Two weeks later

"Remind me again why I decided to do this?"

The weather is bone-chilling cold, the wind strong enough to whip my braids into my face. My nose and ears turned numb hours ago, and I instantly regretted not buying proper clothing for this trip. It's my first time here, though, so I didn't truly understand just how cold it'd be.

Connor's large frame steps behind me, his body a furnace when he wraps his arms around my waist to tug me against his chest. "Because you're brave, and your therapist suggested this be the next step of your healing." A shiver races up my spine when he kisses the side of my head, but this time, it has nothing to do with the weather. "Want me to do it, or you?"

Dragging in a gulp of air, I tentatively lean over and press the doorbell to the address my parents gave me last week. It was a last-minute decision to come here for the holidays, but Connor had off, and with their likelihood of going to the championship slim to none now, Brian didn't make a fuss about him taking four days off. Cal is out for the season due to a shoulder injury, and it's affected the team in more ways than one.

I shouldn't be so nervous, but my hands tremble when my mother opens the door. The devastation and hope in her eyes mix with unshed tears, and before I can refuse, she's tugging me into her arms.

Her scent overwhelms me—a reminder of home, and it makes me think of my little sister far too much. I assumed I'd panic because of it, but instead, I feel comforted. My therapist has ingrained it in my head by now that reminders of her aren't always bad. They can be good, too.

My tears soak her sweater, and then I'm bombarded by my father, who wraps his arms around both of us and holds us like a tightly packed unit. It's been years since we've done this.

It's not until I pull myself together that I realize Connor is still standing behind me. I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my jacket and say, "Mom, Dad, this is Connor, the guy I've been telling you about." Because our phone calls have become a weekly thing now, and Connor is the main topic of discussion more often than not.

Growing up, my family never said they wouldn't approve if I brought a white man home, but they always emphasized how important Black love is. I've never told them what Connor looked like, partly due to the fear of them not accepting us, but those fears vanish when my mom throws him into a hug of her own. "Thank you," she chokes out. "Thank you for bringing our girl back home."

Connor smiles, his eyes softening over my mom's shoulder when his eyes meet mine. "It wasn't all me," he says. Liar. I'd never be here with them if it wasn't for him. "She put in a lot of hard work to get here, so I can't take all the credit."

My father claps him on the back and jerks his head to follow them inside. He and Connor take our suitcases up to the guest room we're staying in, and while we wait for them to return, my mom hums a happy tune, dragging different ingredients out of the fridge. "He's handsome," she says, wiggling her brows at me.

I can't even be embarrassed because she's right. He's devastatingly handsome and mine. "I know," I sigh dreamily, sliding into one of the barstools. "What are you making?"

An expression of sadness flickers across her face, but she collects herself and says, "I thought we might teach your boyfriend how to make my famous collard greens."

And just like that, the overwhelming sensation of gut-wrenching pain hits me like a kick to the stomach. Every Thanksgiving it was a dish me, my sister, and my mother would make together. She wanted to teach us so that one day, we could show our kids and keep the recipe in the family.

But my sister isn't going to get that chance.

The pressure will fall on me to have kids and keep the family dishes around.

"I'm sorry," I whisper before I can stop myself.

My mother's eyes snap to mine, her hands freezing around a mixing bowl. "What on earth are you sorry for?" She asks.

Everything.

For taking their youngest daughter away.

For separating myself from them when they had no one else.

For taking an eternity to visit.

I didn't expect this conversation to happen so quickly, but with my father being distracted by Connor upstairs, it's the perfect opportunity to do what my therapist suggested I do: be honest.

"It's my fault," I admit, releasing a shaky breath. "I didn't check on Aaliyah when I should have. I snuck off to a party while you both were out of town, and I should have stayed. If I had been there, I could have stopped it. I could have done something."

Whatever wall my mother has been keeping up shatters at my words, a stifled sob leaving her as the mixing bowl clatters to the counter. She rounds the island, grasping both of my cheeks with her hands. "This is not your fault, Aria. Do you hear me? Your sister's decision is not a reflection of your choices that night. If you were there, maybe it could have prevented it, but unfortunately, as much as we both don't want to admit it, it would have happened regardless."

"B-but I caused such a scene at the funeral, and I took away your chance to grieve, and I've been the world's crappiest daughter by ignoring your phone calls, refraining from visiting, but it's too much. Until recently, it's always been too much. And I'm so sorry, mom. For all of the pain I've caused you."

"You've caused me nothing." Pulling away to lock her gaze with mine, I can tell she means it. "I wasn't the one that found her, Aria. By the time we arrived from our trip, the scene had already been cleaned up. You are the one who had to heal from the intimate details of that night, and your father and I chose to let you find your path to healing. We would call to check in, but we never wanted to force you to visit or force ourselves on you if you weren't ready. Was it the right decision when it caused so many years of silence to form between us? I don't know, nor do I care. What matters is that you're here with us now, and I want to cherish every second I have with you." She kisses my forehead, pulling me into her chest. "I'm sorry you've carried this burden with you for so long, baby, but it's time to release it. Let it go. All is well, and we'll see her again when the time comes."

My mother's speech loosens the remaining knot that's been in my chest since we arrived. She doesn't blame me, and although I haven't spoken to my father directly, I'm guessing he feels the same.

When it all comes down to it, I've been the one blocking my path to fully heal. Everything could have moved a lot quicker had I just spoken to my parents about this years ago, but I wasn't ready yet, and I am now. My mother is right. All that matters is that we're together again, and I plan on soaking up every second, too.

We're interrupted when my father and Connor step into the kitchen. His brows lift as he takes in the scene before him, but with a subtle shake of my head, I silently communicate with him to drop it. This conversation between my mother and me is one I'll fill him in on later.

"What took you guys so long up there?" I ask.

Connor's head tilts to the side, his eyes a glimmering emerald. "Your father was filling me in on the history of the house."

I glance around the kitchen, flashing him a look of amusement. "This house was built five years ago, but good try. What's the real answer?"

Connor ignores me and peeks at the ingredients on the counter with interest.

I shift my attention to my dad, who is staring at me with a creepy smile.

What the hell?

"You both are acting weird," I mutter when my mom tugs on Connor's wrist, dragging him to the other side of the island.

"What are you making?" Connor asks.

My mom claps her hands, delighted he's interested. "We are making collard greens. It's a recipe that's been in our family for generations, and I want you both to learn it so you can show our grandkids one day."

My eyes bug out of my head. "Mom!"

But in true Connor fashion, he winks at me along with that arrogant grin. "I'd love to learn so we can teach it to our kids. Thank you for including me on this, Mrs. Monroe."

She passes him an apron, instructing him to put it on. "You'll need this," she says. "The cooking you're about to do includes more than salt and pepper, honey."

"Oh my god," I groan, but when Connor throws his head back, howling with laughter, I find myself laughing along with them.

He fits right in.

Then again, I don't know why I expected anything different. 

A/N:

MY HEART.

Also, this is a real conversation that happened with me on my first Thanksgiving with my husband LOL. His family still teases me about the way I say collards.

Sorry the update was so late! I was on a cruise and the wifi connection was terrible. I will still be updating on Monday as well! So you only have to wait a few days for the next chapter <3

Also, Playmaker (Maddie and Cameron's story) is hitting shelves Oct. 22nd! It's available for pre-order NOW on Amazon and Barnes & Noble! <3 I'm so excited for you to read their story. There is a LOT of bonus content, plus new smut scenes :)

See you Monday! <3