37. Grier
Grier
Ella.
The name lands like a stone in still water. I watch Gemma’s face go blank and controlled.
Marel and Rye help her to her feet. She moves slowly and painfully toward the washroom.
Rye stares at the closed door with his jaw tight, and I know he’s thinking about the name.
“Grier.” He turns to me, desperate. “What don’t I know?”
He looks at me like the answer is mine to give.
“She was terrified for him. More than—” His voice catches. “And you knew exactly what to say. How to calm her.”
I stay quiet.
“What is he to her?”
I watch him. This man I’ve known for years, who I’ve protected, fought beside, bled for. Who loves the same woman I love. He deserves something.
“Rye—”
I want to give it to him; I want to tell him.
But I can’t, because once spoken, the truth doesn’t belong to me.
And some truths burn everything they touch.
Even I don’t have all of it. She has a name I’ve never heard, a past she guards with her life.
And something dangerous enough to hide from everyone. I can’t unravel it, not even for him.
“Rye.” I keep my voice gentle. “It’s not my secret to tell.”
I watch another crack form in a man barely holding himself together.
“She doesn’t trust me.” He says it so quiet and broken.
“It’s not about trust.” I hold his gaze, willing him to understand. “Some secrets aren’t kept because of doubt. They’re kept because the cost of telling them is too high.”
He doesn’t respond. I watch him wrestle with it, trying to let it be enough.
The door opens. Marel appears first, Gemma leaning heavily against her with her face gray with exhaustion. Just that short walk has cost her. Rye is moving instantly, crossing to her.
“I’ve got her.” He takes Gemma’s weight from Marel, pulling her gently against his side. “I’ve got you.”
Gemma sags into him with no hesitation, like her body chose him a long time ago. The loss presses in deeper.
“She needs to eat something,” Marel says. “Then get some real rest…in the bed. She’s stable enough now.”
Rye gets a few spoonfuls into her. She barely keeps her eyes open, swaying against his chest. When she’s finished, Rye lays her down like she’s made of glass and pulls the blankets up around her.
“Ryewood,” she whispers, and her hand finds his.
He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, little fox.”
Her eyes close within moments, her breathing evening out as sleep pulls her under.
Rye just sits on the edge of the bed, her hand in his, watching her sleep.
Then, slowly, he places her hand down and stands. He walks to the door without looking back and is gone before I can say a word.
I wait just long enough for it to settle, then follow.
The cold hits me the moment I step outside. Night has settled, heavy and dark. Rye is a few paces from the cabin, his back to me with his shoulders shaking.
I’ve seen this man face down his father’s cruelty without flinching. Watched him take blows, physical and otherwise, and stand back up every time. But I’ve never seen him break like this. Not even when he was seventeen, when I found him in the gardens at night with bruises around his neck.
He let me check him that night. My gut dropped when I found a splinter lodged in his flesh, and I knew with a cold certainty this was his father’s doing.
I asked him what had happened. He started to tell me about the children he hadn’t been able to save, then his voice gave out.
I sat with him until dawn broke, and we’ve never spoken of it since.
He’s been a brother to me since that day, one I’ve sworn to protect.
“Rye.”
He doesn’t turn.
“I’m going to lose her.” His voice is so wrecked I barely recognize it.
I step closer. “She’s healing. She’s—”
“Not like that.” He shakes his head. “She’s going to heal, and I’m still going to lose her.”
“Rye—”
“She has all these secrets, Grier.” He finally turns to face me, and the look on his face guts me.
“Every time I think I’m getting closer, I realize how far she actually is.
What if she never lets me in?” The words start tumbling.
“What if there’s so much she’s hiding that when it finally comes out, she’s already gone?
What if her secrets are bigger than us?”
“Rye.” I grip his shoulders and force him to look at me.
“I can’t lose her.” A sob tears from his chest. “I can’t. I can’t live without her.” His breath shudders. “I’ve tried to imagine it, and I can’t. There’s nothing, Grier. Without her, there’s nothing.”
I pull him against me. His sobs shake his whole body, years of walls coming down at once. I don’t say anything. What is there to say? He’s afraid of losing her. I already have. I just hold him and let him break because I understand more than he’ll ever know.
When the sobs finally quiet, he pulls back. His eyes find mine, stripped completely bare.
“Grier.” His voice is hoarse. “Let’s not go back.”
I go completely still.
“We could find somewhere up here, a village, a cabin.” His eyes are wild with something that looks almost like hope. “People will assume we died in the blast. They probably already do.”
“Rye—”
“Think about it.” He grips my arm. “No castle. No secrets. No Father. Just the three of us—away from everything. We could start over—”
“Rye.” I say it the way you talk someone off a ledge. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” His voice cracks. This isn’t desperation; he’s already decided.
“And Finn?” I ask quietly.
Rye’s eyes snap to mine, his face shifting instantly.
“Who is Finn to her, Grier?” The plea in his voice is unmistakable. “Please. Please—just tell me.”
I look at him. This man who just broke apart in my arms. Who loves her so much he’d give up everything, his entire life, just to keep her. He deserves this. He deserves something.
“He’s her brother.”
The word lands between us. Rye stares at me, uncomprehending.
“What?”
“Finn’s her brother.” I hold his gaze. “That’s why she was so terrified.”
Silence passes long and heavy.
“Her brother.” Rye blinks. “Finn’s her brother.” He repeats it, like he’s trying to make sense of it.
I watch it settle over him, the confusion giving way to understanding, the understanding giving way to relief.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“There are reasons,” I say, trying to hold him steady with my voice. “But that part has to come from her. Not me.”
“Grier—”
“I’ve already told you more than I should.”
He wants to push. I can see the questions burning behind his eyes, but he doesn’t.
I pull him in, wrap my arms around him, and hold him the way I’ve held him through everything else. He exhales against my shoulder, a shaky, broken sound. Relief and confusion and something else all tangled together.
“It’s going to be okay.” I tighten my grip. “We’ll figure it out, together.”
He nods against me and doesn’t pull away. We stand there in the snow, two men who love the same woman, keeping each other from breaking in the cold. The snow falls softly around us, and for a moment, it’s enough.