Chapter 34 The Busy Brain
THE BUSY brAIN
EMERY
Whoever decided to run a study on the impacts of fresh air and nature on mental health is a complete bastard.
I'm freezing my ass off, and all because it's good for me?
I groan, struggling to hike up the semi-icy mountainside.
Quin stands several feet above me, his arms crossed as he stares down at me in amusement.
"This is pathetic, darling," he muses. "We've only been walking for twenty minutes."
I shoot him a glare. "It's literally thirty-two degrees, Quinton. I can't feel my toes."
Quin rolls his eyes and holds up his hand to help me up a steep dirt path. "Come on, Emery. We're almost at the vista point. Trust me, it'll be worth it."
I reluctantly take his hand, pulling myself up and continuing to trudge up the narrow path. The crisp air bites at my skin, and I regret not wearing more layers. I glower at Quin as he acts completely unfazed by the cold, like he was born in the fucking arctic. Ridiculous.
“How’d you even find this place?” I grumble, avoiding tripping on roots and rocks.
Quin chuckles. “I’m a very early riser.”
“I’m learning so much about you,” I mutter under my breath as Quin merely laughs at my fickle attempt to appreciate the great outdoors. Well, at least he’s entertained.
As we hike up the rocky trail, the trees begin to thin out, revealing breathtaking snapshots of the Colorado mountains. I get why he brought me here. It’s beautiful. But I'd appreciate it way more if my limbs weren't slowly turning into fucking icicles.
Finally, we reach the vista point, and I'm momentarily distracted from the cold. Wow. The view from this high up is stunning. Sunlight beams down in bolted rays on the sprawling valley below, highlighting each and every snow-covered peak.
Quin wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against his chest.
"See? Worth it," he says with a grin.
I manage a weak smile, the frost still gnawing at me. "Yeah, yeah. It's beautiful.” I shiver in my boots. “Can we go back now?"
Quin chuckles, turning me around in his arms. His beautiful blue eyes glint with humor as he shakes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulder. "You're not very outdoorsy, are you?"
I glare up at him. “You’re just figuring that out?” He reins in a grin, and I tilt my head, honestly amazed that he’s standing there in only a sweater, acting completely normal. “Are you even human?”
He laughs. It’s such a warm sound, like a crackling fireplace, and somehow, that warmth finds its way into my bloodstream. He’s always been an antidote for the cold.
Quin brushes some snow off a log and motions for me to sit down. He reaches into the backpack he brought and pulls out a thermos and two insulated mugs.
I shiver, sitting down beside him. "I'm kind of hoping that's alcohol."
“I’m so sorry to disappoint you.” Quin grins, pouring me a cup. “But it’s hot chocolate.”
“That’s too bad. I could go for an Irish coffee,” I say with a disarming smile, playfully nudging him. I take the mug and relish in the steam fanning against my face. “Mmm, thank you.”
We sip in silence, both staring into the breathtaking view. After a few minutes, Quin breaks the silence, saying, "I think it's my mum's fault I'm so drawn to the cold. My nanny was Nordic, and she taught my mum the benefits of letting babies nap outdoors."
I raise an eyebrow. "Napping outdoors? In the cold?"
Quin nods, smiling fondly. "It's good for building up a child’s immune system.”
I take a sip of the hot chocolate. “Ah, well, that explains everything then,” I say in a joking tone. “Maybe if my parents made me nap outside as a baby, I wouldn’t have all these health issues.”
The playfulness in Quin’s eyes waver. “Emery—”
“I’m kidding,” I say, waving him off. “Don’t give me that concerned doctor look. It’s a joke, Quin. You’re supposed to laugh.”
His piercing gaze flits around my face. “How does the new medicine make you feel?”
“Fine,” I shrug, shoulders tense as I avert my gaze. “I can’t really feel much of a difference.”
Quin notices my sharp tone and the change in my body language. Of course, he does. Classic Quin. His brow furrows. "The topic of your health makes you uncomfortable."
"How very observant, Doctor. Any other insights?" I retort, hating myself for being so combative.
Quin sets his mug to the side, his features soft, gentle, as he reaches for my glove-covered hands. "I don't see you as your disease, Emery. It's just a part of who you are, not who you are. Talking about it doesn’t give it power. In fact, the more you talk about it, the less power it has."
My heart pangs, and I release a long breath.
“I don’t remember a time that I wasn’t sick,” I admit.
“And usually, if you can’t remember something, you can’t miss it.
But…” I swallow, and his grip around my hands tighten.
“But I miss it. I miss being… I don’t want to say healthy, but maybe, maybe ignorant? ”
Quin sidles closer to me, his arms acting like the safest of cages.
He presses his warm lips against my temple, and I close my eyes under his tender touch.
“I know you don’t believe me, Emery, but I promise, you have a long, wonderful life ahead of you,” he whispers against my skin. “I just need you to believe it too.”
“You shouldn’t make those types of promises, Quin,” I say, tears welling up as I keep my eyes shut. “There’s no way you can guarantee—”
“Can you do something for me, Emery?” he interrupts, rubbing my arm up and down, his voice smooth and calm and comforting. “I need you to imagine yourself fifty years in the future.”
