Chapter 30 #3
Her eyes come back to mine, and they're clearer now.
"I don't want to know." The words are absolute.
"I don't want to know how many days I may or may not have left.
I've always known every breath is a gift.
I've known that since I lost my mom, but I don't want to count mine.
" Her hand tightens against my face. "I want to live in the moment, not in fear. "
The rain runs between her fingers, down my jaw.
"Trigger, I love you. I can't imagine living this life without you.
" Her voice cracks but doesn't break. "But I've made my choice.
I understand if you need to leave. I'm not saying that because I want you to.
.." She swallows hard, and I see it's costing her everything to continue.
"I'm saying it because I understand the impossible position it puts you in to stay with me. "
My mouth parts to argue, but her cold finger covers my lips.
"I know you're going to argue. It's who you are.
You'll tell me this doesn't change anything, but it does.
We both know that." Her thumb brushes across my bottom lip.
"It will be a cloud for the rest of my life, a question in the recesses of my mind, no matter how hard I try.
I know it will bleed in. I know grief is circular, and it's not a question of if my fear will return and cripple me, but when.
" A shudder runs through her, and I feel it echo in my own body.
"This is my fate." Her eyes search mine. "It doesn't have to be yours."
I reach up and gently pull her hand away from my mouth, but I don't let go. I weave my fingers through hers, holding on like she's the only solid thing in a world that won't stop spinning.
"I knew you were nervous the night we said our vows," I say quietly, "but I didn't realize you didn't hear them." Rain streams down my face, mixing with something else I won't name. "When I said 'in sickness and health,' it wasn't conditional."
"But our marriage was."
Her words sting because she’s right. Our marriage was conditional, a solution to a problem, but she's also wrong, and she has to know that.
"Not for me, it wasn't." My voice is raw.
"And you know that." I shift closer, still kneeling in the mud until there's barely any space between us.
"Maybe you don't want to hear it because you're scared.
Scared that someone could love you so much they'd choose this journey with you rather than without. But I'm not scared of that."
Her breath hitches.
"I don't regret one second. Not one. And the only thing that scares me is thinking you won't let me stay." I bring our joined hands to my chest, pressing them against my heart so she can feel how hard it's beating. "Don't push me away, sweetheart."
The words catch in my throat, and suddenly, everything I've been holding back for months—years, even comes pouring out.
"I feel like I'm always chasing you. Like I never actually have you."
She flinches like I've struck her, and immediately, her other hand comes up to grip my arm. "You've always had me." Her voice breaks. "I've just done a terrible job of showing you."
Rain drips down her pretty face, mixing with fresh tears. "I know I'm hard to love, Trigger Hale. But you are too."
"How so?" My eyes narrow as I wipe away a tear. "I don't recall running from you."
"No." She lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob. "No, you don't run. You never run. That's just it. I can't compete with the way you love me. The way you've always loved me."
"Compete?" I repeat the word I don't understand. This isn't a competition.
"With the version of me you've built up in your head since we were kids.
The girl you've been in love with your whole life.
" She pulls in a shaky breath, and I can see the effort it takes her to keep going.
"You love me like I'm something precious.
Something worth protecting. Worth saving.
And I'm terrified…" Her voice trails off before she finds her strength again.
"I'm terrified that when you finally see me clearly, when you see all the broken, scared, selfish parts I can't seem to fix, you'll realize I'm not her.
I'm not the girl you've been waiting for. "
"Asha—"
"What if I'm not enough?" she whispers. "What if loving me becomes a burden instead of a choice?"
For a long moment, I just stare at her, at this woman kneeling in the mud with mascara running down her cheeks, her white dress clinging to her frame, and fear written all over her face.
And I realize she actually believes what she's saying.
She actually thinks there's a version of her in my head that's better than the real thing.
"You want to know what I see when I look at you?
" I ask quietly. She hesitates then nods.
"I see someone who feels everything so deeply it scares her, so she runs.
" I tighten my grip on her hands. "And yeah, I see someone who's hard to love.
Not because you're broken or selfish, but because loving you means understanding that sometimes you need to run.
