Matches in waterproof container. Check.
He’d never expected a second chance with Misty. He hefted her backpack into his truck cab along with his own while Misty hugged her brother, sister-in-law, and nephew outside their home—her parents’ old house.
Arctic mittens, snowbibs, shoes. Check.
Signal mirror and flares. Check.
His hands slowed on maintenance items for the truck as he peered through the windshield. He couldn’t count how many times he’d walked up those steps to her whitewashed home built into the side of a mountain.
During high school, he’d been as comfortable there as in his own house, until her brother had ordered him never to set foot on their property again. Her brother hadn’t spoken to him once in the four years since then, when he’d forcibly removed him from the porch with a punch that stayed imprinted so firmly on Flynn’s memory he resisted the urge to wince even now.
Tent. Check.
Sleeping bags. Check.
Phoenix wasn’t looking at him in any welcoming way now either, but he hadn’t booted him out of the driveway—yet. It was clear he didn’t want his sister to leave, but was beginning to realize the Foster family stubborn streak ran through every member.
Misty cuddled her nephew, the baby’s cheek to hers. The kid was so darn cute with that crazy mop of dark hair that almost looked like a wig on a child so young. Misty held him with such confidence and ease, adjusting his tiny earmuffs shaped like dog faces.
For once, Flynn allowed himself the painful luxury of just looking at her. Her hood was back, the wind lifting her wispy, soft hair.
She’d kept it short in high school, but these days wore it blunt-cut at her shoulders with bangs across her forehead. Simple and sexy. She wasn’t as flashy as Sunny, who wore bright colors and dyed streaks through her hair. Misty was… Misty. Quietly pretty and soft, with curves and a gentle smile that lit up the place more than any big show.
Her laugh carried on the morning breeze. Yeah, she sounded different these days, more and more so the longer that passed without her hearing her own voice. She’d lost so much and he didn’t know how to make it right.
Flynn’s dad told him some days just sucked and a guy simply had to get over it. Problem was, for him, every day sucked since he’d screwed up his life four years ago. He still didn’t know why he’d cheated on Misty. Hell, he’d loved her. He still loved her so much it hurt to look at her holding that baby and smiling at her family—never smiling at him anymore.
Used to be all he thought about was getting her naked and burying himself inside her. Now all he thought about was how damn bad he wanted to touch her hair. Even hold her hand.
Shit. He was a sap.
Flynn stuffed the gear into the space behind the front seat before backing out of the truck cab. He slammed the door on his truck and walked around the front, sidestepping the snowplow attachment that would make their trek down easier.
His already aching gut churned all over again. He’d lived his whole life in this place. Never stepped foot out and never wanted to. But here he was, driving Misty.
He skimmed his finger along the neck of his sweater. Agoraphobia threatened to choke him. From leaving home? Or from losing Misty? He refused to let his emotions yank him around and wreck his life again. He pushed through the freaked-out feeling and tuned into the family farewell.
Astrid scooped her son from Misty and hugged her with her free arm. “Be careful, sweetie. Be happy.” After a second hug, the former New York model brushed away tears, then clasped her baby boy’s wrist. “Wave bye-bye to Aunt Misty.”
Sweeping her toddler nephew’s hood back into place, Misty kissed his chubby cheek a final time. “Be a good boy for Mama and Daddy.” Her words fogged puffs into the cold air. “I promise to try to come back and visit after my surgery.”
Her jaw trembling with emotion, she clasped her locket, the one he knew held photos of her parents.
They’d been so disappointed when he and Misty broke up… and then the rumors started from June’s telling everyone all about their “night together”—more like a half hour.
Not that he blamed June. He had been every bit as much at fault. She’d been so upset over the gossip, she’d finally left town two years ago. As June had said, she felt like the woman in the book they’d read in high school, The Scarlet Letter. How could she bounce back from stealing the deaf girl’s guy?
He hadn’t liked the way she labeled Misty, but he understood her point.
Phoenix stepped away from his wife and closed in on Flynn, his face unreadable. Flynn braced his shoulders for whatever the guy had in store. He just hoped it didn’t involve a fight. He didn’t want to subject Misty to that, but he wasn’t taking another punch lying down.
Her brother jabbed his thumb toward the other side of the truck, gesturing for Flynn to join him by the weather vane topped with a metal bear.
Flynn kept his back to Misty so she wouldn’t be able to read his lips. “I don’t want a scene in front of Misty or your wife and kid.”
“I agree,” Phoenix said surprisingly, the mountain wind muting and tearing at his words. “If you really care for her, convince her she doesn’t have to go.” He leaned in. “Even with her hearing back, she’s not going to fit in out there. She’s been gone from regular society for too long.”
He could see the logic in Phoenix’s reasoning, but if he went that path, he would lose any chance with her. And he had to be honest with himself.