Page 69 of Wild Heart

She turned and found him standing just behind her, hands tucked into the pockets of his flannel-lined jacket, eyes locked on hers.

“I think it’s the pie,” she said with a half-smile.

He reached out and gently ran a knuckle along her cheek. “No. It’s something else.”

They stood in a quiet pocket of the celebration, framed by soft lights and the hum of contented voices behind them. Natalietilted her head, watching him as he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again,” she said.

Mason reached for her hands. She stepped into him, pressing her forehead against his chest. The rhythm of his breathing, steady and sure, wrapped around her like the familiar rise and fall of the hills behind the sanctuary. Somewhere nearby, a hawk called low from the ridgeline, returning to roost.

They swayed gently where they stood, not quite dancing, just moving with the hush of the music drifting from the porch.

“When I first got here,” she whispered, “I thought I was just passing through. Like I was too broken to root anywhere again.”

His hand came to rest on the curve of her back. “You’re rooted now.”

She nodded, eyes closed. “So deep it hurts.”

He kissed the top of her head, and they stayed like that, anchored to one another as the celebration turned to memory and the first stars slipped into view.

Later, after the guests had wandered home, pie tins emptied and music faded into the hush of the trees, Olivia sat on the front step of the lodge, her shawl pulled tight over her shoulders. The air had turned colder and blue with moonlight.

Behind her, the lodge glowed from the inside, lamplight spilling out across the porch where muddy boots had been kicked off, chairs tilted back, and laughter had hung in the air only hours before.

She watched the last of the cleanup: Mason carrying folding chairs back into the barn, Natalie gathering dishes with the help of a few lingering volunteers. The barn stood beneath the shadow of the ridge, its beams worn smooth by years of use, itsloft now home to the sanctuary’s supply of hay and medical crates. Beyond it, the trail curled up into the hills, where the more sensitive releases took place, hawks and foxes, coyotes and deer, all given a second chance under the dark, watchful eyes of the pines.

Davey approached quietly, a blanket tucked under one arm.

“You should be inside,” he said, settling beside her.

“I like the cold,” she replied. “Reminds me I’m still alive.”

He chuckled, handing her the blanket anyway. “Humor me.”

She took it and draped it over her lap. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, watching the lights dim one by one across the sanctuary. Somewhere far off, an owl hooted, and a chorus of frogs joined in from the wet patch near the lower enclosure trail.

“You ever think we’d get here?” he asked finally.

Olivia’s eyes stayed on the trees, the way their silhouettes reached toward the stars like old hands.

“Some days,” she said, “I didn’t think we’d make it through the storm. Not just the wildfire. But all of it. The years before. The silences between us.”

Davey nodded slowly. “Me too.”

He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I was angry for a long time. About what happened with school. With Mason. But I think… I think I was angrier that you never let me see you struggle.”

Olivia blinked. “You think I was trying to protect you.”

“I know you were,” he said. “But sometimes, we need to see the fight. We need to see how the people we love survive.”

She looked at him then, really looked, and what she saw was no longer a boy lost in the shadow of other people’s mistakes. She saw a man. One still learning, still healing—but strong. Rooted.

“I wasn’t always brave,” she admitted. “I got tired. I made mistakes.”

“I’m still here,” he said gently.

She reached out and took his hand. “So am I.”

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