Chapter 6 Kai
KAI
Iwoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of someone humming.
For a disorienting moment, I didn't know where I was. It took me a few seconds to realize I wasn’t bracing for loneliness when I opened my eyes.
My cabin had been silent for three years. Silent by design. Silent because I’d made it that way. No humming. No coffee I hadn't made myself. No soft footsteps padding across the kitchen floor.
Yesterday’s hike came rushing back. It hit all at once, without mercy, like my body remembered before my mind could catch up.
The ranger shed. Emory’s body against mine. The way she'd fallen apart in my arms, trusting me with something she'd never given anyone else. The weight of that trust settled heavy in my chest, equal parts awe and fear.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, and let myself feel it—the warmth spreading through my body, the quiet contentment I didn’t have to fight, the unfamiliar lightness that made breathing feel easier than it had in years.
And she was still here. The knowledge both steadied and unsettled me.
After we'd walked back from the trailhead, I'd brought her to my cabin. At the time, it had felt natural. Easy. Like something we’d done a hundred times before.
We'd showered together, her back against my chest under the warm spray, my hands gentle on her sore muscles.
Then I'd carried her to bed and held her while she slept, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin.
I hadn't slept much. I hadn’t wanted to. I'd been too busy memorizing the feel of her—the weight of her body against mine, the softness of her hair between my fingers, the small sounds she made when she dreamed.
Now she was in my kitchen. Making coffee. Humming.
Like she belonged here.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
I got up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt. When I walked into the kitchen, the sight of her stopped me cold.
She was wearing one of my flannel shirts, the sleeves rolled up and the hem hitting her mid-thigh.
The sight twisted something deep in my gut—possessive and panicked all at once.
Her hair was loose and messy, her feet bare, her face soft and unguarded.
She stood at the counter, pouring coffee into two mugs, completely at ease in my space.
She looked up and smiled. "Morning."
That smile. It hit me like a fist to the chest every single time. I didn’t know how to defend myself against it.
"Morning," I managed.
"I made coffee. Hope that's okay. I couldn't find any cream, so it's black."
"Black is fine."
She handed me a mug, and our fingers brushed. Even that small contact sent heat through me. I wanted to pull her close, kiss her senseless, carry her back to bed and spend the whole day learning every inch of her body.
But there was something else underneath the want. Something old. Something familiar. Something cold and heavy that had been building since I woke up.
Dread. The kind that always showed up right before I destroyed everything.
This was too good. She was too good. And I knew—I knew—that I was going to ruin it. I ruined everything. It was only a matter of time.
"You okay?" She was watching me over the rim of her mug, a small furrow between her brows. "You look like you're thinking hard about something."
"I'm fine."
"Kai." She set down her coffee and moved closer, reaching up to touch my face. Her palm was warm against my jaw. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
There was no accusation in her tone, only trust. And that somehow made it worse.
I should pull away. I should shut this down before it went any further. Before she got any deeper into my life, my head, my heart. But she was looking at me with those eyes—soft and open and trusting—and I couldn't do it. I couldn't push her away. Not yet.
"Let's sit," I said.
We moved to the couch. My body felt heavier with every step, like I already knew where this was heading. She curled up beside me, tucking her legs underneath her, close enough that I could feel her warmth. I stared at my coffee, trying to find the words. Words I’d spent years avoiding.
"You asked me once where I go," I said finally. "When I get that look."
She nodded but didn't speak. Just waited.
"I go back to Denver. To the job I used to have. The life I used to live." I took a breath. "The man I used to be."
"What happened?"
The question was soft. No pressure. Just curiosity and care.
I'd never told anyone in Iron Peak. Not Ma, not any of the guys I worked with occasionally, not anyone. I'd come here to escape, to disappear, to bury the past so deep it couldn't find me.
But Emory wasn't anyone. She was…everything. And if I was going to let her in—really let her in—she deserved to know the truth.
"I was a construction foreman in Denver," I said. "Ran a crew of twenty guys. We worked on big projects—office buildings, apartment complexes. I was good at it. Had a reputation for running a tight site, keeping everyone safe."
She was quiet, listening.
"There was this kid on my crew. Kevin." Saying his name out loud felt like reopening a wound I’d never let heal.
"Twenty-two years old, fresh out of trade school.
He reminded me of myself at that age—eager, hardworking, wanted to prove himself.
I took him under my wing. Mentored him. Taught him everything I knew. He trusted me. Believed in me."
My throat tightened. I forced myself to keep going.
"We were working on a high-rise downtown.
Twelve stories. Kevin was on scaffold duty that day, checking the rigging on the upper levels.
" I stared at my hands, unable to look at her.
"The weather had been bad all week—rain, wind. Every warning sign had been there. I’d just chosen not to see them.
We should have shut down. Protocol said we should have shut down.
But we were behind schedule, and the client was pushing, and I made the call to keep working. "
Emory's hand found mine. She didn't say anything, just held on.
"The scaffold failed." The words came out flat, emotionless. Like I was reciting facts instead of reliving the worst moment of my life. "Something in the rigging gave way. Kevin fell eight stories."
Her grip tightened.
"He died on impact. Right there on the concrete, in front of everyone.
In front of me." I finally looked at her.
Her eyes were wet, but she wasn't crying.
Just holding my gaze, steady and present.
"I killed him, Emory.” The words tasted like rust and ash.
