Chapter Eight Adriana
For the first time since I had been told I was going to marry this man, I wanted it.
I believed him when he said it, too.
So we had sex again, and again, until my muscles felt completely spent and I had fallen into a deep sleep.
I jolted awake, the sheets cool beside me where Tristan should have been. In the moon’s faint glow filtering through the curtains, the empty space next to me felt like an icy pit in my stomach. I strained my ears for any sign of him until the timbre of his voice drifted in from outside. Just knowing he was there, somewhere close, chased away the worst of my fears.
Pushing back the covers, I slid out of bed and tugged on my robe, cinching it tight around me as if it could shield me from more than just the chill of the predawn air.
After we had been here the first time, Tristan had essentially bought me an entire getaway wardrobe, which was odd. Considerate, but odd.
Padding silently across the wooden floor, I approached the window with a caution born from a life where safety was a luxury and paranoia a necessity.
I looked down the window, at the front yard.
Tristan’s frame moved back and forth, a shadow against the silvered landscape. He was on his phone, one hand raking through his disheveled hair while the other gestured emphatically. I pressed my ear to the cold pane, trying to catch fragments of his conversation, but his words were snatched away by the wind rustling through the pines.
It was clear from his posture, the set of his shoulders, and the way his hand occasionally clenched at his side that whatever he was dealing with, it was serious—serious enough to pull him from the warmth of our bed into the chill of the morning.
I went downstairs to start getting breakfast ready. The moment he stepped back inside, he caught my gaze from across the room. The weariness that etched lines into his face couldn’t hide the reassuring smile he offered me. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, and I felt my heart twist with a cocktail of admiration and concern for this man who shouldered our world as if it were made of feathers instead of lead.
“Everything okay?” I asked, though the question, as always, felt inadequate against the enormity of our life.
“Nothing to worry about,” he replied, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the cabin. But I knew better. Tristan was the master of understatement, and I could read the tension in him as easily as a child’s book.
We settled at the small wooden table for breakfast, the aroma of strong coffee blending with the scent of pine seeping through the open window. After a little while, a plate of eggs and toast sat between us, a semblance of normalcy that bordered on absurd given our circumstances.
“God, remember our first breakfast here?” Tristan said, sitting in front of me. “It feels like it was so long ago.”
I nodded. “You’re a surprisingly competent cook.”
“Is that a compliment? It didn’t sound like a compliment.”
I smiled, then shook my head. “I’ve been thinking. Tristan, we need to be two steps ahead,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee, its bitterness grounding me. “I think it’s time we increase the alertness of our network. Maybe even reach out to some external allies.”
“I think it might be a risky play bringing more people in. Everything is already so fucked.”
“We can’t be on the run forever. The twins are going to be born, and I don’t intend to be in another high speed car chase postpartum with two newborns in the backseat.”
“Then it’s decided.” His voice pulled me back, and I nodded, feeling the threads of our partnership weave tighter with every challenge we faced. “We’ll make the calls after breakfast.”
“What about a walk first? Maybe it’ll help us clear our heads.”
He hesitated, a shadow of concern passing over his features before he nodded. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
The early morning sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light across the cabin as we stepped outside. There was a chill in the air, the kind that hinted at the day’s potential. We walked side by side, our footsteps crunching on the gravel path that wound through the surrounding forest. For a brief spell, it was just us and the natural world—a couple out for a stroll, not fugitives from a life we didn’t choose.
“Have you thought about it?” I ventured, breaking the silence between us. “About the future?”
“Every day,” Tristan admitted, his jaw tightening. “I want something different for us, Adriana. A life where looking over our shoulder isn’t part of the routine. But I also want to send our kids to good schools, I want…I want them to have all the chances I had. How do I do that if I step away from this? How do I provide for them when this is the only thing I’ve ever known how to do?”
I squeezed his hand, glancing over at him. His expression was hard, the morning sunlight casting deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks, emphasizing the lines of worry etched there.
“It’s okay to want those things,” I assured him. “We just have to find another way.”
“But what other way is there?” He turned to meet my gaze, that familiar spark of frustration flickering in his eyes. The spark that said he was fed up with the life we had been born into, a life we had not chosen.
“We could... try to do something normal,” I suggested hesitantly. Tristan’s laughter echoed out into the morning air, but it lacked its usual warmth. It was bitter, devoid of any real humor.
“Normal? Love, do you even hear yourself?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking away again. The forest around us waited in silence as if holding its breath for my reply.
“I know it sounds absurd, Tristan,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “But isn’t it absurd to think we can go on like this? Dodging bullets, sleeping with one eye open, raising our children in fear?”
He took a deep breath before turning to me, his blue eyes clouded with worry. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice so soft I almost didn’t hear him, he murmured, “It’s not the life I want. But I’m just trying to survive right now, Ade.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” I asked, half-joking. “Not working towards domestic bliss?”
