Chapter 8
I had nothing to pack.
Silas had let me with a suitcase while he did some jobs outside, but there was nothing to put in it. My clothes were back in Snowview. All I had now was this empty bag and the sweater on my back—his sweater, really. It still smelled like pine and smoke, faint and comforting, like his arms around me last night.
I sat on the edge of the bed, twisting the edge of the sleeve between my fingers. My chest felt tight, not from fear, but something deeper. Something heavier. The kind of ache that didn’t go away with a bandage or time.
Last night kept playing in my head. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word. Silas had held me like I was something precious, guiding me through the storm in my mind with those strong hands and steady eyes. He’d been firm when I needed it, soft when I didn’t know I did. And then there was the way we’d come together under that endless sky—raw, unguarded, honest. It wasn’t just about passion. It was about trust. About letting go and finding myself again, piece by broken piece.
I swallowed hard, staring at the empty suitcase. The line between who I was when I came up here and who I was now felt so sharp it almost hurt. That anxious, overworked woman who couldn’t sit still long enough to breathe? She seemed like someone else entirely. Someone I didn’t want to be again.
Today was going to test that.
"Back to the real world," I muttered, voice hollow. But was it? Was the city really my world anymore? I thought about the emails waiting in my inbox, the deadlines, the noise of it all. Everything that used to feel so important seemed . . . distant. Faded. Like a bad photograph.
"Dammit," I breathed out, dragging both hands down my face. The air in the cabin felt heavy, thick with everything unsaid. My feet stayed planted on the floorboards even as my heartbeat picked up, begging me to move, to do something, anything. But what? What the hell was I supposed to do with this feeling? With him?
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the wood. The sound jarred me, grounding me for a second. “You’re going back,” I told myself, the words coming out flat. “That’s the plan.”
But plans didn’t seem to matter much anymore. Not after him.
My chest tightened as I thought about Silas. His arms around me last night, strong and steady, his voice low and firm when he asked me to trust him. The way he carried me, not just physically but emotionally, wrapping me in a safety I didn’t know I craved. That’s what I’d be walking away from if I went back. Not just him, but the version of myself I’d found up here.
"Ally," I whispered to myself, my reflection faint in the glass. "What are you doing?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered, until soft footsteps creaked on the porch outside.
I turned, heart thudding hard against my ribs. Silas filled the doorway like he always did, broad shoulders brushing the frame, his dark eyes locking onto mine. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there looking at me, the kind of look that made me feel stripped bare and seen all at once.
"So. Got everything you need?" His voice was calm, same as always. No pleading, no cracks in his tone.
"Yeah," I lied, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
"Good." He tilted his head slightly toward the trail, his expression unreadable. "You ready to head down the mountain?"
Just an offer. A simple question. Like he wasn’t asking me to leave more than just this cabin behind.
My throat tightened, but I nodded anyway. "Yeah. I guess so." For a moment, I thought he might say something else—something that would make this easier or harder, I didn’t know which. But he just stepped aside, waiting for me to follow.
And damn it, I wanted so badly to close the distance between us, to press myself against him and beg him to tell me I didn’t have to go. But that wasn’t who he was. Silas wasn’t going to ask me to stay.
That choice was mine.
The air hit sharp and cold as we stepped outside. I pulled my sweater tighter around myself, silencing the urge to ask if we could linger just a little longer. Silas was already moving, his boots crunching over the packed snow with that effortless confidence of his. I followed, my own steps lighter now than they’d been the first time I’d walked this path.
"That there," he said after a while, pointing toward a faint scattering of marks in the snow off the side of the trail, "rabbit tracks. Probably from last night."
"How can you tell?" I asked, not because I particularly cared about rabbit tracks, but because hearing his voice made the knot in my chest loosen, just a little.
"Snow’s still clean around ‘em," he said, glancing back at me. His expression softened, like he’d caught something in my voice. "Fresh enough to follow, if you wanted."
"Not sure I’ve got it in me to chase rabbits today," I joked, though it came out weaker than I meant it to. My gaze dropped to the path ahead, watching our footsteps blend together in the churned snow.
We kept walking. The forest around us was quiet except for the occasional rustle of branches overhead. Every so often, Silas would point out a bird or a tree scarred by old lightning. Simple things. But each word felt deliberate, like he was grounding me here, one observation at a time. Keeping me tethered to this place, to him, even as we moved further down the mountain.
The trail curved, revealing the edge of Snowview below. My breath caught when I saw the rooftops laid out like pieces on a game board, their chimneys trailing thin ribbons of smoke into the crisp sky. It was beautiful, sure, but it didn’t feel the same as before.
"Almost there," Silas said, his voice pulling me back to the moment.
"Yeah," I mumbled, though my thoughts were already drifting. Each step took us closer to my rented cottage, closer to whatever came next.
When we reached the door, I stopped for a moment. The cabin looked exactly the same as when I left it—small, neat, unassuming. But I didn’t feel the same. Not even close.
"Well," I breathed. My hand hovered over the lock for a second, memories flashing behind my eyes. The panic. The tears. The desperate need to escape. All of it felt so far away now, like it happened to someone else entirely.
"Something wrong?" Silas asked, his voice quiet but firm.
"Just... thinking," I said, turning the key until the latch clicked. The door creaked open, revealing the untouched interior. Everything was just as I’d left it. I’d barely spent any time in here.
“Well,” I said. “I guess I need to say thank you.”
“Don’t mention it."
I paused for a moment.
“Are we seriously not going to talk about what happened last night?
