Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
CREW
I should’ve known she couldn’t sit still.
After spending the day doing virtually nothing—other than trying to keep my hands off of her—she begged me to take her to the pit.
I obliged, but only because I knew she’d panic herself into a downward spiral if I didn’t.
By the time we’re on the short hike back, the sun is already sliding down behind the fir trees, turning everything around us golden.
Alma walks beside me, quieter than usual.
I’d be worried, but it feels more thoughtful than anything else, like she’s absorbing and digesting it all.
She did so good this time. So fucking good.
She didn’t look away when we reached the edge or when I pointed things out.
Not when we used the shovels to shift what needed a little extra help, either.
Maybe it’s because she could actually see progress versus me just relaying it to her. There’s already far less left than there was when I checked on it this morning. The sulfur is doing exactly what sulfur does. If this were a job site, I’d call it ahead of schedule.
“You okay over there?” I ask as the cabin comes into view.
She nods and absentmindedly reaches for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I was just thinking that if anyone had told me a week ago that I’d be repositioning skeletal remains in a sulfur pit, I would’ve assumed they were pitching a horror comedy.”
“It would test well with niche audiences,” I chuckle.
She exhales a soft laugh, and I swear it does something to me. It calms me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. It also brings me a sense of relief—for her. The horror isn’t swallowing her whole anymore. It’s something she can step outside of long enough to make fun of.
Back inside the cabin, the air feels warmer than it did last night. The vibe in here somehow feels familiar, too. Lived in. There’s towels draped over chairs, a half-empty bag of marshmallows on the counter, the bed still unmade.
Evidence of us.
I pull off my beanie and watch her move around the small space like she belongs here. This was always temporary, I know that, but it’s still significant.
For both of us.
“We’re almost done,” I say, clearing my voice slightly.
Alma turns to look at me. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “Another day or two, at most. What’s left won’t last long.”
Her nostrils flare the tiniest bit, teeth gently embedding into her bottom lip as she processes what I’ve just said, Relief is complicated.
It doesn’t always arrive cleanly. Sometimes it brings other things along with it—reality, next steps, the fact that once this is over, there’s nothing forcing us to remain in the same orbit.
She can go back to her life and I to mine…
“You handled today well,” I follow that up, sauntering into the small kitchen area. “Really well, actually. I’m proud of you.”
When I glance over my shoulder, her head’s tilted aside, brow lifted curiously as a smirk plays on her full lips. “Is that my performance review?”
“Exceeds expectations. Great listener. Strong adaptability under pressure. Minimal screaming.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s affection threaded through it now. Chucking softly, she gives a little shake to her head and I note how it fades as she scans the room. Her throat bobs through a swallow, gaze flicking over to where I stand. “This is the last night, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer immediately because the truth of it feels heavier than I ever expected.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “Tomorrow we’ll pack up, check the pit one more time on the way out. Then we’ll go…back to real life.”
Real life.
How can two small words feel so overwhelming?
Alma nods and closes the space between us, stopping within arm’s reach. “Does that make you nervous?”
I consider that for a moment. I should be, I suppose. I’m an accomplice now, and if the guilt becomes more than she can bear, I could find myself in a prison cell. But for whatever reason…I’m not.
“No,” I admit. “I’m not worried about the pit, or the timeline. I’m not even worried about the logistics of everything.”
She takes another step toward me, her voice now lower and much softer. “What are you worried about?”
“You,” I say simply, and I don’t miss the way her breath catches slightly.
“Why?”
“Because once this isn’t about survival anymore, it’s about choice.”
That last bit lingers. Choice hits differently than if I had said necessity.
“And you don’t like variables,” she whispers, shaking my head of its own accord.
“I prefer controlled environments.”
“And I’m not controlled.”
“No,” I agree with a small laugh. “You’re not.”
A faint smile curves her mouth as the wind brushes against the cabin windows, then. It feels like last night again, only there’s a big difference. We’re not strangers thrown together by catastrophe anymore.
We’re something else.
Something more.
Just a couple more steps and we’re toe to toe. Her hands slide up my chest with a familiarity I’ve craved since we got out of the shower this morning. I wrap my arms around her without thinking twice, anchoring her against me as she buries her face into my chest.
“Thank you,” her voice comes softly, almost a whisper.
“For what?”
“For not making me feel like I’m broken.”
That feels heavier than anything we handled at the pit.
Inhaling a fortifying breath, I press my mouth to the top of her head. “You’re not broken.”
“I know,” she concurs. “I just needed someone else to know it, too.”
We stand like that for a long while, the cabin quiet around us as the sulfur pit continues its patient work not far away. The worst of it all is already behind us.
“Tomorrow,” she breathes out, bobbing my throat through a harsh swallow.
“Tomorrow,” I echo.
But tonight, we’re still here.
And for the first time since this started, I’m not calculating exits or worst-case scenarios….
I’m just holding her—and meaning it with every fiber of my being.