Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
So you’re saying you can’t love me?
Is that really what she’d heard him say? That his love was conditional, based on her performance? Did she really believe he wanted to keep her from the work she loved? The words rattled in Tate’s chest. He could still see the gray pallor on her face, the stubborn set to her mouth.
Maybe it was better this way. Because if she couldn’t see that he only wanted what was best for her, then there probably wasn’t anything else he could say or do to convince her.
He unboxed the carbon monoxide detector and both smoke alarms and pulled out the useless pamphlets. Then checked the batteries, of course. These wouldn’t do. He dumped out the ones the manufacturer had sent and added his personal favorite brand.
Control the variables. Control the outcome.
Except last night had proved—again—that control was a myth.
Mom had hung the curtains with some help from Ethan.
He glanced around the cabin. Bed made. Towels in the linen closet, stacked on the shelves.
Megan had promised she’d come by with complimentary soap, shampoo, and conditioner.
All he had to do was install these and they’d be ready for tomorrow’s inspection.
He had to keep moving, keep checking things off his to-do list. Because if he stopped or spent any more time thinking about last night’s horrible conversation in the ER with Scottie, frankly, he thought he might…
crumble. The thought scared him more than cliffs and whitewater.
Sailor barked. Tate glanced through the screen door.
He’d tethered him on a long nylon cord anchored with a stake in the ground outside the cabin.
“Hang on, pal. Just a few more minutes.” Sailor sat down, his feather boa of a tail flopping back and forth in the grass.
A crunchy leaf skittered past, swirling in the wind, and Sailor jumped in the air and chased after it.
On any other day, Tate would probably stop and watch, even find this amusing.
Nope, not now. Not with Scottie’s dismissal still ringing in his ears.
Sailor barked again. Tate looked up. Mom strode toward the cabin, paused to pet Sailor, then came inside. The screen door thwacked shut behind her.
“Hey, I texted you a couple times, but you didn’t answer. Come eat with us. I fixed your favorite. Chili and cornbread, and Tisha brought over chocolate peanut butter pie for dessert.”
“I’ll eat later.”
“Sweetheart.” Mom stepped closer, concern swimming in her eyes as she took the smoke alarm from his hands. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. It’s all probably for the best. If she feels like I’m holding her back, then she’s right, I should let her go.” Saying it out loud made something in his rib cage twist. Let her go—as if it were that simple.
“Oh, honey.”
“I have to get these installed. The last time I didn’t get this right, we both know what happened.”
“What?” Her eyes grew wide. “No, Tate. You don’t think…”
He looked around for a screwdriver. The old script slid into place. “You don’t have to pretend. I’m a grown man, and I know what happened, Mom. I was supposed to change the batteries. And I didn’t do it. And the fire started and Dad ran in and…We know the rest.”
“Here’s what you don’t know. Your father’s injury wasn’t about smoke alarms or whether or not batteries were changed. Your dad chose to run into a burning building. It was courageous, but also reckless.”
“That’s not true.” Heat flared in his gut. “He did what he had to do to save the building and the people that he loved.”
“Those were his intentions, I’m sure, but he made a foolish choice. He wasn’t equipped to stop that fire. And he should have known that that beam could have fallen on him.”
The air thinned. Tate linked his arms across his chest. He’d spent so long fixated on his own actions that he’d never let himself look at the tragedy from another point of view.
“I’ve often wondered if the reason why you spend so much time obsessing over safety?—”
“I’m not obsessed.” The denial came too fast, as automatic as a reflex. He heard it and winced.
“I think there’s a downside to your concern for others.”
“What?”
“Maybe it’s a reaction to some grief you haven’t processed,” Mom said quietly. “You think your rigidity keeps everyone safe, but what if you’re punishing yourself? Who are you trying to save exactly? And is it doing you any good if you just push people away?”
“I didn’t push Scottie away. I asked her to stop running toward danger.” He could barely stand to say the words aloud. Or think about how Scottie had refused to look at him.
“You don’t have to atone for anything. But with everything you’re doing—rules and protocols and marching around telling everybody that safety is the most important thing—why are you surprised when people don’t respond the way you want them to?
” Mom paused and rubbed his arm. “I’m giving you permission to choose love.
