Chapter 19 Taryn
Taryn
I can’t believe this is happening.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I crouch down over the wheel, staring desperately into the snow and trying to see beyond the white curtain surrounding me.
The storm that was only brewing earlier has suddenly become much bigger, and the sun trying to shine through the clouds is making it even worse.
What a lot of people don’t realize is that snow is scary at night, because it’s dark and hard to see, and ice can be hiding anywhere.
Nighttime makes it colder and harder to function.
But daytime?
Yeah, when it’s really coming down during the daytime, I’ve always thought that was worse.
The light reflecting off the snow is blinding, and that reflection makes the snow look opaque.
Instead of gently drifting flakes, you get a white sheet of nearly solid mass, and it’s so confusing, so off-putting, that you start to panic.
Which is what I’m doing right now. I have the headlights on to try to see better in the early morning glow, but I realize quickly that those are just making things worse and turn them off.
I don’t know this road very well and I’m trying to go slowly, but that doesn’t really mater when snow’s been falling for several hours now and no one has been by to clear it.
Wait, do they even plow up here when it snows? I’m so stressed that I can’t remember, no matter how hard I try, and honestly, that doesn’t matter, either.
Because I’m going to be long gone before anyone gets here to plow this fucking road.
Though it would be more convenient if they’d already done it. As it stands, I can hardly see where the asphalt ends and the shoulder begins, and that’s making it impossible to drive as quickly as I want to.
Christ, I want to go home. I want to be in a place that makes sense, where I have my own room in my own house and my own fucking clothes.
I’ve been feeling that pull since I got here, loaded down with Stella’s clothing and a dose of Gunner’s cold judgement, but I was putting it off.
Not looking at the situation in the hope that this feeling would go away.
Gunner’s words to me made that impossible.
I still can’t believe all the things he said.
Intentionally hurtful things, and I have no doubt he knew exactly what he was doing.
Every word drove into me like a knife, and I could see him registering my hurt.
I was crying, and he saw it. I was fighting back, and it didn’t matter.
He set out to hurt me, for reasons I don’t understand, and he succeeded.
I can’t stay here anymore. I just can’t do it.
These men used to be my family and since I got here, I’ve realized that I want a whole lot more than that.
Gabe is my whole heart, my soulmate, and I want to hold him to me and keep him safe for the rest of my life.
I want him to keep me safe, his big arms and even bigger heart sheltering me from the storm of life.
And I think we could do it. I think we’d both give our lives for the other.
We’ve always told each other we were all in and that life could be an adventure for us. We’ve always meant every word.
Except Gunner is standing over us, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, and I don’t understand what the fuck he’s doing.
He came to get me when I called and sounded like he was all in on that.
But when he arrived, he turned into a bear of a man who obviously didn’t want me, and that part hasn’t changed.
Well, it did that first night, when I caught him trying to touch my hair.
And last night when I found him sleeping in my bed.
And then later in the kitchen, when he kissed me.
He’s had moments of pure, achingly beautiful vulnerability with me, when he’s showed me who I think he really is, and if I could count on that being consistent, everything would change.
But that face was long gone this morning when he stood in the hall and told me exactly what he thinks of me, and that all brings me back around to the one important conclusion: Both of these men might have feelings for me, but they hide them as soon as they become inconvenient.
Gabe lies to his friends and pushes me off whenever anyone else is around, and Gunner…
I don’t know how Gunner does it, but he manages to make me feel guilty for his feelings, and that’s not okay, either.
The truth is simple: Neither of them is going to choose me when the chips are down. So turnabout is fair play, then.
I’m not choosing them, either. I’m going home to NYC, where I have friends and allies who will choose me.
Sometimes.
A part of me knows I’m lying to myself and that going home isn’t actually an answer.
After all, it’s no better there. Stella and Arden are my only real friends in the city and they chose each other rather than me when the shit hit the fan.
I’ve been up here for several days and neither of them has even tried to get in touch with me.
And as for my mother and her husband, I’ve been running from them for years, and I’m finally in a place where I might find safety.
Going home puts me back in their sphere again, and that’s dangerous.
But staying here doesn’t feel like an option anymore.
Suddenly a cliff rises up in front of me and I jerk the wheel, praying I’m somehow staying on the road.
The truck fishtails and I steer into it, remembering the lessons Gunner himself gave me about controlling a car that’s skidding, and the vehicle gets steady again.
I peer into the snow and find the road, thank God, then press on the accelerator again.
Fuck, I wish I had a razor blade with me.
I need a way to focus my thoughts, dull the pain running through my heart.
I want something real to look at. Something that makes sense like a fresh, clean cut.
I rub at the marks on my palm and the new one on the pad of my thumb, seeking that flash point, and feel a twinge.
Sighing in relief, I push on the newest wound harder, digging my nail in to open it back up.
I need a distraction from the thoughts crowding each other out in my brain, the shame and horror at what Gunner said and the realization that I don’t belong here.
I don’t want to go home. It terrifies me, honestly, because of what’s waiting for me. Up here, my mother can’t get to me. But this morning, I realized that there’s another aspect. One I hadn’t even considered.
If she does, she might take Gunner and Gabe out as well.
The moment it’s in my mind, I know I can’t risk them.
I have to go home and face the truth. Throw myself on the fire, if you will.
But that thought is nearly as painful as the one that tells me I don’t belong in Hawke’s Wood anymore, and intensifies the need for a distraction. I need a focus, and if I can just…
My nail jabs suddenly into the wound, and I gasp in pain and relief in equal measure.
The jab of it makes me jerk the wheel, though, the motion sending the truck into an outright spin.
I try to steer into it, try to get back out of it, but the tires won’t grip the road anymore and I can feel myself sliding out of control.
I don’t know which way is up or down the mountain, or where the inevitable cliff is, and I realize it doesn’t matter.
I can’t control the truck, and there’s no way I’m going to get out of this.
I have a split second to realize the irony here—that I’m crashing the same way Gabe says they lost his mother—and then the truck hits nothing but air, and I’m falling.