“I made the call that put him on that scaffold.
I should have shut the site down. I should have followed protocol. But I didn't, and now he's dead."
"Kai—"
"Don't." The word came out sharper than I intended.
"Don't tell me it wasn't my fault. I've heard it.
From the investigators, from the company lawyers, from the grief counselor they made me see.
Everyone said it wasn't my fault. The rigging failed.
It was a manufacturing defect. No one could have known. "
"Then maybe—"
"It doesn't matter." I pulled my hand away from hers and stood, pacing to the window.
"Not to me. I was the foreman. I was responsible for every man on that site.
I made the call to keep working when I should have sent everyone home.
If I'd followed my gut, if I'd done my job, Kevin would still be alive. "
The silence stretched between us. I stared out at the mountains, at the trees, at the quiet world I'd built around myself like a fortress.
"Is that why you came here?" she asked softly. "To Iron Peak?"
"I couldn't stay in Denver. Couldn't walk past that building, couldn't face Kevin's family, couldn't look at myself in the mirror." I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "So I ran. Came here to hide. Figured if I stayed away from everyone, I couldn't hurt anyone else."
I heard her stand. Heard her footsteps crossing the floor. Then her arms were around me from behind, her cheek pressed against my bare back, her warmth seeping into my cold places.
I wanted to lean into her. I wanted to disappear into that warmth. I didn’t let myself.
"It wasn't your fault," she said quietly.
I’d waited years to hear someone say those words. If only I could believe them.
"Don't." I pulled away, turning to face her. "Don't say that. You don't know—"
"I know enough." She reached for me, but I stepped back. "Kai, accidents happen. Terrible, tragic accidents. But that doesn't mean you're responsible. You made a judgment call based on the information you had. The rigging failed. That's not on you."
"It is on me." My voice was rising, the cold dread in my chest morphing into something hotter, sharper. "I was in charge. I made the decision. A man is dead because of me."
"A man is dead because equipment failed.
" She stepped closer, refusing to let me retreat.
"You're not God, Kai. You can't control everything.
You can't predict every possible outcome.
You made a call, and something terrible happened, and I am so, so sorry.
But carrying this guilt for the rest of your life isn't going to bring Kevin back. "
The words hit me like a slap.
She was standing there in my shirt, in my kitchen, in my life, looking at me like I was someone worth saving. Like I deserved her compassion, her understanding, her love.
And all I could see was the future.
Me, failing her. Me, making another bad call. Me, destroying her the way I'd destroyed Kevin.
"This was a mistake," I said.
She flinched like I'd hit her. "What?"
"This. Us. Last night." I gestured between us, my hand shaking. "It shouldn't have happened."
"Kai, don't do this."
"I want you to leave when your house-sitting is done.” The lie hurt more than the truth would have. “Go back to your life. Finish law school. Find someone who isn't—" I broke off, jaw clenching. "Find someone who isn't broken."
"I don't want someone else." Her voice cracked. "I want you."
"You don't know what you want. You're twenty-three years old.
You just lost your virginity yesterday." The words were cruel, and I hated myself for saying them, but I couldn't stop.
"You think this is love? You think this is real?
It's hormones, Emory. It's the excitement of something new.
Give it a month, and you'll forget I ever existed. "
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "You don't believe that."
"I do."
"You're lying. You're pushing me away because you're scared, and I understand that, I do. But don't you dare stand there and tell me what we have isn't real."
"What we have?" I laughed, the sound harsh and ugly. "We've known each other for a week. A week, Emory. That's not a relationship. That's a vacation fling."
"Stop it."
"You're a kid playing house." The words felt like glass in my throat, cutting me as they came out. "Go home. Go back to your roommates and your textbooks and your plans. Forget about this place. Forget about me."
I knew exactly how much damage those words would do.
Each one felt like a deliberate wound, something I was carving into both of us with shaking hands.
I hated myself for saying them, for choosing cruelty because it was faster than honesty, because it would push her away before she could see how badly I wanted her to stay.
She stared at me, tears streaming down her face, and I saw the moment her heart broke. I watched it happen in real time—the light in her eyes dimming, the hope draining from her expression.
I'd done that. I'd broken her.
Just like I knew I would.
"Fine," she whispered. The finality in her voice undid me more than shouting ever could have. "If that's what you want."
She walked past me without another word. I heard her gathering her clothes from the bedroom, heard the door to the bathroom close, heard the water run briefly. Five minutes later, she was dressed and standing at the front door.
"For the record," she said, her voice thick with tears, "you're wrong. About all of it. What happened to Kevin was a tragedy, not a verdict on your worth. And what happened between us was real. But if you're too scared to see that, then maybe you're right. Maybe I should go."
She opened the door and walked out.
I watched her cross the yard to Eunice's cabin, her shoulders straight, her head high even as tears streamed down her face. She didn't look back.
The door closed behind her, and I was alone.
Silence.
The same silence I'd craved for three years. The same silence I'd wrapped around myself like armor, keeping everyone out, keeping myself safe.
It had never felt like this before. Cold. Suffocating. Wrong.
I stood at the window and watched her cabin, half hoping she'd come back out. Half hoping she'd storm over here and yell at me, hit me, make me take it back.
She didn't.
The silence pressed in, and I realized the truth I'd been running from all along.
I didn't want to be alone anymore.
But I'd just made sure I would be.