Page 7 of Beacon

I feel like crying, but I don’t.

I used to cry all the time. When my husband, Josh, lashed out at me. When I would make plans for finally getting away from him but then be too scared to do it. When the asteroid hit and the world fell apart. When so many of my former students died in the first few years after Impact. When I was trying desperately to learn how to stand on my own and defend myself.

When my life became scrambling frantically to survive.

Mack has held me so often while I cried. I can still feel the strength of his big arms and the solidity of his broad chest. The beat of his heart against my ear.

Comfort like that from Mack is a thing of the past, and I know it’s for the best. I might still want it for me, but it’s no longer fair to let him give it to me. I don’t expect him to dry my tears anymore.

But I never dreamed it would be him who made me cry.

I hug my arms to my stomach and lean over toward my knees, breathing deeply and blowing out the angst with each exhalation until the surge of emotion is contained.

I’ve got a job to do here, and I can’t let myself fall apart.

Minutes pass slowly as I try to figure out a plan. A strategy. A method of bringing Mack back to himself.

This isn’t him. Not the real him. The man he’s always been.

If I believed for even a moment that he was happy like this, that he’d shrugged off the burden of caring for the needs of multiple communities and was finally trying to enjoy life on his own, then I’d leave him be. I’m sure I would. I sacrificed my own feelings two years ago when I broke up with him because I was so completely certain it was the right thing.

The right thing forhim. Not for me.

But this isn’t the same situation. He’s not happy right now. He’s not relaxing or trying to live a contented life or taking a vacation or anything of the kind.

He’s hiding. He’s hurting. He has retreated intohimself and is guarding his true self—the warmest, bravest, most generous man I’ve ever known—like a dragon’s treasure. It’s locked away somewhere inside him. He’s carried too much for too long, and it finally broke him.

I squeeze my eyes shut as my breathing gets fast and choppy again. I sway back and forth until I bury my face against my knees.

And I hate myself—and everyone else who relied on him so long—for letting this happen to him. For not intervening before it got this far.

The sound of the door opening behind me snaps me out of the internal sob. I jump to my feet and whirl around to see Mack in the doorway.

His expression is no softer than it was earlier. He looks at me with shadowed brown eyes.

“Do you really expect me to hike back through The Wild and cross the border in the dark?” I ask him mildly.

He glances over my shoulder at the dark woods behind me. “Thought you said Cal and Rachel were waiting for you.”

“They are. But it’s a pretty long trek back to where they are.”

“How long they gonna wait?”

“Until midday tomorrow.”

He stares another minute, breathing heavily. Then he finally steps out of the doorway with a slight gesture of his head.

I respond immediately to the silent invitation, relievedthat Mack hasn’t gotten as hard as I feared and also that I won’t have to spend the night on this porch.

“You’re leaving first thing in the morning,” Mack mutters as he closes and locks the door and then lowers the reinforcement bar.

I nod since there’s no purpose in arguing. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

He doesn’t respond or soften his expression. He stands stiffly, taking up far too much space in the small, rustic living area. He’s always been so big that it makes me feel small.

Trying to break the tension, I glance around. There’s a woodstove, an old couch, a big leather easy chair, and a bookshelf against the wall. In the other direction is a kitchen with small appliances that appear to actually be functional. There are light sconces on the wall, illuminating the rooms dimly.

Chloe told me that this cabin has a solar generator for power, and it clearly still works.

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