Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
JACK
She stopped crying, staring out the window in silence now that she told me her story. Not only has her brother been dead for six years, but Alaska still sees him and thinks she’s the one responsible for his death. My chest tightens in ways I’ve never known.
When I lost my father, I didn’t have the words to express my sorrow to my family.
I shut them out until I tried to talk again, only to stumble on my words, like I still do now.
Back then, when memories of my dad overtook me with pain, aiming arrows right at my gut, I’d imagine myself drowning, beating against the glass walls of an aquarium, trapped inside myself.
Alaska’s been there all along with me; I just didn’t realize it until now.
Only she’s been held there with rocks tied to her feet, dragging her down, making the escape impossible.
She’s been trapped in this grief since the day it happened, frozen in time just like he was beneath that ice.
My girl needs help. She’s been needing it for years, damaging her mind from the lack of care no one ever gave her.
I turn my hand into a fist, resting it against my mouth, elbow on my thighs, zeroing in on her and the thousands of complex layers I’ll fight with every fiber of my being to unravel and free her from.
Is this what they call it in movies?
Unconditional love.
I used to doubt its existence, but listening to Alaska leaves no doubt in me; my heart is her home, and hers is mine.
A voice tells me to run away from the darkness she could trap me in, too.
I don’t listen. Grief doesn’t hit us all with the same force.
Not the same blows. Some get up from the battlefield and carry on.
Others remain half-alive, half-dead, shot down in the mud, fighting for their next breath, for someone to take their hand and carry them to safe ground.
I’ll be the latter. Holding her until she gets the care she needs and the love she deserves.
Her palms rub up and down her arms, comforting herself.
I remain on her couch, next to her, watching.
The last pieces of the puzzle are sliding into place, revealing the whole picture, the real Alaska.
I see it all now, the distance in her laughter, the sadness that never quite leaves her, the way she hides behind books as if reality is too much to bear.
Her feeling responsible for her brother’s death doesn’t surprise me.
I know what grief does to a person. I’ve seen it over and over: people who survive accidents but never forgive themselves.
It doesn’t matter how fast they reacted; seconds stretch, time blurs, and afterward, they torture themselves over what they should have done better, quicker.
Truth is, people react the best way they can.
No matter how much she blames herself, Alaska couldn’t have stopped the ice from shifting.
Even if she’d broken through, even if she’d reached him, what makes her think she could have pulled a full-grown body out of the water alone?
I want to take her in my arms, kiss her hair, hold her together while she’s falling apart.
I would, if she’d let me. Instinct tells me to wait.
We stay like this for half an hour, her eyes never meeting mine as she stares at the trees swaying in the wind.
Words build up in my throat, but I keep them there, my jaw clenched from the effort of holding them back.
How could I tell her? That it doesn’t matter, that opening up to me was the most precious gift she could have ever given me.
“You can leave now, Jack,” she whispers. “Or arrest me. I…I don’t want to fight this anymore.” A tear rolls down her cheek.
My Alaska. Why would you ever think that I would do such a thing ?
“T-thank you f-for t-telling me,” I say, wishing I could turn back time and be her shelter when she needed me the most. “Look at me.” She refuses, her wild brows pulling together in a frown I’d die to kiss.
“I can’t,” she chokes out, wiping a tear. “I…I can’t face your disgust.”
“Hey.” My hand finds the small of her back.
“N-never, Alaska. Nothing you s-say, nothing you’ve done, c-could ever disgust me.
” She’s been carrying this alone for years, with no one to tell her she wasn’t to blame.
She’s still there, trapped under the ice.
Her blue eyes flick up to mine, full of doubt.
“It wasn’t your f-fault,” I tell her. “It’s not.
” She flinches as if the words hurt. I rest my hand over hers, tracing the white threads of her scars.
“M-most people would’ve gi-given up, but you didn’t.
You… you tried b-breaking the ice.” I draw in a shaky breath.
“You t-tried with your bare hands, Alaska. If that’s n-not proof enough…
” My voice trails off. She’s the living proof of her innocence, her scars a reminder of her courage when most would have given up.
Very few could have turned desperation into a weapon.
She didn’t fail; she fought the best she could. Brave doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“The c-county’s responsible for this,” I say, anger rising in my chest. “They c-couldn’t put up a-a-a damn sign and expect p-people to follow it? They should’ve done more. You-you were just a kid. This isn’t on you.” They’re the ones who should’ve carried the unbearable weight of losing a child.
She inhales, her gaze drifting. “For a few seconds, I was relieved he was there,” she confesses.
“For a few seconds, I let myself imagine what it would be like if…” Her breathing uneven, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“I’m a terrible person, Jack. You need to stay away from me.
” Her hands tremble as she grips the sides of her head.
This time, I don’t wait for her to calm down.
I grab her waist, lift her onto my lap, and hold her tight, both arms wrapped around her as she cries into the crook of my neck.
I can’t stand it. I can’t see her torture herself like this.
“Do…do you still s-see him?” I ask quietly, because I need to know how far this goes, how much help she needs. She sobs, but I feel it, the smallest nod.
“In my house, at work and…at my parents’,” she sniffs, “only there.” I wait for her to continue.
“It started a few days after the accident. I…I was crying on his bed one night, and I heard him talking to me. I sat up and…he was there, in the room, in the same clothes from that day, dripping wet, with his Christmas sweater on. That’s the only thing he wears in my…
Because…because that’s the last thing he wore.
Every now and then, I see puddles of water too, in my house, at work, but they disappear on their own.
It’s…it’s been so hard, Jack. I’m…I’m not right for you.
My mind is...” My girl has been living a nightmare, denial, grief, pain, hallucinations.
I hum softly in her ear, kissing her hair.