I frown, and he reins in a small laugh.
“Just try it, darling. Humor me.”
I suck in a deep breath and listen to the sound of his voice.
“You’re almost eighty years old. Your hair is white or gray or shades of both.
Your eyes are a little cloudy, you’ve got lines upon lines of wrinkles gracing your gorgeous face.
You’re sitting on a porch overlooking a lake.
The air is crisp, and you’re bundled up in a cozy blanket.
You take a sip of hot tea, and you’re surrounded by the warmth of family—maybe even children, grandchildren, friends. You’re surrounded by love.”
My breath hitches, and I open my eyes to find his gaze unwaveringly fixed on me.
“Now,” he continues softly, “imagine looking back at the life you’ve lived. The challenges, the triumphs, the pain. And in that moment, Emery, do you regret having lived those fifty years?”
I shake my head, a tear escaping despite my efforts to hold them back. “No, of course not.”
Quin wipes away the tear with his thumb. “Life is uncertain for all of us, Emery. But I want you to hold onto the possibility that those fifty years will come, and I promise—you won’t face them alone. And you certainly will not regret trying. You will not regret having hope.”
I have no words. Nothing slips past my lips other than soft, whimpering sobs. Quin pulls me into a gentle embrace, and I let the tears fall so freely that I fear they may drown me.
“I never let myself cry until I met you,” I whisper into the crook of his neck, voice croaky and raw. “You broke me, Quin. I don’t know what you did, but you broke me.”
“Tears aren’t weakness, love.” Quin holds me tighter, his warmth enveloping me like a protective shield. “There’s nothing broken about you. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You don’t need to hold it together all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to fall apart.”
I pull away, searching his eyes for some kind of answer. “Vulnerability is scary, Quin.”
“It is,” he admits, his fingers gently brushing away more tears. “But it’s what makes us human. It’s what allows us to connect with others.” He strokes the top of my head, brushing away at strands of hair. “It’s what allows us to love and be loved.”
I swallow, my heart heavy. “I love you, Quinton,” I whisper, sniffling as a phenomenal smile spreads on his face. “I-I really do.”
He presses his lips against my forehead, and I melt. “I love you too, my darling girl.” Like snow under the sun, I fucking melt.
I inhale deeply, and with newfound strength and hope, I pull away from Quinton and stand up.
“I know you're all focused on me living for the next fifty years, but if we stay out here for ten more minutes, I think I might die from hypothermia,” I say, holding out my hand. “Let’s go. I’m all natured out.”
“That's a bit dramatic,” Quin chuckles. “But I suppose Damon should be ready with supper soon.” He packs up the thermos and mugs, then slings the backpack over his shoulder. He motions down the trail. “After you.”
We hike down the mountain, the descent much easier than the climb. Thank fucking God. When we enter the cabin, a slight burning smell wafts from the kitchen. Damon pops out into hallway, frowning as he looks at me.
“She's been crying,” he notes in a stern, cold voice. “Why?”
Quin snorts, smirking. “Perhaps because she knew you'd be cooking tonight.” He strides into the kitchen and blinks at the mess on the counter and stove. "What the hell are you trying to make?"
Damon’s spine stiffens and he looks genuinely offended. "I am making carbonara.”
Quin lets out a theatrical “right” as he picks up a mushy string of spaghetti. I press my lips together, holding in a laugh.
"You were always a disaster in the kitchen, D," Quin muses, rounding the island. He narrows his eyes down at a skillet full of black dots of what I can only assume is garlic and bacon bits. “Mmm…crispy.”
Damon grumbles, his face turning red. "Well, instead of standing there and acting like a total fucking asshole, why don’t you help me?”
Quin grins. “Say please.”
Damon damn near chucks a steak knife at his head.
"This won’t end well," I mutter under my breath, exchanging a glance with Quin. He just shrugs, clearly enjoying egging Damon on.
But as Damon brandishes a metal spatula, glaring at Quin as he threatens him with a fucking utensil, I decide dinner can wait. Given Damon's current temperament, he needs to cool down a little, and what better way than a little carnal release? Plus, I’m still freezing.
I need to warm up.
"Or..." I trail off, making my way to the fridge.
Both men stare at me, curious, as I pull out a can of whipped cream.
I smirk at them, pressing the nozzle onto my index finger and squeezing out a dollop of whipped cream.
Cocking my head, I lick my fingers slowly, savoring the sweetness.
"Or we can start with dessert," I add, my tone sultry and low. "What do you say? Can dinner wait?"
Both Damon and Quin’s energies shift at my suggestion, and I revel in the effect I have on them. Damon’s annoyance seems to dissipate, replaced by a flicker of desire, while Quin’s eyes darken with a hunger that sends shivers down my spine.
I lead them upstairs, my hips swaying deliberately as I climb the staircase. Glancing over my shoulder, I find both men following me, and I smirk. Once we reach the bedroom, I turn to face them, my smile laced with mischief.
“Hungry?”
It’s a stupid question.
They’re always starving.