It's late when she finally walks up the steps of her porch. When she is about to open her front door, she recognizes the heavy sound of his boots on the porch behind her. She knows who is standing behind her. And she knows, he has found the picture.
With the picture still in her hand in an attic filled with late afternoon light, she had known that the picture belonged to Bass. He never talks about his family. Miles never mentions them. She has always been able to sense that there is too much pain to ask the questions she wants to ask.
But when she had looked at the picture, she had known she had been looking at his family. She had recognized him inside his mother's strength and his father's kind smile. She had seen his love for his family.
He had looked so much younger. He had not carried as much with him as he does know. He had stood there, together with his family. With Miles. With her dad. Her dad and Miles had looked so young and so different. But she had recognized them. All of them. There had been boyish grins on their faces and beers in their hands.
Charlie had looked at Miles' face. She had recognized the necklace he is still wearing. She had looked at her dad and Bass, standing side by side. Their grins had been filled with kindness and pride. And she had realized, truly and fully realized, their story had started before the day Neville had walked into her sheltered life in Wisconsin.
They were family once. They were whole once. There used to be love. Friendship. Family. And she had been part of that family.
She did not know how to tell Bass what she had found on a winter afternoon in an almost forgotten box. It had felt too personal. Her eyes finding his when she would give the picture to him would be too much, too raw.
Standing in the middle of a silent attic, she had known she would be able to give Bass something she wasn't sure she could ever give to him. And Bass might be an asshole and tell her she is a mini Miles, but Ben Matheson is also a part of who she is. It is what her father would have wanted. It is how he raised her. But even more than that, it is what she believes in.
She had looked at the picture one more time. Her fingers had slowly followed her father's handwriting, moving over the words her father had written on the back of the picture before she he had put the memory in a white envelope.
When midnight had been close, she had walked into town. Under the cover of the Texan night, she had seen them through the window of the one decent bar in town that had the best whiskey. Bass was sitting at the bar with Miles and Connor. They had been sharing a bottle of whiskey. They had looked relaxed.
She hadn't walked into the bar. She had walked to Bass' house across town. It had been dark inside his house. It had felt empty, like the hollow pain she finds in his eyes when he doesn't know she is looking at him. She had walked to his kitchen table and she had carefully placed the envelope on the table before she had closed his door behind her.
And now he is here, standing on her porch. He is standing right behind her. If she moves, she knows his leather jacket will brush his. She can smell the whiskey on his breath. She can take in the scent of his leather jacket. His body feels impossibly tall and wide, so close to hers. She is not sure what will happen next, and it makes her heart beat with wild uncertainty.
Bass looks at her while he follows her movements. Her fingers are close to the knife she still carries with her, flowing against the lines of her hip. He knows it is a reflex. He knows it is the fighter and warrior inside of her responding to the sound of his boots that has broken the silence of the night. He knows that she knows it's him. She still has not told him to go to hell.
She surprises both of them when she doesn't take a step back and away from him. She is close. He curses silently in his own head.
'Thank you,' His voice is deep and low in the night.
He swallows. She gave him that picture. She gave him a part of his old life. But she also gave him more. She gave him so much that he doesn't even know how to tell her what she gave to him. And all he can give her are these two words.
Charlie can feel the raw, hoarse honesty in his words. The low vibration of his voice makes it impossible to think. She just absorbs the way his words find a way to her heart, even though she promised herself she would never let him close to her heart.
She is not sure what to say to him. And then he slowly moves towards her. He presses a warm and slow kiss against her temple. She almost melts against his chest without realizing it and at the same time she freezes, unable to move. Her mouth is dry. His scent is close, his chest is close. His lips are warmth and his breathing brushes against her skin.
The night around them fades. And even although his lips are not connected to the warmth of her skin anymore, she is still standing in the shadow of his tall body.
Bass isn't sure he can move. He can still taste the warmth of her skin on his lips. Her fingers brush against his. He isn't sure how the hell it happens, but it does. He can feel the warmth of her hand against his. He knows he has to let her go now. She already gave him enough.
He slowly steps away from her. He turns around. She doesn't look at him while he starts walking. The darkness around her house is waiting for him. After standing so close to her, the darkness of the night feels lonely. Bass moves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He doesn't look back. When Charlie sees him walk of the steps of her porch with his hands deep in the pocket of his jacket, she knows she is not letting him walk back into the Texan night.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for all your reviews and follows, they mean so much to me! I love working on this story and I always appreciate and love hearing from you. I am working on chapter 4 and I am going to return to 'Hidden in the forest'. I am also working on a new chapter for that story. Love from Love