“Don’t,” she murmurs. “Don’t think you can fix me, Jack.
” But she couldn’t be more wrong. This isn’t about fixing, it’s about being there for the woman I love.
Love.
I guess most people realise that at the corner of a street when they’re holding hands, kissing, or laughing.
Under different circumstances, it could have happened to us this way.
But the word took its full meaning when I watched her tape.
A metallic taste filled my mouth; her pain became my pain.
Her sorrow, my sorrow. I’m in love with this woman, so deeply in love that I won’t back down, even if she begs me to.
I love her like I need air to breathe.
I love her like the sun won’t rise tomorrow if she stops talking to me.
I love her unconditionally. That’s it.
Unconditionally.
Taking a deep breath, I clench my forearms, remembering the exercises I’ve been doing at home, trying not to stumble over what I’m about to say.
“I…love…you,” I say, kissing her temple. She lifts her tear-streaked face to mine, her cream shirt damp with tears.
“How…how can you love me after knowing this?” Her voice trembles with shame.
“You’re n-not hard to love, Alaska.”
Her breath catches. “But…I’m sick,” she whispers. “My mind is-”
“You’re n-not sick,” I say firmly. “You went through hell, al-alone, with n-no one to help you. You did what you had t-to do to s-survive. Now it’s time you st-stop carrying this all by yourself.
You need help and you deserve it.” Her pupils widen, taking in the words.
Maybe no one’s ever told her this. Or maybe they have, but she wasn’t ready to hear it.
She’s spent so long believing she was irreversibly broken, that this was simply how her life would be.
Only she can heal. And if she doesn’t, I’ll still be there, holding her hand.
“Jack,” she breathes. “I…I love you too.”
My heart stops, watching her lay herself bare, her brave, battered heart, raw and open for me.
Leaning in, I press my lips to hers. I’ll take all of her, the light, the dark, every shattered, beautiful piece.
I’ll be her anchor, her support. She won’t have to be afraid of that.
I’ll make sure the one who did this suffers the consequences.
“Stay tonight,” she breathes. I hum in response and tighten my hold on her, standing with her in my arms and carrying her upstairs.
She’s exhausted, dark circles blooming beneath her eyes.
Did she eat? She’s already half-asleep when I tuck her into bed, slide in beside her, and let her curl against me, her fingers clutching my shirt.
Food will have to wait. Pressing my lips to her hair, I whisper the words over and over, letting them sink into her skin.
“I l-love you, Alaska.” She falls asleep in my arms, but I stay awake. Carefully, I ease out of bed and kiss her forehead. Without making a sound, I grab a spare key, lock her door, and head to my car.
Someone has been feeding me lies since I got here.
And before she wakes up, I’m going to get answers.
Alaska
There’s ice beneath me.
Still, I’m not cold. I’m surprised by how soft the breeze feels against my face, nothing like the brutal air I remember. I’m wearing the same coat as that day, and my skates are laced tight around my ankles.
It’s like nothing’s changed.
Like I never left.
Only this time, my heart isn’t racing.
I kneel on the ice, staring at the spot in front of me, the place where I lost Matthew. The hole is still there next to me. The cracks spreading outward like a spiderweb. I lean in, my breath vanishing into white air.
Palms resting against the ice, the layer thinner now, clear enough to see every detail. His skin is pale with brown hair floating around his face, weightless. And there’s this ridiculous Christmas sweater. Like I said, it’s like nothing changed. He’s waiting, watching me.
“You’re leaving me here?” he asks, his voice impossibly clear, as if there’s nothing separating us.
My hand flies to my mouth. “Matthew.” He smiles in that familiar way I could recognize among a thousand others. Tears blur my vision. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.” He studies me, his blue eyes darker than I remember.
“You tried, Laska,” he says softly. “You did your best.”
“It wasn’t enough.” Matthew tilts his head.
“Look at your hands.” I hesitate, then glance down, expecting blood and butchered skin.
All I see are my scars. Thin, pale lines that have long since healed.
Proof that time moved forward, even when I tried to stay frozen in that moment.
Pressing my palms flat against the ice, I line my hands with his.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he says. “For all the years I’ve haunted you.
For all the times I made choices for you.
I should have known better. I should have been…
a better brother.” He exhales, his voice almost breaking.
“I guess I wanted to keep you to myself. Even when I knew deep down you weren’t meant for the same things. ”
A sad smile tugs at my lips. “I admired you, you know. I wanted to do everything like you.” My voice drops. “It just became too much when we grew up.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, Alaska. Really.”
My breath shakes. “What…what happens now?”
He gives me a knowing look. “What do you think?”
I take a shaky breath. “I think…it’s time you let me go.”
“I think so too.” His expression softens. “I don’t belong up there anymore. And I think you’ve known that for a long time.”
A sob slips from my throat. “It’s…it’s so hard to say goodbye.”
“I know,” he says calmly, “but you can do hard things.” His voice is steady, certain. “I’ve watched you do hard things.”
My vision blurs. “I love you, you know that, right?”
His lips curve into a soft smile. “I knew before we were even born.” Tears spill down my cheeks as his hand drifts away from the ice. He opens his mouth one last time.
“Goodbye, Alaska.” My shoulders shake and I press a hand to my chest.
“Goodbye, Matthew.” He sinks, his body fading into the dark, pulled gently by the depths. The ice settles, and then…nothing. Only the empty stretch of frozen water beneath me. Silence falls over me in this infinity of ice. I inhale, cold filling my lungs. Only this time, I don’t stay on the ground.
I push myself up and walk away.
I wake with tears dampening my pillow, the ghost of his voice still lingering in my ears. Pushing the covers aside, I sit up, watching the sunrise pierce through the branches.
“It’s over,” I mutter to myself.
Never again.