Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
BEAU
“ J essamy!”
No. Oh, Christ. No!
I bolt off the porch. No gloves, no coat, the cold biting into my skin as I go. I don’t even bother lacing my shoes, just shove my feet in and run, my heart pounding louder than Malcolm shouting after me.
I heard her scream.
I saw her fall.
“Jessamy!”
I race through the churned-up snow, following her trail down the hill. My breath tears out of me in ragged clouds, but I can’t stop, can’t slow down. My heart seizes at the sight of the lake.
The hole.
A jagged wound in the ice, broken snow scattered around its edges. The dark water churns violently, her hands flailing. She’s slipping, her fingers clawing at the slick, unyielding surface.
“Beau!”
Her voice pierces the air, raw and panicked.
“Jessamy!”
I hit the edge of the lake, collapsing onto my knees. The cold radiates through my jeans, but I barely register it. Fear grips me, rooting me in place. The ice beneath me feels thin, uneven, cracking under my weight.
What if I fall in, too?
What if I can’t reach her in time?
What if?—
I thrust my hand out toward her, fingers straining, but she’s too far, thrashing too wildly to grab on.
Malcolm yanks me back. His hands dig into my shoulders as the ice groans louder, splitting further, the edges of the hole crumbling away.
“Stay back, Beau!” he snaps.
I can’t move. I can’t think. I simply collapse, frozen to the ground.
Jessamy’s hands slip again, her gasping cries cutting through the icy air. Her terror is painted across her face, etched into the sound of her voice.
Don’t just fucking sit here.
Do something, you coward!
When I can’t, Malcolm surges forward. His figure blurs, running to the opposite edge of the hole.
Without hesitation, he jumps in.
I gasp, shock jolting through me as I watch him fight his way to her. His face contorts in agony, his body shaking as the freezing water claws at him. Somehow, he doesn’t falter. He grabs Jessamy, dragging her back toward the edge, toward me.
Her scream snaps me out of my trance. I latch onto her wrists. Her skin is like ice, slick and hard to hold, but I grip her with everything I have.
The ice shifts beneath us, groaning ominously, but I don’t stop. I pull her toward me, dragging her inch by inch until the solid ground meets my knees.
“Jess!” My voice cracks as I fall beside her, tears stinging my frozen cheeks. I push her wet hair out of her face, but the strands cling to her skin, freezing in place. Her lips are pale, trembling.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
“Is she breathing?” Malcolm’s voice cuts through the haze. He’s beside me, dripping wet, his coat soaked through, icicles forming on his beard. “Beau!” He grabs my shoulder, shaking me hard. “Is she breathing?”
“I don’t know!”
Panic claws at my chest as I watch her face, unmoving, too pale. But then she turns, her body convulsing as she coughs up water, her chest heaving with desperate, gasping breaths.
“Yes,” I choke out, cradling her. Relief floods through me, overwhelming and dizzying. “Yes! She’s breathing.”
“Pick her up,” Malcolm commands, his voice sharp. “We need to move.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur again, tears still falling.
“Beau!” His grip tightens on me, his tone hard as ice. “Get up! Get her inside. Now!”
The urgency in his voice snaps me back into focus. My arms move on instinct, wrapping around Jessamy’s shaking form. Somehow, I find the strength to stand, her body limp but shivering in my grasp.
The climb back up the hill feels endless, every step heavier than the last. Malcolm bounds ahead, his eyes on us over his shoulder the whole time.
When I reach the porch, he throws the door open. “Lay her by the fire,” he says.
I stagger inside, Jessamy trembling in my arms. The warmth of the cabin hits me like a punch, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except her.
I stumble toward the fireplace, my movements too jerky and erratic to handle her gently. I drop to my knees, setting her down with trembling hands.
“Beau.”
Malcolm is beside me, his voice cutting through the static roar of panic in my head. I can feel him there, but I can’t focus on him. I can only see her. Jessamy’s frozen face. Lips turned an unnatural blue. Oh, Christ, they shouldn’t be that blue. They?—
“Beau.”
His hand strikes my face. The wet slap jolts me, pain radiating like a firebrand down my neck, sharp enough to snap me back into the moment.
Malcolm grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” he commands. I do. “I need you to listen and do exactly what I say. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I croak.
He lets go, and the absence of his grip leaves me feeling hollow. I need him. His strength, his knowledge. Without him, I’m just a city boy—a stupid kid with soft hands and no clue what the hell I’m doing. Christ, what would I have done if he weren’t here? What if she fell in and I… did nothing?
“Beau!” He shoves at my shoulder, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I wasn’t listening, didn’t hear a word he said. “Take off her clothes. Get her dry. Now.”
My brain stutters, but my body obeys. My fingers fumble as I pull off her soaking coat, careful not to bend her arms the wrong way. Then her sweater, sodden and heavy. Shoes caked with snow. Jeans stiff with frost. Each piece hits the floor with a wet thud, the sound hammering at my skull like a countdown I can’t stop.
I tug her socks free, my heart shattering at the purple hue of her toes. Her panties last, the thin fabric clinging to her skin like ice.
“Beau?”
Her voice is so faint, I almost miss it. My heart lurches. That isn’t her voice—not the bright, warm tone I know. It’s brittle and trembling, like something about to break.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my words thick with desperation. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“I’m cold,” she breathes.
“I know, baby. I know.” I lean in, pressing my forehead to hers. Her skin is icy, a horrifying shell. “You’re gonna be all right. You have to be.”