And I have to let you. I have to trust you'll come back. "
Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
"You think I've built you up in my head?
That I'm in love with some perfect version of you?
" I let out a breath. "Asha, I know exactly who you are.
I know you pick fights when you're scared and shut down when you should open up.
I know you'd rather burn the whole world down than admit you're hurting. "
A tear slides down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb.
"And I love you anyway. Not despite those things, just...anyway. That's not a competition, sweetheart. It's just love."
"But what if I keep running?" Her voice softens with uncertainty. "What if I can't stop?"
"Then I'll keep coming after you." I pull her closer until our foreheads touch. "Every single time, until I have your heart again."
"I love you," she breathes. "God, I've never loved anything or anyone the way that I love you, and it terrifies me."
"Then let it terrify us together."
I watch the last of her resistance crumble, and then she's closing the distance between us.
Our lips meet, and the world stops. It's desperate and salty with rain and tears, and nothing about it is gentle.
It's a week of hell collapsing into this single point of contact.
It's need and fear and grief and relief, all of it pouring out of us in a way words never could.
Her hands fist in my wet shirt, pulling me closer, like she's trying to crawl inside my chest and make a home there. And I let her. God, I let her.
I kiss her like I'm trying to breathe life back into both of us.
Like she's the only thing tethering me to this earth.
Like if I let go for even a second, I'll lose her again, and I can't. Tears sting my eyes, and when I feel her chest shake against mine, I know she’s crying too. We’re a sobbing mess, holding on like we're the only two people left in the world who understand what it means to almost lose everything.
When she gasps against my mouth, I pull her impossibly closer, not ready to let her go. Our foreheads press together, lips still touching, breathing each other's air because separating even an inch feels like too much.
"Don't leave me again," I whisper against her mouth, the words more plea than demand.
"Never," she promises and kisses me again to seal it.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathless, she whispers, "Take me home."
The ride home is quiet. She leans into me, her head against my shoulder, and I hold the reins with one hand while the other stays wrapped around her waist.
Knickers knows the way, and I let him take it.
My mind drifts back to Warrick on those station steps, telling me about the two weeks Maya disappeared.
The longest two weeks of his life, he'd said.
Now I understand why he never demanded answers when she came back.
Love isn't about holding so tight that nothing can escape.
It's about holding steady enough that someone feels safe to return.
Asha's hand covers mine where it rests against her stomach, our baby, and I finally understand what Warrick was really telling me that day.
He wasn't just sharing his story; he was showing me that some questions don't need answers.
That sometimes the bravest thing you can do is live anyway. Love anyway. Hope anyway.
Somewhere in the woods behind us, a letter is buried. Test results. Answers. The kind of certainty that steals your ability to live in the present because you're too busy calculating the future.
Asha chose not to know. And sitting here with her in my arms, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, I realize she didn't choose ignorance. She chose freedom. Because knowing wouldn't really change anything. It wouldn’t change our decision to keep our baby. It wouldn’t add days to her life, and it wouldn’t subtract them either.
It would just color every single one she has left with the shadow of an ending she can't control anyway.
The barn comes into view, and I feel her relax against me completely.
I don't know what tomorrow looks like. Don't know if she'll wake up scared and try to run again.
Don't know if our baby will carry the gene that stole its grandmother.
Don't know if I'll have five years with Asha or fifty. But I know this: I'll love her through all of it. The running and the staying, the fear and the hope. The unknowns that will keep us up at night and the moments of peace we steal in between. I don’t love Asha because it’s easy, but because not loving her would be impossible.
Some people are written into our DNA in a way that has nothing to do with genetics and everything to do with choice.
Asha is my choice. Every day. No matter what.
As we dismount Knickers, and I catch her in my arms one more time, I realize something Warrick already knew: You can't save someone from their fate.
You can only love them through it. So that's what I'll do.
I'll love her through every terrified moment and every brave one.
Through the circular grief that will come in waves.
Through the questions that have no answers and the future we can't predict.
I'll love her. And we'll live. And whatever time we get, that will be enough.
Because it has to be.
THE END