Page 17 of Willow Embers
I scooch closer to the table and grab the metal mug gingerly. My fingers aren’t as cold as my toes, thankfully, but I’m still shaky and unsettled. When I bring the mug to my lips and sip, my eyelids flutter. It’s the perfect balance of rich and chocolatey, with enough heat to warm me up inside.
“Thank you,” I say quietly over the rim of the mug.
Beauden just dips his head.
I’m halfway through my drink when I finally give in to my body’s protests and stand. It’s awkward clutching the blanket and trying to carry the mug without spilling it, and yeah, I realize how foolish I’m being. It’s not like he hasn’t already seen what’s under the blanket, but right now, my pride is all I have.
And that’s questionable.
Scanning the room, I see three real options: I could sit at the opposite end of the couch from Beauden, which is a hard no. That would leave less than three feet between us. I could go lay down on one of the bunk beds, but I know I would just toss and turn. Which leaves me with the kitchen table.
It looks homemade. Not like someone built it out of two-by-fours and old pallets, but roughhewn lumber and a hand-sanded top. It’s nice in a rustic way, and sturdy enough.
I angle my chair so my back is mostly to Beauden. I can still see Tiberius if I turn my head, but I really just need to be alone for a little while, and this is as close as I’m going to get. Unless I want to go back out to the outhouse.
No and thanks.
There’s no telling how long I sit there, my head spinning as the hot chocolate cools between my cupped hands. I hear Beauden get up and put more wood on the fire, and I brace for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
When I hear him sink back onto the couch, I let out a heavy breath. I’m also mildly irritated, which is totally irrational.
I can’t seem to make up my mind. Am I hurt? Angry? Frustrated? Is any of it about what just happened? Or is there some part of me that is itching to have it out about what happened all those years ago?
I know the answer and it’s all of the above.
A log pops in the fireplace, and I flinch. I glance over my shoulder, but everything looks exactly the same. Beauden is still watching the fire, Tiberius is still sleeping peacefully. So, I turn back to the table. Firelight glitters off Beauden’s keyring, and without thinking, I reach out and slide it toward me.
I don’t necessarily have to talk to the man to learn more about him.
Picking them up quietly, I see the skeleton key we used to get into the cabin, one that probably goes to his truck, and a couple of others. But I don’t have a chance to mull over what they might open because a small silver charm snatches my focus.
It’s really just a cheap coin with a willow tree imprinted on it. The thing is dented and scarred, like it’s been through hell, but I would recognize it anywhere.
All the air leaks out if my lungs.
Maybe I’m hallucinating?
I bite the inside of my lip hard, until I taste copper, then I run my thumb over the ridges of that damned willow.
Nope, not hallucinating, and a flood of memories hits me all at once. I remember trying to find a gift for Beauden for graduation. Something he could take with him that still held some meaning. And when I spotted that silly little coin, I thought it was fate.
Why? Because willows are resilient, just like I thought we were. Because they can grow just about anywhere there’s water.
If you cut a branch off a willow and plant it in rich soil, it’ll grow into a tree. No seeds needed.
I remember telling him that, and that was how I saw us back then. We could grow anywhere, as long as we were together. The way he looked at me, like it was the best gift anyone had ever given him.
Tears blur my vision.
I can’t believe he held onto it all these years. And not just held on. From the way it’s battered, he’s carried it with him. Everywhere.
Closing my eyes, I lay my head on my forearms as the tears fall. The fire crackles and my chest hitches, but I hold it in. I hold it all in. Because the last thing I want is for Beauden to hear me breaking down— over him.
TEN
BEAUDEN
My knucklesache from gripping the steel mug too hard. My jaw feels like it’s about to crack. I’ve been in untenable situations before, but sitting in silence, when I can hear Nixie crying —when I know damned well she’s trying to hide it— I’ve never hated myself more.
