Dane's Storm(60)

She was sitting on a rock near the fire—the fire that had died and was now nothing but smoldering ash.

“Ah, fuck!” I yelled, kicking at the snow and then picking up a handful and throwing it at the fire. The spray bounced off the cold wood and flew at Audra and she flinched back, drawing in a surprised breath.

My heart dropped. “Oh, God, Audra, I’m sorry, I . . .”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

But she didn’t even glance at me, and the words died on my lips. She was gone again. Back behind her wall.

Fuck this.

We were never going to mend . . . us. I’d told her I still had feelings for her, bared my heart, and yet she sat there, unable to look at me, that stubborn chin set, her shoulders rigid. Maybe I’d never get through to her. Maybe, if there ever had been a chance, it had come and gone long ago. Was there too much resentment between us, too much time and too much pain? My anger faded and suddenly I just felt defeated. Defeated and fucking sad.

“I’m going to get some wood. We’ll have to try to light another fire.”

I turned, not waiting for her reply, if she even planned to give one. I wandered farther than I had before, past the trees we’d already stripped of lower branches, more deeply into the forest. As I walked, I was mindful of the fact that we were on the edge of a cliff. But I figured if I stayed where trees grew, I was probably safe.

A shot of brown fur surprised me, eliciting a yelp as I stumbled backward. But just as quickly as I’d seen it, it was gone, moving through the thick trees. A wolf? Hopefully it was scared to see a human in this remote forest, but even so, I decided to turn back. My arms were full of wood and I figured it’d be enough for now.

When I stepped through the clearing, Audra was sitting on the same rock she’d been on when I left. She was shivering with cold and she looked utterly devastated. For a moment I just stared, uncertain what to do. She lifted her head and her eyes met mine and slowly, her face crumpling, she lifted her hand in the air, two fingers in a v.

For several beats, I was confused. And then my mind snagged on what that sign meant to me, of how it had been my siblings’ code if we had become distressed when swimming across the pond. How we’d used the sign to indicate we were in trouble.

It meant we needed help, but couldn’t form the words to ask for it.

Ah, Audra.

Jesus.

I dropped the branches in my arms and rushed to her, falling on my knees in front of her and taking her into my arms as she let out one small cry, burrowing her face into my chest. “Audra, sweetheart, I’m here. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know what to do, how to—”

She shook her head, stopping my words, turning her face to mine, her expression one of such agony that it felt like a punch to my gut. “I do want to talk about it, Dane. I just . . . I just don’t know how. I’ve felt so alone, held on to so much pain. And I don’t know how to let it go.” She let out small sobbing gasps between her words and I pulled her closer, simply holding her for a moment, such profound relief pulsing through me that I felt weak with it.

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.” Never again. I’ll never leave you alone again.

She gripped my jacket in her fists and cried, tears that I suspected had been dammed up for far, far too long, all rushing forth in one torrent of agony. I held her closer as she sobbed, a wailing sound of profound devastation, an ancient cry of unthinkable pain that only mothers who’ve said goodbye to their child can know. It rose from her soul, from the mountain beneath us, from all things unchanging and immovable that you cannot fight against no matter how hard you try. It pierced my heart. It strangely filled me with an excruciating honor. This woman in my arms, who I knew I loved with all my heart and soul—was finally, finally trusting me with her deepest pain. And with God as my witness, I was going to be worthy of her faith.

I stroked her back, her hair, holding her tightly as her sobs turned to small gasps that eventually became tiny intakes of breath, fading to silence, the steady beat of her heart right against my own. “I didn’t take care of him,” she whispered.

Confused, I tipped her chin up. She looked exhausted, and still sad, but the devastation had left her expression. “What?”

She shut her eyes for a moment. “You said when you moved to San Francisco, you felt comfort in knowing I’d take care of him. Of Theo.” A single tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her cheek. “But I didn’t. I haven’t even gone to visit his grave. All these years. I . . . couldn’t. All his things . . . they’re in a box in the attic. And I hate myself for that.”

I used my thumb to wipe the tear from her cheek. “Shh. You don’t have to go to his grave to visit him. I talk to him sometimes when I’m driving in my car.”

“I talked to him when the plane was going down. It was the first time I had since we lost him.”

“He must have heard you.”

She sniffled, and then gave me another lip tilt. “Then maybe we should be asking him to get us off this mountain.”

“Or maybe we’ll look back at this as the best thing that ever happened to us. Our second chance.”

She chuckled through another sniffle. “I don’t know that I’m quite that optimistic.”

“Then I’ll be optimistic for us both,” I said, moving her hair back from her face, kissing her forehead, wiping the last of the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for turning away when I saw your pain. I convinced myself you didn’t need me, that you had closed yourself off, to justify not making more of an effort.” I breathed in, long and deep. “The truth is, I was hurting so damned much, and I didn’t think I could take on your pain as well as my own. And so I managed what I could—school, my job, the house, and I left you to your grief when we should have been grieving together.”