did.
He always could read me, even when I didn’t want him to.
A gust of wind blows between us, lifting my hair into my face. Axel’s eyes track the movement, lingering longer than necessary.
He takes a slow step forward. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to ruin my breathing.
For a moment we just stand there, the only sound the crunch of frost, the distant rush of the Phantom River, and the frantic thrum of my heart in my ears.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t expect this.”
He frowns. “Coming back?”
“That,” I say, gesturing around us. “And how… intact it feels. Like time didn’t move on as much as I thought.”
He looks over the remains of my house, hands in fists at his sides. “Time moved.” His voice thickens. “Too damn fast.”
Something fragile tightens in my chest.
I look away, toward the river cutting through the snowy trees behind what used to be the backyard. “I needed to see it. To face it.”
He nods once. “I get that.”
Silence stretches between us again. Thick. Charged. Almost painful.
My eyes drift to the property line—and freeze.
A home stands where his used to be. A new build, modern rustic timber, warm cedar siding, smoke curling gently from the chimney.
“What… what is that?” I ask quietly.
Axel follows my gaze. “My family rebuilt.”
My stomach drops. “I didn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t have,” he says. “You left right after… everything.”
His words aren’t accusatory. If anything, they’re soft. Too soft. Like he’s afraid of hurting me again.
I swallow. “It looks beautiful.”
He doesn’t answer for a moment. Then—
“We bought the land next door too.”
My breath catches. “What?”
He glances at me. “Your house. After the fire, no one knew what was happening with the property. It was condemned. Tied up in court for a while. Eventually it went up for sale.”
Pieces click together slowly, painfully.
“You bought it?” I whisper.
He nods. “Yeah.”
I blink through the sting in my eyes. “Why?”
He looks back at the rubble. His voice drops into something so raw it nearly buckles my knees.
“Because I couldn’t stand the thought of it going to someone else. Someone who didn’t understand what this place meant. Someone who didn’t know what happened here. Someone who didn’t… remember.”
My throat closes.
Snowflakes drift silently between us, settling in my hair. Axel watches them fall like they’re something sacred.
“We didn’t rebuild it,” he adds softly. “Didn’t want to. Some places shouldn’t be forced back to life.”
I nod, barely holding myself together.
Instead of rebuilding, they created greenspace—soft hills, frost-covered grass, wild pines along the river, open sky where a roof once stood. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful.
And he preserved it for me.
I can’t stop the tears now. One escapes, rolling hot and humiliating down my cheek. I swipe it quickly.
“Savannah…” he murmurs.
His voice is so gentle it almost undoes me.
I shake my head. “Don’t. I’m fine.”
“You’re crying.”
“So?” I snap. “It’s allowed.”
A beat. Then—almost a smile. Not full. But close. “Yeah. It is.”
I look at him fully, really look, and something inside me twists.
“I never blamed you,” I whisper.
His entire body goes still—as if the world freezes with him.
“What?” His voice cracks more than a little.
I step closer. The distance shrinks to a thin ribbon of cold air. “I never blamed you, Axel. Not then. Not now.”