Chapter 35
As we stand on the precipice of a new beginning, the mountains behind us hold the echoes of our struggle, and the horizon ahead beckons with the promise of a life unshackled from the dark chapters of our past.
—Ghost Lake by Ava Howell Brooks
She dreamed she was lost in the mountains again—cold, wet, hungry, afraid. Hiding from anyone they saw because they had no idea whom they could trust, if they indeed could rely on anyone.
It was a familiar dream she had entirely too often, when she relived the crushing fear of being responsible for her younger sister. The odds of them both surviving were slim at best. Ava hated those odds and she was determined that Madi, at least, would make it safely to their grandmother, no matter what she had to do to make it happen.
This time felt different somehow. Madi wasn’t there. Instead, Ava carried a small bundle in her arms.
Her baby. She had to keep her baby safe from the cold, from the rushing waters, from the mountain lions and the dogs and the horrible, ruthless men with guns.
She couldn’t let anything happen to her baby. She stumbled, fell, got up again, running through thistles and scrub oak and sagebrush that snagged at her clothes and ripped at her skin.
And then she was falling again, arms spiraling at a cliff’s edge as she went down and the bundle in her arms soared away, beyond her reach.
She cried out and the sound woke her. For a moment, she lay in a bed that felt unfamiliar, her heart pounding wildly. Her face felt wet with tears, and as consciousness gradually returned, she remembered.
It hadn’t all been a dream. She had lost the baby. She sobbed out and in her hazy half-asleep state, she thought she felt arms around her.
“Easy, darling. Easy. I’ve got you.”
And somehow her husband was there, holding her, calming her.
She knew it was impossible. Cullen was in the mountains. But in her dreams, the man in the bed beside her smelled like Cullen and the arms around her felt like his.
With Cullen, she was safe. No matter what happened, he would keep the darkness away. He always did.
She closed her eyes and sagged into him, letting sleep claim her again.
When she awoke hours later, Ava lay in her sister’s bed, watching the pale dawn light come through the blinds. The heavy ache in her chest reminded her with clarity of the stark, unavoidable truth.
Her baby was gone.
Her eyes felt gritty and sore, as if she had been crying all night long. She didn’t want to get up. She wanted to stay here, pull the blankets over her head and pretend none of it had happened.
Would Cullen come down from the mountain that day? She didn’t want to tell him, to say the words that would extinguish that bright light that had flared in his expression the past few times she had seen him, when he would return to town to spend time with her and they would talk about the baby.
She closed her eyes again. Only then, as consciousness fully returned, did she realize she wasn’t alone in the bed. She knew Madi’s little schnauzer mix had cuddled with her before she fell asleep but this presence felt much bigger.
She felt an instant’s fear before the familiar, beloved smell of soap scented with sandalwood, black pepper and leather pushed through.
She opened her eyes, shifted her gaze and found her husband lying beside her, his arms cradling her and his eyes open.
“Ava. My darling Ava,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re...you’re here. How are you here?” She couldn’t seem to make the puzzle pieces fit in her head and wondered if she was still dreaming. What else could explain her husband in bed beside her, bearded now and sun-weathered from long hours spent at the dig, but so dearly familiar.
“Madi and your friend Luke Gentry drove up in the middle of the night in a rainstorm to get me.”
“Oh.” The exclamation escaped on a sigh and then she turned to face him. Cullen pulled her into his embrace and she pressed her face into the curve of his neck.
Cullen was her safe space. From the day they met, she had found strength and comfort and peace in his arms. He loved her. Why had she ever believed that his love couldn’t be strong enough to endure if he truly knew all the pieces of her?
“I’m so sorry about the baby. Are you okay?”
She shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. “It hurts,” she admitted on a whisper. “I’m not sure I can bear it.”
She didn’t mean physically. The cramping had stopped sometime in the night. Now she only felt...empty inside.
“I wish I could take this pain for you.”
She didn’t know how to tell him that his presence was easing it, going a long way to helping her not feel so alone.
She couldn’t lose this. Them. She needed him too much. Yes, being completely vulnerable with him, sharing the complete truth about everything, was terrifying. The idea of spending even another night without him was far, far worse.
“I’m sorry about everything,” she said softly. “So sorry. I’m sorry about our baby. I’m sorry for keeping so much from you all this time. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to tell you, that I let fear rule my choices.”
“Oh, Ava. It was never about you not being strong enough. I wondered what I had done or said to make you feel you couldn’t trust me with the truth about all that you went through.”
She had hurt him. That was the core of everything, why he had needed to put distance between them. He had hurt, learning there were parts of her she had never shared with him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured again.
“Don’t.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his arms tightening around her. “I love you, Ava. No matter what. I can’t bear being without you. These weeks have been hell. Can’t we simply move forward from here?”
She listened to his heartbeat, strong and comforting. “Yes. Oh please, Cullen. I love you.”
He tucked her head against his shoulder and they stayed that way for a long time.
While the pain of loss was still there and probably always would be, on the fringes of her subconscious, Ava caught a tiny sliver of bright hope, like a rare and precious mountain bluebird flitting across an alpine meadow.