Chapter 2
AYLA
His stern lips soften as he hears that my Grandma has passed. His gaze searches mine and then drops to the floor of his workshop.
Silence hangs between us before he clears his throat.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Margery was a good woman."
I nod, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. It's been like this since the night she died. I held her hand until they told me to leave the room, sympathetic nurses the only ones to comfort me in that moment. It was the most alone I'd ever felt.
Until I came back to the mountain, needing to surround myself with my grandmother's lingering presence, only to find her cabin door hanging by a hinge and the inside ransacked.
Heavy, purposeful steps break through the haze of grief swamping me and the big man takes my hand gently in his.
"Hey. Are you all right?"
I want to say yes. I want to be strong and claim to be fine.
Except I can't.
Not anymore.
My shoulders shake and I can't hold back the tears that break free. It's been weeks since I cried. Weeks of making plans, following what Grandma wanted done. No time or energy to spend on grieving.
"Aw, honey," he pulls me into his arms, the warmth of him a stark contrast to how cold I've been for so long.
His large hand spans across my back, rubbing in soothing circles, as he tucks me in close.
My head is snuggled against his chest, and his fingers are stroking my hair, but he doesn't tell me to stop crying.
He just holds me while I do. And that makes me cry even harder.
It's a foolish thing to do, reveal such weakness to someone I've only just met.
But I'm tired, and the strength that has carried me through until now has just run out.
I expect him to release me after a few awkward pats on my back, but he doesn't. He holds me until I can't cry anymore. He holds me until my breath evens out. He holds me until I'm the one to push back and create distance once more, even if it's just inches.
"I'm so sorry." I wipe at the wet streaks on my face, then pointing at his chest. "I've ruined your shirt."
He just shrugs and gives me a crooked grin.
"Believe me, this shirt has seen worse things than your tears.
" He guides me over to a chair, his hand gentle in the small of my back, and then crosses to a small refrigerator tucked into the corner.
When he returns, he leans against the table in front of me, handing me a chilled bottle of water.
"How about you tell me what I can do to help. "
The cold water soothes my tight throat as I take a big drink with his encouragement.
He doesn't rush me, just stands there waiting for me to speak when I'm ready.
It's a good feeling, and it draws into sharp relief how many people have pushed me to talk, or make decisions, all on their timelines rather than my own.
His gentleness with me is so different than my first impression of him.
So big. Tough. Intimidating.
I simply feel safe here with this man I've only just met. From my grandma's stories, though, it's like I already know him.
Know him well enough to trust him, at least.
"Someone broke into my grandmother's cabin. The door's all busted in. She told me if I ever needed help, I should ask you."