Page 26 of Mountain Defender

More bits of reality filter in.

I’m on the couch. The room is dim, save for the flickering of low flames in the fireplace. Gage is perched on the couch cushion beside me, his worry a visible thing. Elmore and Toby are crowded by my feet, both of them watching me with concern.

My body is still shaking, not from cold, but residual fear.

Just a dream.

I start to push myself up, and Gage’s arm comes around me to help. “Here,” he says, “let me help. Take your time.”

The stubborn part of me wants to insist on doing it myself, just as I’ve been for the last twenty years. But the frightened part that longs for someone to take care of me—no, not just someone,Gage—doesn’t resist.

Once I’m sitting, Gage shifts so he’s facing me, balancing himself carefully on a few inches of cushion. In the shadows, his face is like a sculpture, all hard lines and angles, but touched with the tenderness of an artist’s hand. “Hey, Ror.” He touches my cheek with a finger, pulling it away wet. “What can I do to help? Tissues? A drink? Some tea?” His brow creases in thought. “I think Winter said something about buying herbal tea. Maybe that would?—”

“Could I have a hug?”

Gage stiffens, and a hot rush of embarrassment surges through me. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I’m fine. Forget I?—”

“Don’t apologize.” It’s rough. Spoken through a gritted jaw. “I should have…” He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to presume. But…”

A beat later, his arms come around me, strong and thick with muscle, but achingly gentle as he gathers me to his chest. His chin touches the top of my head, his breath feathering across my hair. One big hand rubs slow circles on my back.

All at once, fresh tears sting my eyes.

When was the last time I was hugged like this?

Not a familiar hug like the ones Isla gives me, or the quick and pleasant one I got from Matt when we met. Or the sweet ones from the kids who come to the rescue, their excitement at adopting a new dog bubbling over.

Even in college, when I still dared to date, I never received a hug like this.

I want to sink into it. To cling to this feeling for as long as I can. But I know that’ll only make it harder when everything goes back to normal again. When I’m back at my house and Gage only comes to visit once a week, assuming he hasn’t grown tired of me by then.

Ugh.

I hate feeling so negative. Usually, I try to look on the bright side of things. That was something my aunt taught me, back when my life fell apart. When I couldn’t bear to get out of bed or imagine finding a reason to go forward.

What happened wasn’t fair,she told me with tears in her eyes.But you’re here. And you have a choice. Let it control your life? Or take back control for yourself?

There was a moment when I thought about giving up. But then I realized how disappointed my parents would be if I did.

So I got out of bed. One day at a time. The sun came out again. Life went on. And eventually, it didn’t feel as hard anymore. I learned to hope again. I learned that the world was still a beautiful place. And I learned that there was a reason I survived.

So I push down the creeping negative thoughts and I force a smile as I reluctantly pull away from Gage. I sniff back my tears and brush at my cheeks. “I’m okay now,” I assure him. “I was just… after the dream, I was a little shaken.”

“Of course.” He hesitates. “Did you…”

“No.” Sighing, I shake my head. “Nothing useful. Not unless bad breath is something to go on.”

“Bad breath?”

“Yes. Kind of sour. But with a hint of alcohol, I think. I couldn’t see his face, though. Just his—” A shudder ripples through me. “Just his eyes. And I can’t even remember what color they were.”

“Hey.” It’s low. Soothing. Gage pats my arm. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll remember in time.”

“I guess.” Pausing, I cast my gaze around the open living space. All the blinds are closed, but light still filters through them, so it’s clearly not nighttime yet. In the kitchen, a bulb burns above the sink, illuminating the smooth butcher block counters and stainless steel appliances. On the coffee table sits a laptop with the screen saver spinning, and beside it is a half-filled glass of water.

“Did you get any work done?” I ask. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“No.” Gage smiles. “I already got all my work done. I was just checking my email when you woke up.”

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