He sighed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sighing deeply.
“You’ve turned my life upside down, Silas. You rescue me. Nurture me. Get me to call you Daddy. The we have the best sex of my life and the next day I’m just meant to—”
"Alana," Silas said. His eyes locked on mine, steady as a stone in a rushing river. “I love you.”
Three words. They hit so hard my knees almost buckled. I blinked fast, but it didn’t stop the sting in my eyes. It wasn’t news—I think I’d known for a while now—but hearing it out loud made something inside me crack wide open. Relief poured through me like water breaching a dam, followed by a wild, aching joy.
"Excuse me?" My throat clogged up, useless. My lips trembled around the shape of words I couldn’t seem to find.
He stepped closer, his boots scraping against the wooden floor. His hand brushed my arm, firm and grounding, before falling away again. He drew in a breath, like he was steadying himself, then let it out slow. “I don’t want you to go back,” he said, his voice even but thick with meaning. “Not to your old life. Not to all that noise and rush. I know it’s selfish. I’ve been trying desperately not to say it.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to rob you of your life. Your future. It’s no life for a beautiful, vibrant young woman up here. I don’t want that.”
“Stop telling me what you don’t want. Tell me what you do want.”
My heart thudded hard, each beat louder than the last.
“I want you here, with me,” he continued, gaze never leaving mine. “I want to be your Daddy, always. To make this mountain our home. For both of us. I’ll protect you, guide you . . .” His jaw tightened like he was forcing himself to keep his voice calm. “Give you what you found up there. What we found.”
The air between us buzzed, charged and heavy. My chest rose and fell too quickly, trying to pull in enough oxygen to keep from sinking under the weight of his words. Every part of him, from the way he stood so solidly to the raw conviction in his tone, told me he meant every syllable. This wasn’t some passing whim. This was Silas—grounded, unshakable, offering me everything.
I stared at him, my fingers twitching against the seam of my jeans. My breath hitched. God help me, I trembled like a damn leaf in the wind, no matter how hard I tried to stand steady. His words were still ringing in my ears, echoing louder than they should’ve been, filling up all the empty parts inside me. The mountain. Him. Us.
And then there it was—the city, pushing back into my mind like an unwelcome guest. Emails, meetings, deals that felt like victories but always left me drained. Bills stacked on my kitchen counter. A fridge with nothing but cold takeout and half-drunk wine.
I imagined what it might be like to leave all that behind. Slow mornings and coffee that tasted like pine smoke. The weight of his hand on the small of my back when I needed grounding. Littlespace. That safe, warm bubble where I didn’t have to be anything more than just . . . me.
My chin lifted before I even realized what I was doing. I looked at him—really looked—and found nothing but patience waiting for me. No pressure, no demands, just that endless, unshakable tenderness shining in his eyes. He was offering me everything without asking for a damn thing in return.
"Yes." The word came out thick, almost broken, but it was the truest thing I’d ever said. "I choose you."
His chest rose sharply, but he didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t try to fill the silence. Instead, he stepped closer, slow enough that I could feel every inch of the space shrinking between us until the air itself seemed to hum.
A tear spilled over my cheek, hot and messy, and before I could swipe it away, his thumb was there. Rough from years of work, gentle as if I might break. He caught it, letting his hand linger just long enough to make my heart stutter.
“I really do love you.”
"I love you too, Daddy," I whispered, so soft it was barely there, but he heard it. Oh, he heard it. I saw it in the way his jaw flexed, in the way his eyes darkened like the storm clouds that used to roll over this mountain in late spring.
"Alana," he said, my name a growl, full of things I wasn’t sure I’d survive but wanted anyway.
Silas’s arms came around me, strong and certain, pulling me into the kind of embrace that felt like it could withstand anything. I let out a shaky breath against his chest, my fingers curling into his flannel shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
I melted. Absolutely, completely melted against him. Like every piece of me had finally found where it belonged. The world outside could do whatever the hell it wanted—turn faster, spiral into chaos—I didn’t care. Here, time slowed. Here, it was just us.
His hand slid up my back, palm wide and rough, anchoring me further. I pressed closer, my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Mine.
"Feels right," I mumbled into the flannel, my voice barely loud enough to hear. But Silas heard it. Of course, he did.
"Yeah, it does," he said simply, his chin grazing the top of my head. No frills, no fuss. Just those three words, solid as the mountain under our feet. That was Silas. That was what I’d chosen.
After a long moment, he shifted, his hands lingering at my shoulders before he pulled back just enough to look down at me. His eyes searched mine, dark and full of quiet determination. "Ready?"
"Yeah," I whispered, though my voice wobbled this time. Not because I doubted. Because I didn’t.
His lips twitched, maybe the ghost of a smile, before his hand dropped to mine. His grip was firm but careful, like he knew exactly how much strength to use. Like he always did.
We turned toward the door together. I didn’t even glance at the suitcase. What would’ve been the point? It could sit there and collect dust for all I cared. I laced my fingers tighter with his as we stepped outside.
We walked.
The path climbed higher, steeper, but I didn’t falter. Each step felt like moving closer to something real. Something permanent. My hand stayed in his, our shared grip unbroken. And when I glanced sidelong at him, his profile outlined against the towering pines, I couldn’t help but think: This is it. This is where I’m supposed to be.
When we reached the ridge overlooking the cabin, I stopped, my breath catching. There it was, nestled against the mountainside like it had grown from the earth itself. Our beginning. Our home. The place that saved my life.