CHAPTER SIXTEEN #2
Hewitt shrugged dismissively. “They are inseparable in my mind. Ryen, Evylin. Doesn’t matter what name you use, they are the same to me.”
Rather certain that wasn’t appropriate, Deckard didn’t bother pointing it out to the man. “Does she even want it?” he asked instead. “Adventure. Is it really what she wants, or is it just what they wanted?”
“I’m sure she doesn’t know. His dreams were her dreams, and the same for him. When he died, she never took the time to question what she wanted. Their dream remained because she couldn’t bear to let him go.”
“And you didn’t think to help her find her own dreams after all this time?”
Hewitt laughed, gruff and callous. “Don’t you understand yet? Our relationship was never healthy, Deckard. She used me as a link to him, as I used her. I love her more than I can say, but I doubt I’d have felt that way if she hadn’t been so closely tied to my son.”
Deckard supposed there was some bravery in the man’s admission. It shed light on many of the nuances of their relationship that he hadn’t understood. And it made Evylin’s despair even clearer. She wasn’t just mourning Hewitt; she was mourning Ryen for a second time too.
That thought brought another insight along with it. “I can’t do what you did for her,” Deckard said. “I can’t help her move on because I have no link to Ryen. Whatever I try, it won’t do any good because she’s still not over her loss of him.”
“Now, you’re getting it.”
Deckard sighed, tossing his hands to the side. “Then what am I supposed to do? Stand by while she aimlessly suffers through her misery? Wait for her to miraculously find a reason to live outside of him?”
“She’s still living, isn’t she?”
“She’s surviving.”
Hewitt shook his head. “If Evylin were done with this world, she would crawl into a hole and let herself die there. As she’s actively working to save the world, I’d say she hasn’t quite given up yet.”
“So you’re saying there’s hope?”
“I’m saying,” his sharp gray eyes cut through the darkness, “that she’s already found a reason to live. She’s just too afraid to admit it.”
Deckard narrowed his gaze, sure he’d understood but equally sure that Hewitt couldn’t be correct. “She told me she wants space,” he said. “That she needs time.”
“Like I said,” Hewitt replied. “She’s afraid.”
“Of what? My willingness to comply?” He scoffed. “I’m fairly certain I’ve made my desire to be her husband explicitly clear.”
Hewitt heaved a disgruntled sigh. “How many layers of idiocy do I have to peel back before I finally discover some common sense in that brain of yours?” He stepped forward to emphasize his next words. “She’s afraid of loving you. Of trusting you.”
Deckard listened warily as Hewitt continued. “Evylin has only ever allowed two people to see her heart: me and Ryen. We were the only ones she truly trusted because we were the only ones who didn’t ask her to be anything but herself.”
“Neither have I,” Deckard said.
Hewitt raised a scraggly eyebrow. “You want to get in her trousers. That’s the most blatant and untrustworthy agenda a man can have.”
Abashed, Deckard muttered, “I would never act on that desire without her consent.”
“But it is your ultimate aim. And she can sense that.”
“That’s not true. Even if I never—if we never had that sort of relationship, I would accept it. Having her in my bed is not an objective for me to reach.”
“Then what is your objective?”
“Her,” he said honestly. “Just her.”
The ghost stared back at him.
“All I want,” Deckard said, ready to bare his heart, “is to give her the life I promised: to love her, no matter what that looks like. I swore to take her across Ephria and help her find the place she loves the most, to give her the future she deserves. I want to see her happy. Whether that’s with me or . . . or not.”
Hewitt crossed his arms. “She’d take offense to that.”
“I’d do anything for her. How is that offensive?”
“Because she’d feel indebted to you.”
“I want nothing in return.”
“You want her. You just admitted that.”
Deckard sighed. “Fine. I want her. But only if she’ll have me.”
“A compensation she’d feel obligated to provide,” Hewitt said.
“So what are you saying?” Deckard asked with exasperation. “Because I care for her, she’ll feel compelled to return the favor?”
Hewitt raised a hand to point toward the camp.
“I’m saying she can’t trust you because she knows you love her.
And those feelings of yours will influence her decisions if she allows herself to love you back.
You are dangerous to her. You can control her.
