Page 138 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
Tomorrow gets steeper. Even less traveled. Into the complete unknown as far as what we might find.
I lift the piece of cornbread and take a bite. Despite how delicious it is, it still feels like chalk going down my throat.
Killian returns to his conversation with his brothers. Not hovering. Continuing to allow me to move at my own pace. But I still catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye.
I force myself to keep eating—the bread, some pasta salad, a few bites of beans and ham—until I feel like I might throw up.
And somehow, Killian knows.
That I’ve reached my limit.
That I’m on the verge of collapse.
He takes the plate from me, passes it to Connor, then pushes to his feet, holding out his hand to me. “Let’s go.”
I slide my palm into his, and he tugs me up, murmurs “good night” to a few people, and leads me over to our tent on the edge of camp. Stopping outside, he pauses to take my face between his palms, the moonlight glittering across his eyes as he stares down at me.
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.
The way he looks at me is enough to speak volumes.
What happened to me on this mountain doesn’t matter to him, but it does to me. I left something up here, something important, something I have to find.
And hopefully I will tomorrow.
KILLIAN
I wake to an eerie silence and a foreboding sense of dread.
Over the past couple of weeks with her back, I’ve gotten used to the sound of Willow’s breathing. Even before I started sleeping in our bed with her, I was always aware of the sounds coming from the bedroom, always listening to see if she needed me. And since we got back together, I’ve become accustomed to the feel of her in my arms, her shifting in her sleep, the comfort of knowing she’s safe with me.
None of that exists in this moment.
I open my eyes to an empty tent, the sleeping bag next to mine already cold, like the dread that sits like a stone in my throat.
“Willow?”
It goes unanswered.
I push up on my elbow and scan the tight space as if there’d be somewhere else for her to be instead of at my side, but she’s gone, as are her hiking boots that had sat just inside the zipper when we fell asleep.
“Shit.”
Somehow, I slept through her waking, putting on her boots, and leaving, even her re-zipping the tent closure.
Where the hell did you go, Honeybee?
Unease clamps around my throat, squeezing until it makes it hard to breathe as I throw open my sleeping bag and climb out. I quickly tug on my boots before I unzip the tent and step out into the darkness of the night.
An almost full moon overhead gives off some illumination, as does the bonfire raging to the left, but the tents block most of that, casting long, ominous shadows in places. Low voices float through the air from that direction, and I approach the center of camp, weaving between the other tents where the rest of the searchers sleep soundly, scanning for any signs of her.
I quickly make it to the voices.
Flames climb high into the sky from the bonfire people have kept going, sending out a warm glow and welcome heat into the night, though it isn’t nearly as chilly as it has been in the evenings now that we’re nearing July.
The Winslow brothers sit on one of the long logs, staring into the fire and sipping coffee from metal cups. They both raise a brow at me as I approach, obviously surprised to see me up and around this late.
Everyone is tired after that hike, and they probably haven’t seen anyone else since all the searchers retired to their tents after dinner.
