Chapter Forty
Carson
I’d planned the next three days when we were off with the kind of careful, quiet optimism I barely recognized in myself. I didn’t plan anything elaborate, just time with Sienna.
Time getting to know her in the warm lull between guide trips.
Time to let whatever was unfolding between us breathe a little.
But life rarely asked for my permission before rearranging itself.
I had just finished repacking my gear from the last trek, clean ropes coiled, water filters dried, my compass polished out of habit, when my phone buzzed on the table.
Carson – Call me. Urgent. Please.
My stomach tightened.
My brother didn’t send messages like that.
Ever. He was young but stable, steady, a family man in a way I’d never been.
He handled stress with humor. He diffused tension like a professional.
He and Cara had been married for several years, had two kids under six, ran their own small plumbing business, and were the kind of couple everyone assumed would grow old together.
And yet… urgent wasn’t a word he’d use lightly.
I called him immediately.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Carson?”
His voice cracked. Not broken, but off—strained in a way that scraped old memories raw.
“What’s going on?” I asked, setting my gear aside.
A long exhale. Then: “Cara left.”
I froze. The air in the cabin seemed to thin.
“What do you mean she left?”
“She took the kids to her sister’s place. She’s not talking to me. Says she needs time.” His voice trembled. “She says I’ve been… absent. Distracted. She says she feels like she’s raising the kids alone.”
My pulse pressed hard behind my ribs. “Ev… why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“Because I didn’t want to dump this on you,” he said, frustration and grief coiled together. “But today she said maybe she’s done trying. Maybe she needs space to rethink everything. I panicked. I don’t know what to do.”
I sank into the nearest chair, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
He sniffed. “I know you’ve been busy. And I know I’m supposed to handle my own life, but, man… I feel like I’m drowning.”
A familiar ache surged through me—sharp, deep, painfully familiar. How did I not see this coming? Had I detached from life so much, I was delusional?
This was the same voice he’d had when our parents died.
The same voice I heard when I became his stand-in father overnight.
The same voice that once convinced me I could hold the sky up for him if I just tried hard enough.
Back then, stepping in had cost me my engagement.
My relationship.
Pieces of myself I couldn’t get back.
But he was my brother.
And he needed me.
“Where are you now?” I asked.
“At the house. Trying to keep busy.” A pause. “Can you come? Just for a day or two?”
My trip calendar flashed in my mind. Three days free. I’d been planning to spend them with Sienna—hiking, maybe grabbing dinner again, maybe just finding quiet places to talk, to be near her. Now all of that blurred behind the heavier weight of obligation.
I swallowed the tightness in my throat. “Yeah. I’ll come.”
Relief broke in his voice, sharp but grateful. “Thank you. God, thank you.”
We talked a little longer—details, reassurance, the fragile stitching of a man trying not to unravel. When the call finally ended, I sat there for a long minute, phone heavy in my hand.
I didn’t want to go.
But I had to go.
And that realization lodged somewhere deep in my chest, scraping against something new and unsteady…the beginnings of a life that wasn’t solely built on responsibility.
The beginnings of something with Sienna.
Damn it.
I stood, grabbed my jacket, and stepped out of the cabin, heading straight for her cottage before I could talk myself in circles.
She deserved to hear it from me.
The morning sunlight hit the Lodge grounds gently, warming the budding branches, carrying the scent of damp earth. Everything felt too calm compared to the storm tightening inside my ribs.
When I reached her cottage, I knocked.
She opened the door almost immediately.
“Hey,” she said, smiling the kind of smile that steadied me even when I didn’t want to admit it. “I was just about to come find you.”
I wished that didn’t hurt.
“We need to talk,” I said gently.
The smile faded, not into fear, just into concern. “Okay. Come in.”
I stepped inside. She closed the door softly behind us and turned, arms folding lightly, waiting.
“My brother called,” I began. “He’s having… marriage trouble. Serious trouble.”
Her eyes softened instantly. “Oh, Carson. I’m sorry.”
“He asked me to come home for a couple of days. He wouldn’t have called unless he needed me.”
She nodded, absorbing it without flinching. “Of course. Family comes first.”
“I have three days before my next trip,” I said quietly. “And I was planning to… spend them with you.”
“We can still have three days. They’ll just be… later.”
I exhaled, and she stepped closer, slow and thoughtful, like she was checking if I needed space first.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s scared. And he doesn’t scare easily.”
“That’s why you have to go,” she said. “He needs you.”
“I’m worried,” I said, voice lower, “because this is exactly the kind of moment that wrecked things last time. With my ex. With… everything.”
She shook her head. “I’m not her.”
I looked at her…the woman who ran from her own feelings and still somehow stood steady for mine, this woman who joked to hide fear but walked toward connection anyway, this woman who didn’t bolt when I opened up.
“You’re not,” I echoed.
“And,” she added, stepping even closer, “if you need to stay longer, or adjust trips, or combine schedules, we’ll figure it out. The lodge won’t fall apart without you for a couple of days. And I won’t either. Not to burst your bubble.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I searched her eyes for resentment, disappointment, anything that would confirm the fear pressing inside my chest.
All I saw was sincerity.
Understanding.
Care.
“Thank you,” I said, and the words felt too small for what I meant.
She shrugged one shoulder, trying to lighten the heaviness. “It’s just three days. If you vanish for three months, then I’ll worry.”
“You’d worry?”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Who else am I supposed to tease mercilessly on hikes?”
I laughed. She always knew how to crack the tension at exactly the right moment.
She moved another step closer, close enough that her scarf brushed my arm, close enough for the world to quiet around us. Her voice softened.
“Carson… go help your brother. And then come back.”
The simplicity of it hit me like a blow, gentle but direct.
She wasn’t afraid of me leaving.
She wasn’t waiting for abandonment.
She was waiting for me, but she had her own center.
I lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing my thumb lightly across her skin. She leaned into the touch without hesitation. Something warm unraveled inside me, slow and sure.
“I’ll be back,” I murmured.
“I know.”
I bent my head toward her, just enough that her breath mingled with mine. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in, eyes lowering as her fingers slid up the front of my jacket.
The kiss wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t hungry.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was certain.
Her lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly like mint tea. She curled her hand into my shirt, pulling me closer, and I let myself fall into the moment, into her, holding the back of her neck gently as I kissed her deeper.
She sighed against my mouth, and that sound nearly undid me.
When I finally pulled back, she stayed close, breathing just a little unsteady.
“Go,” she whispered. “Before you give me a reason to drag you back inside.”
My pulse kicked hard at the implication.
I pressed one last kiss to her head. “Three days.”
“Three days,” she echoed.
I stepped back reluctantly, letting the air cool between us. She watched me from the doorway as I turned toward my cabin to pack, her expression bright, tender, and something dangerously close to hopeful.
And for the first time in years, walking away felt less like abandonment…and more like a promise to return.