Therefore, she cannot trust you, and she cannot love you. ”
Deckard stared back at him, open-mouthed and in a daze. What a convoluted fear the ghost described. Was that truly how Evylin felt? Was she afraid of losing herself to him? Did she think he’d require her to sacrifice her dreams for him? He would never ask that of her.
But perhaps she’d feel obliged to as repayment for a debt she incorrectly presumed herself to owe.
“Then I’ll make it clear to her,” he said. “She’s never obligated to me in any way. If she wanted to live here in Wauld, I’d do it. If she asked me to tear down every tree in this forest, I’d do it. If she told me to leave her side and never come back, I’d do it.”
Hewitt’s expression showed marked contempt. “Your goodness is oppressive,” he said.
Deckard had never felt so insulted.
“Do you think that’s what she wants?” Hewitt demanded. “To have some vassal to cater to her every whim? That’s not a husband. It’s a servant.”
An old refrain came to Deckard’s mind. “A servant, through and through.” One of his lieutenants had said that the first night he’d met Evylin.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the sentiment.
Many of his fellow officers had said the same thing, particularly in their recommendations on his behalf.
But for the first time in his life, Deckard wondered whether or not it was a compliment.
Thirty-two years of training told him that Hewitt was wrong. He wasn’t simply bowing to Evylin’s fancies; he was caring for her. Love required sacrifice, always. His dedication to her happiness wasn’t a weakness, nor was it oppressive. It was selfless devotion.
Shaking his head, Deckard chose to deny the ghost’s conclusion.
Hewitt had proven he was incapable of being impartial when it came to his niece.
He’d admitted to the malignant condition of their relationship itself.
They reinforced one another’s grief. Together, they’d ensured that they’d never have to let go of the past. Whatever Hewitt thought he knew about Evylin, it was tainted with his memories of Ryen.
That didn’t negate his usefulness, though.
“If that’s the case,” Deckard allowed, “how do I get her to trust me?”
Hewitt surveyed him thoughtfully before replying.
“First, don’t pledge your undying love and loyalty to her.
She’ll feel pressured. Then . . . be there.
Plain and simple. Evylin needs to know that you aren’t after something.
Don’t promise her the world, and don’t offer yourself as a living sacrifice.
Stand by her side, and when she asks for your help, only then are you to come to her aid.
“Until that moment,” the man concluded, “live as though you’d never met her. She needs to feel independent of you to know that her feelings for you aren’t brought on by a need to return some favor.”
The instruction gave Deckard pause. “I can’t stand by and watch her drown in the despair of her loss.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” Hewitt said. “When you see her drowning, you pull her to safety. Then you leave her there. Don’t coddle her, and don’t hover. Trust her to take care of herself.”
“In other words,” Deckard raised his brow, “be like you.”
Hewitt considered it, then smirked. “Precisely.”
“Should I begin insulting people while I’m at it?”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
Deckard let himself chuckle. The rain eased, the storm calming as though lifting with his mood. “I’d hate for her to come to think of me as her uncle,” he remarked.
“Well, she would trust you more quickly, but it wouldn’t do much for your odds of seduction, I’ll tell you that.”
“I should hope not.” Deckard scanned the ghost before him, letting the truth hit him fully for the first time. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he said.
“Can’t say I thought I’d see anyone again once that branch split me in two.”
Hanging his head, Deckard let himself feel the sorrow of Hewitt’s loss once more. “We’re not the same without you.”
Hewitt’s expression remained steady, though his eyes glimmered with something like gratitude. “You’re probably better off.”
“Never.”
“Don’t try to charm me, Colonel. I still don’t like you.”
Deckard smiled. “Regardless, I’m grateful for this chance. However it happened, for whatever reason I’m the only one who can see you—it doesn’t matter. Because it allowed me to thank you and to promise you that I will do it: I will do whatever it takes to give Evylin the life she deserves.”
Hewitt didn’t respond at first. He stood there, studying Deckard. What he was looking for, Deckard didn’t know. But he remained steady under his scrutiny.
Finally, Hewitt took a step back. “You should return,” he said. “You’ve been gone too long.”
Knowing that was as much approval as he’d ever get from the man, Deckard accepted it. “I’ll come to see you again.”
“I know.”
With one last nod, Deckard turned, letting the ghost fade away, knowing that if he were ever to have a chance at helping Evylin heal, it would be with Hewitt’s help.