And I want you to be brave and vulnerable and tell Scottie exactly what you’re afraid of and name what you want. ”
“I’d rather spend the night in a deer stand in a blizzard.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, it’s hard, isn’t it? But if you love her, you will be willing to risk being vulnerable. She needs you, Tate. She’s had a lot of loss in her life. And probably deep down inside, she wants somebody to show up for her.”
He thought about the things she’d mumbled when she’d been feverish. She’d tried to pretend the words weren’t true, but he couldn’t unhear them. Not when they’d lodged in him. A glimpse of the fragments of abandonment revealed. The raw edge of being unwanted.
“I don’t know, Mom. I told her I couldn’t love someone who chooses to put herself in harm’s way. Pretty sure we’re done.”
Mom winced. “That’s a bit…harsh. But I understand why you’d say that, given everything that’s gone wrong with filming that show. There’s still time though. Go after her, honey. Just, I want you to remember that you are not your father’s injury.”
He stared at the smoke alarm in her hand, the plastic face like a blank eye. “But if I don’t hold people accountable and remind them of the rules, people get hurt.”
“Maybe.” She took a breath, eyes shining but steady.
“Tate, listen to me. While I would never choose for your father to be partially paralyzed, I have learned invaluable lessons from working through the tragedy. God has strengthened my faith and made my marriage and my family stronger. We are not who we were before the fire—we’re deeper. More honest. More dependent on grace.”
He blinked, stunned. “You’re saying…you’re grateful?” The words felt wrong in his mouth.
“I’m saying God brought good out of something terrible. I would never pick the pain. But I won’t deny the fruit. Your father and I love each other better now. We see each other. We’ve learned to ask for help. We’ve learned that control is not the same as care.”
Outside, the wind picked up, lifting the branches on the trees nearby. Whining, Sailor lunged toward the cabin, as if he could sense the shift in Tate’s perspective.
Tate palmed the back of his neck. “I’ve been trying to keep fires from ever starting.”
“I know.” Mom reached up, smoothed a line between his brows with her thumb the way she had when he was a boy.
“You don’t have to make this all neat and tidy.
Loving someone unconditionally is messy.
Tell her the truth. Tell her you’re afraid and that you tried to turn fear into rules.
Ask her what she needs. Let her tell you how she weighs risk, and be part of that instead of trying to erase it. ”
He swallowed, throat thick. “What if she leaves?”
“That’s a risk you’ll have to take.” Mom hugged him, then pulled away, her eyes surveying his face. “Can I offer one more piece of advice?”
He stifled a groan. “Okay.”
“Have you ever thought that there’s a difference between using your abilities as a protector versus trying to control and play God?”
“Ouch.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mom said. “He puts you where He needs you, but ultimately He is the Protector and Provider. There’s nothing we can do, no mistake that we will ever make, that will thwart His perfect plans.”
Tate closed his eyes for a beat and let his breath out slowly. His shoulders dropped. The list in his head—install, test, verify—fell in line behind another one. Apologize, ask for forgiveness, then listen.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve overstepped in some areas. I’ll go find her, and I won’t try to fix her life. I’ll just…be honest.”
Mom smiled, a spark of something fierce in her gaze. “I’ll be praying.”
He followed her out of the cabin, then set his tools down on the ground. He was about to untether Sailor when a familiar voice carried up the path from the driveway.
“Tate.” Damian strode across the grass wearing a puffer vest and beanie, sunglasses perched on his forehead. He lifted a hand as if they were friends.
Tate’s jaw worked. “Now’s not great, Damian.”
“I won’t take long.” Damian stopped a few paces away, clocked the alarms, the tethered dog, the set of Tate’s shoulders.
“I heard Scottie’s being discharged today.
I just wanted to say—look, man, I’m sorry for what happened out there.
But she—she was incredible. Even half frozen, she’s thinking about angles.
The way she framed the bow spray against that ominous sky?
” He let out a low whistle. “Nobody gets that shot but Scottie.”
Something hot flickered in Tate’s gut. “She almost died.”
Damian blinked, then kept going, undeterred.
“Right, right, and we’re lucky she didn’t.
I just—what I’m trying to say is, she has a gift.
Whether it’s cinematography or a picture she snaps casually with her phone, she has a keen eye for detail.
A gift and a skill that few people have.
You know? Most people point and shoot. She composes. She tells the truth in a frame.”