Page 28 of Knot My Type

I take a seat on the plush rug in front of the fire, the warmth seeping into me as I sip the chocolatey drink. “I always loved hotcocoa.” The words slip out easily, a bridge toward conversation. “It reminds me of winter vacations growing up. We’d build snowmen and then crash inside for cocoa and stories. My mom always made it extra sweet, just the way I liked it.”

Kael shifts slightly, his gaze softening as he studies me from across the fire. “Family traditions are important,” he says, his tone lower, almost contemplative.

“Yeah, I suppose,” I reply, a bittersweet pang striking my heart. “But mine felt more like a mask than a tradition. Underneath it all, we had our issues. My parents fought constantly. It was strange to look back at the memories of hot cocoa and snowmen with a smile while knowing the shadows that loomed behind it.”

Rhys shifts forward, his playful demeanor momentarily fading as he leans in, curiosity piqued. “You can’t tell a story like that and not expect us to ask for more, Eliana. What happened?”

I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the mug as I consider my next words. “Things weren’t always what they seemed on the outside.” I meet their gazes, feeling a mix of vulnerability and strength. “There was a sense of expectation, of perfection. I poured myself into writing, created characters that could escape the chaos, that could find their happy endings without the drama.”

Fen nods, a knowing look passing over his usually stoic face. “Escaping through stories can be a powerful coping mechanism,” he says quietly, the softness of his voice surprising me. “I did the same, though my escape was different. I found solace in the mountains, learning to navigate the wilderness by myself. The silence spoke to me when my heart felt loud.”

“Does it help?” I ask, my curiosity overriding the hesitance that usually accompanies these conversations.

“It does,” he replies simply. “Nature has a way of humbling you. It makes your problems shrink in comparison.”

Kael leans forward, the warmth of his presence filling the space between us. “I get that. After the military, I came back with scars. I couldn't just go back to regular life. I needed to be in control, to channel my energy into something tangible—something that tested people, that challenged them.”

Rhys quickly adds, “It’s not just about the physical challenges, though. It’s deeper, right? We bring people together, force them to step beyond their limits. It’s about survival—both out there in the mountains and in here, inside our heads.” He motions playfully toward his heart, enhancing his charm with a wide smile, but I can see the shadow beneath it.

“There’s bravery in vulnerability,” I say softly, my heart feeling less heavy than it had before. “Talking about it helps to feel less alone, I guess.”

Rhys shrugs, his grin softening. “It’s how we roll—always pushing the limits and watching each other’s backs.”

The air is thick with understanding and shared experience, though the past lingers like the aroma of Fen’s hot cocoa. There’s an intimacy in discussing our scars, unlike anything I’ve felt in a long time, and it warms the small cabin against the onslaught of winter.

“And you?” I ask Rhys, curiosity bubbling within me. “What’s your escape?”

He hesitates, the bright sparkle dimming slightly. “I try to make others smile because my heart still hasn’t forgiven me for failing someone important. I throw parties, create events—it feels like I’m reliving the joy I missed out on.”

His words hang heavy in the air, filled with unspoken emotions that flood back into the room. I can see it—behind that charismatic smile lies a deep ache, a wound that has not fully healed. It’s in the way his eyes momentarily cloud over, as if a distant memory flashes before him, threatening to pull him back into that darkness.

“Rhys,” I say carefully, “it’s okay to feel that pain. You're not alone in it. You don’t have to make everyone else happy if it’s at the cost of your own happiness.”

He looks at me, surprise briefly crossing his features before fading into something more thoughtful. “I appreciate that, Eliana. Honestly, I push myself harder so that I can keep those shadows at bay. It’s easier to focus on others than to confront what I lost.”

The fire crackles softly in the silence that follows, our shared confessions creating a fragile thread that binds us together in this cozy cabin, cut off from the storm outside. I glance at Kael, and he shifts his weight, his brow furrowing as he wrestles with something more.

Kael looks at us both, a glimmer of vulnerability peeking through his usual protective demeanor. “I guess we’re all carrying our own burdens, huh?”

“Seems that way,” Fen replies, the simplicity of his words carrying the weight of truth.

I take a sip of my cocoa, letting its warmth fill me from the inside out. “It’s funny, being stuck in this cabin might be the best thing that’s ever happened to us,” I muse. “Maybe we needed this—and each other.”

“Agreed,” Rhys says, more serious now. “At least here, we can put our guard down, share stories, and just be ourselves.”

For a moment, the fire crackles louder, the flame dancing higher as if fueled by our openness. Fen leans back, a rare, contemplative look on his face. “We should continue sharing our stories, then. It could help us heal, or at the very least, remind us of what we’re fighting for.”

“Absolutely,” I confirm, my heart swelling with a sense of camaraderie. “Maybe it’s time we uncover the layers hidden beneath the surface.”

We all settle into a comfortable silence, each of us lost in our thoughts, contemplating the weight of our pasts. Then, with newfound resolve, I curve my fingers around my mug, and a smile breaks free. “Alright, I’ll start. Back in college, I was so focused on my writing that I didn’t realize how lonely I was. I poured my heart into each story but left no room for anyone—no friends, no romance. I thought I was invincible until I found myself utterly bereft.”

Rhys nods, encouraging me to go on. “What happened next?”

“I started dating someone—a fellow writer. It was all poetry and dreams until it turned into self-doubt. I was so terrified of opening myself up that I began living in my own head.” I sigh, the shame creeping back. “I pushed him away, convinced he’d leave me anyway. Eventually, he did.”

“I’m sorry, Eliana,” Rhys says softly, the empathy in his eyes genuine.

Kael’s expression hardens slightly, though I can see the flicker of compassion. “That’s a tough burden to carry—feeling responsible for losing someone you cared about.”

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