19. Chapter Eighteen #2
The world outside is lighter. The sky has gone from black to the beginnings of blue. I move down the steps, cross the street, and melt into the city’s slow pulse.
Another loose end, tied off.
Another day to love my woman in peace.
The drive back up the mountain is a purge.
I roll the windows down and let the wet-cold air strip away the residue of city, of death, of anything but her.
The roads are empty except for a deer now and then.
I hit the resort path at 9:03 a.m. Walking the path back up to the cabin, I can’t fucking wait until we’re in the cabin I built for her.
When I get to the door, I hear the thud of bass from inside, too loud for the hour, too joyful for the world as it is.
My girl is in there and the thought cracks a grin over my face. I let myself in and enter quietly, not wanting to disturb her.
Sunlight cracks through every window, bleaching the bare floor and bouncing off the whitewashed cabinets. And in the center of this light, in nothing but my old shirt and a mess of wild hair, is Julianna.
She’s dancing.
Not for anyone. Not for the camera (though I did consider reactivating the interior feeds, for nostalgia). Just for herself. There’s a knife in her hand and a tangle of fresh dill on the cutting board. Her legs are bare, and her feet make little half-moons on the floor as she spins.
I stop at the threshold and just watch.
I don’t know how long it is before she notices me. Maybe a minute. Maybe ten. When she does, she freezes, knife poised mid-chop, breathless like a deer caught in a wash of headlights.
“Jesus, Creed,” she says. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
I step forward, slow, not breaking the spell. “You’d survive,” I say, “You’re unkillable.”
She snorts, setting the knife down and flexing her fingers. “Barely. You make breakfast, I try to escape. I make breakfast, you sneak up like a serial killer.”
I shrug. “Division of labor.”
She studies me, eyes narrowed, then comes over and stands close, peering up at my face. “You look tired,” she says. “Did you go out?”
I nod. “Had to clear a backlog.”
She studies my eyes. Maybe she finds something there, maybe not. She licks her lips, then, just like that, wraps her arms around my waist. Not hard, but not tentative either. Like she’s testing a theory.
“You gonna tell me what happened,” she murmurs, face against my chest, “or is it on a need-to-know basis?”
I run a hand over her hair, feel the static cling and the warmth of her scalp. “It’s over,” I say. “That’s all that matters.”
She exhales, soft. “Okay.”
For a while, we just stand like that, letting the sun crawl up our backs, letting the music bleed out.
Eventually, she breaks away. “You hungry?”
I shake my head.
“Coffee?”
“No.”
She looks up, waiting. When I don’t say more, she tilts her head. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I pause. “Except that we’re leaving.”
She goes still, lips parted. “Now?”
“Now.”
She tilts her head. “But where are we going?”
“Slade needs the cabin, and I have something better.”
She chews her lip, staring at her toes. “We running?”
I shake my head. “No. We’re going to a place I built. For us. Out in the east ridge, by the overlook.”
She laughs, short and hard. “You built us a house? Since when?”
“Since I saw you,” I say. “Put in a rush with the company and they got it done.”
She tries to hide her smile but can’t. “You’re insane.”
I step closer, put my hands on her hips. “That’s not news.”
She lets herself lean in, forehead against my jaw. “Is it nice? The place?”
“It’s perfect,” I say, because it is. “You’ll see.”
She sighs, then pulls away, heading for the bedroom. “Let me get dressed.”
I watch her disappear, then take a second to clean the counters, kill the music, and grab a glass of water.
She’s back in under five minutes, hair pulled into a high tail, jeans and a black shirt that isn’t mine but should be. She has a bag slung over her shoulder.
“Is this everything?” I ask, glancing at the bag.
She shrugs. “All I care to bring. The rest can stay.”
We walk down to the truck. The sun is higher now, and the air smells like thaw and new life. She squints into it, then glances at me.
“So what’s the catch?”
“No catch,” I say. “Just peace.”
She barks a laugh. “You? Peace? I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Once we get there, I drive us out, the winding dirt track shaking the truck to hell and back. She hums along with the static on the radio, fingers drumming on the window. She’s not fidgeting, she’s calibrating, tuning herself to the frequency of this new thing.
She looks at me after a while, eyes soft. “You could have just told me, you know.”
“Told you what?”
“Instead of all this craziness… that you wanted forever. I might have said yes.”
I don’t look at her. “You might have said no.”
She grins, sharp. “Yeah, you’re right.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence.
The new house is nothing like the last. It sits on a bluff of rock, glass walls facing east, blackened timber and pale stone in bands across the exterior. There’s a deck that runs the length of the house, with a swinging bench in the center and a telescope pointed at the horizon.
She gets out first, stands and just stares.
“You did this,” she says, not a question.
I nod.
She walks the perimeter, then lets herself in through the front door. I hear her footsteps as she explores, hear the squeak of a drawer, the whine of the fridge door, the creak of the deck as she steps out into the sunlight.
When I join her, she’s leaning on the railing, face turned to the wind.
“Not bad,” she says, voice barely a whisper.
I stand behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and let her rest against me.
“What happens now?” she asks, closing her eyes.
I think about it for a minute, then say, “Whatever we want.”
She hums, pleased. “Even if it’s nothing?”
“Especially if it’s nothing.”
She laughs, low and sweet.
We stay like that until the sun starts to fall. The sky goes gold, then purple, then black. The stars come out to play and she’s transfixed for a while. She turns in my arms, puts her hands on my face, and looks at me with a softness I have never earned.
“I could get used to this,” she says.
I kiss her, slow. “Good.”
She grins, then pushes me back into the house, and I let her.
There’s dinner. There’s the fire in the new fireplace. There’s her on the couch, feet in my lap, hair wild and eyes bright.
This is not the life I imagined, but it’s the one I want.
In the night, as we lie together, she turns and whispers, “You’re going to keep me, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer, just pull her closer.
She laughs into my neck.
“Good,” she says. “Because I’m not going anywhere, either.”
The stars outside are cold and sharp.
But inside, it’s nothing but heat.