I can’t do this without her.
I can’t.
Malcolm reappears, a stack of towels in his arms, his face pale but resolute. “Beau, in the loft. There’s a trunk with blankets. Bring as many as you can carry.”
I hesitate, glancing down at her, afraid to leave her side.
“Beau,” he says, his voice gentler now, a hand on my shoulder. “Go.”
I force myself to move, pushing off the floor and running upstairs. My shoes thud against the wooden steps as I zero in on the trunk by the bed. I throw it open, grabbing every blanket inside until my arms are full.
When I return, Malcolm has already bundled her hair in a towel, patting her face dry. Her cheeks are still too pale, too hollow.
Dropping the blankets beside them, I notice the tremble in Malcolm’s hands as he extends a towel toward me. “Take over,” he says, his voice raw. “Dry her off, then wrap her up.”
I nod, shifting into his place. The towel feels rough against my fingertips as I run it down her arms, over her legs, chasing away the moisture still clinging to her.
The sound of clothes hitting the floor pulls my attention to Malcolm. He’s halfway undressed, his coat and sweater in a pile, his pants loose at his hips. He kneels with his hands braced on the floor, his chest heaving as if he’s run miles, as if he could collapse at any moment.
But I need him.
I can’t do this without him, either.
“Malcolm?”
He lifts his head, water droplets falling from his hair, his beard. “I’m all right,” he says hoarsely, sitting back on his ankles. “Take care of her.”
I toss him a towel, and he nods his thanks, scrubbing it over his head before catching his breath and peeling off the rest of his soaked clothing.
I return my focus to Jessamy. Her skin looks less icy now, but the cold still radiates from her like a warning. I wrap her lower half in blankets, cocooning her, tucking her legs as snugly as I can without hurting her.
Malcolm kneels on her other side.
“What next?” I ask him.
When he doesn’t reply, I look up. He’s dressed now in dry clothes; a pair of warm slacks and a thick sweater. His hand touches hers, his attention locked on her fingers.
“What is it?” I ask, following his gaze.
He pulls something from her grasps—a thin gold necklace—and stares at it.
“Malcolm?”
Moments pass before his fingers close around it. “It’s nothing,” he murmurs, sliding the chain into his pocket. His eyes shift to me. “Are you wet?”
“A little.” I glance down at my damp shirt and pants, unsure if it’s lake water, sweat, or worse.
“Change,” he says firmly.
I hesitate again, my body rooted next to her.
“I’ll be here,” he says. “You did good, Beau. She’s gonna be okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I want to believe him. But I know I can’t. Jessamy might be dry and warming by the fire, life returning to her skin, but she’s not okay.
We are not okay.
I couldn’t protect her.
I couldn’t protect my wife.
But Malcolm could. He leapt into that icy water without a thought for himself, risked his life to save hers when I couldn’t.
Too ashamed to even look at them, I push off the floor. I change, pulling a pair of flannel pants from my bag, along with a sweater and a pair of thick socks, my mind racing with every awful scenario, every horrific what if.
When I return, Malcolm is lying beside her, their bodies wrapped together under a thick blanket. She’s nuzzled against his chest, her face softening with each shuddering breath. He whispers in her ear, words muted against the crackle of the fireplace.
Malcolm gestures with a nod, encouraging me to join them at her other side. When I don’t move, Malcolm looks at me and says, “Beau, your wife needs you.”
“Beau?”
Her whisper makes my chest cave. I kneel beside her as her fingers reach for me, trembling beneath the weight of the blankets. I take her hand, gripping it tightly, cursing the cold still clinging to her.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
I stretch out on her other side, wrapping my arms around her as Malcolm tucks the outer blanket over the three of us. Once we’re settled, his thick, calloused hand finds ours, his fingers steady as they envelop mine and hers. His grip feels like an anchor, holding us all together when everything else has been chaos.
Gradually, the biting cold fades. The fire’s glow casts a soft, golden halo over Jessamy’s face. She warms, color returning to her cheeks like the first rays of sunrise. Her breathing evens out, light and soft as she drifts off, curling into us like a kitten seeking shelter.
“Beau.”
Malcolm’s voice pulls me from the trance of watching her. I lift my head, my eyelids heavy, aching with exhaustion. His hand gives mine a reassuring squeeze, his smile as steady as his grip.
“You should get some sleep, too,” he says, low and calm.
I shake my head. I can’t let go. Won’t. Not after everything.
“Beau,” he says again, even gentler this time. “She’s all right. Get some rest. The hard part is over.”
My gaze drops back to Jessamy. She’s warm and pink now, so different from the lifeless shade she wore earlier. But my chest tightens all the same, a deep ache that won’t ease.
“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking. My heart feels like it’s splintering in my chest. “It’s not.”
Malcolm inhales like he wants to argue, but lets it out in a long breath. Without a word, he leans closer, pulling our clasped hands toward his lips. He brushes a kiss against Jessamy’s knuckles, then mine, his breath warm against my chilled skin. His touch is reverent, like he’s offering a prayer in silence. Then he sets our hands back down and sighs.
“Then we’ll stay here,” he says.
I nod, too drained to thank him again, though gratitude surges through me. For his help. For his steady presence. For risking everything to save her—twice.
I press my head to Jessamy’s shoulder, holding her close, her steady breaths lulling me into a fragile peace.
This could be the last time I get to hold her like this.
She belongs here. In Kiss County.
With him.