Page 73 of Rising

Amaia tossed her hands up in surrender before pushing herself off the ground and announcing to pack it up and be at the horses in twenty.

* * *

The rideto Stevinson was smoother than the previous day, the further inland we went, the more desolate the area became. Nature reclaiming what rightfully belonged. Reina had kept her word about setting up her own tent, compromising by squeezing it in between ours and Seth and Tomoe’s. It only made for a tighter squeeze inside as the edges of Reina’s pressed into Amaia’s side of the tent, causing her to inch forward to keep it from poking at her back. It was her idea, after all, to post up in the narrow gap in the coverage of the overgrown fields.

The heat of the day lingered, making the night unbearable. Sleep was elusive, even after two restless nights, her constant turning and shuffling throughout the night, telling me she wished for the same.

Her breath brushed the side of my neck, tickling my throat as she breathed in and out. I could feel the heat emanating from her, the closeness of her body sending my primitive senses into overdrive, but my mind resistant to give in. It was a strange feeling, almost electric, as I turned my head towards her.

“Hard time sleeping?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Yeah,” the word, little more than a sigh.

It was like we’d been transported back to that day down by the water again, watching the waves crash, capturing our words as they left our mouths, making it feel as if they’re gone forever, weightless.

The feeling both freeing and unsettling. “You ever wonder if that one thing never happened. Never broke you. Where you’d be now?”

“All the time,” the words came out as a bite, hesitant, not knowing if she should keep her walls up or not.

“You just can’t be nice to me, can you?”

“Rich, coming from the guy who called me a bitch for doing my job, trying to protect my home, my family. The very same thing you’re protecting now. But you’re not going to tell mewhyare you?” She let the words weigh on me for a moment before snorting. “Of course not.”

“I have people to protect too, people I want to keep safe.”

“You mean the guy you met in the middle of the night like it was a drug deal?”

My veins burned against my skin, fire flowing through them, consumed by anger. “You followed me?”

“Please, if I’d been following you, I would’ve at least gotten a name.”

I remembered the late-night runs she’d been on and decided to offer her something to work with. I did have people to keep safe. But if I told her who I was keeping safe, then she’d ask how I know him, which would only lead to other questions. Questions that might only cause problems for this mission, and that would defeat my purpose in being here.

The day we met flashed before my eyes for a moment. She’d understand. She’d been in self-destruction mode when I’d arrived. I knew that mode because I’d walked that path for a long time. When you lose the people you love the most, and then find something, someone worth living for again, only to have them taken from you, too.

“How many did you lose before you got here?” She knew what I meant. Everyone had lost someone, didn’t know a single person who had everyone they loved make it out.

“Too many,” she said softly.

“We were coming from a funeral.” The words were out my mouth, flowing before I could convince myself to stop, to keep it all in, keep it to myself. “I was on my bike, not too far in front of my family. Father insisted we all ride together, but … I was out drinking the night before, partying. Showed up late and ended up needing my own transportation.”

I cleared my throat, masking the shakiness of my breath. “The alerts were going crazy on my phone, but, I didn’t wanna take it out while riding, we were going over a bridge and my mom is … was, always nervous about me owning a motorcycle. She’d freak if she was watching.”

Her breath was even, listening, as her hand found my own, letting it all come out.

“I heard the tires sliding across the pavement first. Took me a second. Damnit, the bike was too loud, I couldn’t hear. My brother had told me their neighbors had complained. Pissed my father off, the extra attention. So I’d made it louder out of spite.” I chuckled at the memory. “Spite is a funny thing. Usually ends up biting you in the ass later. By the time I turned the bike around, the car had rammed into the one next to it, made it on top somehow. Impact broke part of the barrier. Car was halfway over the bridge. Driver had started to turn. At the time, thought it was just a seizure, medical emergency, or something. First thought was to get to my brother. He was sitting in the back, driver’s side, easy to get to. Easy to get out.”

I needed another moment. This story had been told only once before. To Tiago.

“I went for my mom next, had her hand and everything but the son of the bitch, as much death as he caused, he couldn’t face it himself. He was a coward, down to his dying breath. Tried to scramble out before her, pulling them both back. The weight was too much, they went over.”

She said nothing. There was nothing to say. Everyone who’s lost someone close to them could tell you the same thing.No words make it better. Just listen to them, be there, your presence is enough.

But something about the weight of her silence felt genuine, real. Like she gets it.

It’s not that those words aren’t true, nothing anyone says truly makes it better, but I’ve found that on the other end of the presence, is the need for them to feel better. Feel that their job as that supportive person is done, but it’s not. Real support is understanding the pain and feeling the suck with them.

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