28. Savannah
28
SAVANNAH
I draw our bedroom curtains, closing the view to the midnight falling at Starfire Ranch. As the sounds of the distant crickets reach my ears, the reality that it’s our last night here begins to settle in.
A pang of reluctance twists in my stomach, the kind that comes when you’re not ready to release your grip on a cherished chapter. Yet Helena’s call is insistent. Despite my father’s invigorated spirit, his well-being remains my charge. Moreover, there’s the impending appointment with the education minister at the Disability Services—an engagement where my attendance isn’t just expected. It’s essential.
When I turn from the veiled window, my eyes find Huxley. The bathroom light casts a halo around him as he stands at the sink. “Hey, you okay?” I ask, watching his reflection in the mirror, his movements momentarily pausing as he meets my gaze through the glass.
“Yeah,” he replies, his voice muffled by the mint foam at his lips.
The evening mirrored our first night at the ranch, full of laughter and the exceptional flavors of Micah’s cooking. Yet, amid the merriment, I caught Huxley looking lost in thought, his attention occasionally drifting. I didn’t venture to ask why he had spent another afternoon at the foreman’s quarters.
He slides into bed beside me, tugging the blanket around us. His skin carries the fragrance of lavender from my soap, a reminder of the soothing evenings after a day of fun and work at the ranch. The minty freshness from his breath mingles with the air, part of our nightly ritual that I’ve grown fond of.
Noticing his relaxed demeanor, I prod restrainedly, “You were at the cottage again.”
He exhales a heavy sigh. “Yeah.”
My fingers trace a line down his arm, a tactile question. “Is there something on your mind about it?”
“I was wondering why Micah and Mom decided to leave that building untouched when they renovated the others. It was my happy place.”
“Did you ask them?”
He turns to face me, his hand propping up his head as he looks into my eyes. “Look, Sav. I’m sorry you had to see me so upset that night.”
“Yeah. You were really worked up, yelling at your brother over a rat?”
He clears his throat. “I was just so upset to see the place falling apart. If it were up to me, it wouldn’t have happened. But it’s not my call. It was wrong to lash out at Micah.”
His fingers absentmindedly brush over his scar. A twinge of sympathy stirs within me. I squeeze his hand, hoping to extract what truly troubled him that night. “We all have those places, Hux. Those memories that grip us when we least expect. But remember, I’m here for you, no matter what comes up with those memories.”
Huxley shifts, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest. “I did ask Micah about the cottage. He’s planning to tear it down and put up something he can rent out. Says it’ll bring in more income.”
I appraise him. “You don’t agree with that?”
“It’s not my place to say,” he responds, stretching an arm out to flick off the bedside lamp.
The room is now lit only by the glow of night lights filtering through the curtains. The sheets are cool against my skin, prompting me to snuggle closer to him.
He drapes an arm around me, his fingers combing through my hair. “I’ve really enjoyed our time here, Sav. Thanks for this.”
“It’s been one hell of a surprise, that’s for sure. Thanks for pulling it all together,” I respond, planting a kiss on his chest before resting my head against it and listening to his heartbeat. “Tomorrow’s a new day, but tonight, it’s just us, the stars, and the meadows of Starfire.”
“That’s all I need,” he whispers back. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, Hugs.” The nickname slips out, one I haven’t used in a while.
He chuckles at my call, then kisses my forehead.
Quiet settles around us, only the whisper of the wind outside and our own deepening breaths filling the space. I lie awake, cloaked in contentment and curiosity, silently wishing he would open up just a little more.
“Sav…” he begins slowly.
“What is it, Hux?”
“Please, try to forget what you saw in that cottage,” he requests.
So, he’s not ready to discuss it. I can feel his struggle, the tightness of his words revealing the strain. I’ve made a commitment to stand by him as he grapples with what we’ve come to call ‘an angry wish.’ Only time will reveal whether this is merely a fleeting thought or something more profound and whether my trust in him will endure.
Tonight caps a journey, one that Huxley orchestrated from the very start. This ranch, this room, the entire house—it’s all like a beautiful dream. I don’t want to cloud this final evening with my lingering questions.
“Okay,” I murmur in agreement.
We settle down, face to face, the night lights casting pale shadows on his features. Watching him close his eyes, I brush my fingers across his scar, and he hums a quiet note of comfort. His hand, large and reassuring, clasps mine. His scar isn’t just a mark of past pain. It’s a gateway to his depths, pulling me closer in ways he himself might not understand. I feel his pain, I honor it, and I want to be there, hand in hand with him, whenever it threatens to overwhelm him.
As he requested, I might manage to push aside his sudden outburst and his bizarre reaction to the rats in that old building. But there’s a deeper layer that’s harder to dismiss: the photograph. The face in it, is unsettlingly reminiscent of mine yet altered. He tucked it away too swiftly in the shadows of that cottage, but I caught a glimpse of it later without his knowledge. Despite my best efforts to let it go, I doubt I’ll ever truly forget it.