“Something like that,” he chuckled, and for a moment, his laughter dispelled the shadows that clung to our lives. It was a sound I cherished, a reminder of the man he was beneath the armor of the Callahan heir.
“Let’s keep walking,” I suggested, squeezing his hand. “At least for a little while longer. Let’s pretend it’s all possible.”
“Lead the way,” he said, and together, we continued down the path, basking in the illusion of normalcy and the sliver of hope that maybe, someday, it could be our reality.
The earth crunched beneath our boots as we walked, the air carrying a chill that hinted at the approach of night. Tristan’s hand in mine was a solid presence, grounding me with the familiarity of his touch.
“Look,” I whispered, stopping abruptly. My foot had brushed against something metallic half-buried in the dirt.
“Let me see,” he said, kneeling beside me, his fingers deftly clearing away leaves and soil. “Stay up there. Don’t want you kneeling on the ground.”
He unearthed an old box, rusted but still intact. With a careful tug, Tristan lifted the lid, revealing its secrets—a pile of old photographs turned sepia with age and letters written in elegant, faded script. We sifted through them, the vestiges of lives long past whispering to us. “The fuck is this?” Tristan asked.
“A buried box? It’s so weird.”
“Not just that, but a buried box near the cabin…I mean, we must have walked past this area countless times.”
“The snow is melting and the ground is getting softer, I guess,” I said. “But it still feels weird that we just stumbled upon this.”
“We should take it with us. Study this. It feels…I mean, I’ve never been much for fate, but maybe I was wrong.”
I nodded as he stood up.
“We should also stay here for as long as we can, Ade. I had Kieran install a lot more security since the last time we were here so I can see any enemies coming from a mile away, and I’ll be able to defend you better here if I see who’s coming for us. But if you want to go home…”
“I think I’m fine here,” I said.
He smiled, bringing my hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. “Good,” he said. “Me too.”
We got back to the cabin after a little while. Tristan made more phone calls while I moved to the storage closet, my hands steady as I inventoried our supplies. First aid kits, non-perishable food, bottled water—the essentials were all there, neatly stacked and ready. The unease from earlier lingered, like an uninvited guest, as I checked each item: flashlights, extra batteries, a portable radio. I tested the weight of the emergency backpacks, ensuring they weren’t too heavy to grab on short notice.
I closed the closet door, my routine complete, but the satisfaction I usually felt from this ritual was absent. Instead, there was a determination that steeled my spine—a readiness to protect the life Tristan and I had built, precarious, odd as it was. I looked around the cabin, its sturdy walls promising shelter, its quiet corners offering peace. But I knew better than to trust appearances. We were standing on a precipice, the future uncertain, and I was determined not to fall.
The day went on…normally.
We didn’t talk about the box again.
Tristan read a book, we talked about what he was reading. I threw up a couple of times, but my stomach was finally beginning to settle as I finally got to my second trimester.
I dozed off on his shoulder after lunch, light streaming into the cabin windows. For a few hours, it was easy to believe this was our life; quiet, simple, no threat of death hanging over our heads at every moment.
I woke up a few minutes later, startled. “You okay?” Tristan asked me.
I nodded. “It’s hard to sleep right now,” I said. “I’m uncomfortable.”
He smirked at me. “I have an idea of what might make you more comfortable,” he said.
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a hint of a smile playing on my lips despite the tension knotting itself into my stomach. “And what’s that?”
“Follow me.” He stood up, extending his hand to me. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet and lead me to our bedroom.
Tristan guided me through the familiar corridors of the cabin, his hand warm and steady in mine. He paused at the entrance of our bedroom, offering me a soft smile before opening the door. Our room was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, its golden light casting long shadows that danced over the wooden floorboards.
On the bed was a mass of pillows, blankets, and what looked like a pregnancy body pillow I didn’t remember us owning.
He turned to me, an apprehensive look on his face. “I…uh…heard these were good for pregnant women, so I ordered one. If you don’t like it then—“
“You heard?”
“Okay, I read. A lot. I read a lot about this.”
I chuckled at his confession, my heart fluttering in my chest. It was the small moments like these that reminded me why I had fallen in love with Tristan. Despite the terrifying life we lived, he still found ways to make each day feel like a gift.
“It’s perfect,” I murmured, stepping into the room and running my fingers over the soft fabric of the pillow. Its length seemed designed to support every part of my body that had been protesting over the last few weeks.
“Come here,” he called, patting the bed beside him. The wooden floor creaked under my weight as I climbed onto our bed and leaned against him, his arms immediately wrapping around me in a comforting embrace.
I snuggled into his warmth, feeling the hardness of his lean muscles against my back. His fingers began to trace circles over my belly, a soothing rhythm that lulled me into a sense of security despite the chaos outside our door.
“You think we’re safe here?” I asked after some time, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I think we’re safer here than anywhere else,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice vibrating against my back. “And if they come for us...if they come for the three of you…well, they’ll have to get through me first.”