CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR VERA #2
“You don’t have to thank me, Peach. We go together. From here to Idaho to the ends of the earth.”
How did he always know the right thing to say? We weren’t going to the ends of the earth today. Just to a lake. So I took his hand, laced our fingers together and climbed the trail.
It took two hours for us to make it to the top of the mountain. The lake was another mile on a narrow path that wound through the woods.
The trail wasn’t as worn this far up and in one place, a tree had fallen, forcing us to go around. But then the scents of pine and earth changed to something lighter. Fresher.
The track led us straight to the water’s edge. The lake was only as big as a football field, three times longer than it was wide. It was crystal clear and as smooth as glass. A breeze kicked up a tiny ripple on the surface.
It was breathtaking. Terrifying, but beautiful.
My pulse quickened as fear began to take hold, but then Mateo’s hand clamped around my elbow.
I sagged into his side, stealing some of his strength. “I’m okay.”
“Vera.” The edge to his voice made me stand tall.
“What?” I followed his gaze across the water.
To the man standing on the opposite shore.
Dad.
I gasped.
Was that really him? If not for Mateo’s grip, I would have thought I’d conjured him from a dream.
But it hadn’t been my imagination all those weeks ago. His beard was that unruly, scraggly red.
We’d found him. Finally. I’d found him.
He was alive.
Dad stood, shocked, staring back. Even from this distance, I watched the color drain from his face. His scar looked too pink. His hair too gray. His frame too thin. Exactly how it had been that day I’d spotted him weeks ago.
He’d known I’d been searching. He’d watched me come for him.
And he’d left anyway.
I took a step forward, toward the water.
My movement seemed to jerk him out of his stupor. He pressed a hand to his heart, his face falling.
He was going to leave me. Again.
“No.” My voice, loud and strong, carried across the lake. “Don’t you run from me.”
“Go, Vera. Forget about me.” There was a crack in his voice, but God, it felt good to hear him. To see him.
He was alive. Two years, and the fears I’d refused to acknowledge faded. He was alive.
And he was leaving me. Again.
Dad turned toward the forest.
“Stop!”
His shoulders fell. His feet stopped. But he didn’t turn back.
I’d spent four years following him through the wilderness, and he’d always been wearing his pack. It was strange to see him without it. It made him seem vulnerable. Smaller. Weaker.
But still strong enough to walk away.
“Don’t go,” I yelled. “Please, Dad.”
He turned his profile to us with a sad, hopeless smile and shouted, “Live your life, Vera. Stop trying to find me.”
“Never.”
He twisted enough to take me in, head to toe.
A long, final look at his daughter.
There was no way we’d catch him. If he bolted into those trees, I’d never see him again. He’d outpace us no matter how fast we were. By the time we rounded the end of the lake, he’d be long gone.
And even if I could convince Mateo to come out here again, it would be pointless. Dad would leave Montana forever.
I took a step toward the water. Then another.
“Vera.” Mateo was at my side, that grip on my elbow holding firm.
“He’s leaving me.”
The look on Mateo’s face was devastating. It was full of anguish and pain, my pain. Because he knew Dad was leaving me. And he knew this was our last goodbye.
Unless . . .
I didn’t let myself think. I didn’t let the fear take hold. If Dad did run, there was only one way to catch up.
With a quick shrug, I slipped out of Mateo’s grip and dropped my backpack to the ground. Water splashed onto the hem of my jeans as I took that first step into the frigid water. The second brought it to my knees.
The cold. God, it was so cold.
“Vera!” Dad’s panicked voice boomed off the trees.
I locked my gaze with his, seeing the same fear on his face that I probably wore on mine.
Maybe he’d kept me away from lakes. Maybe he could stand them if he was alone.
But to see his daughter in this water?
He froze.
Tears filled my eyes and streaked down my cheeks. My heart pounded so hard and fast against my sternum it was impossible to breathe, but I managed to suck down an inhale.
Then I dove.
The water was like ice. It soaked my clothes and the weight began to pull me down to the shallows.
I kicked my legs, taking two hard strokes with my arms.
Swim, Vera. Swim.
It was that night all over again. I kicked my legs harder, pulled my arms faster.
Swim. Swim. Swim.
There were no waves. There was no boat. The lake wasn’t deep and there was no storm. But the panic was suffocating. It clawed at my throat, refusing to let any air come inside. I slipped, sinking a little, and choked on a gulp of water.
I kicked harder, thrashing as the panic took hold of my movements, making them frantic and wild. Oh, God. What was I thinking? I couldn’t swim. I couldn’t be in this lake.
“Swim, Vera.”
It wasn’t my voice. It was Mateo’s.
His arm clamped around my bicep, hauling me up as he swam at my side.
I dragged in a breath, forcing air to my lungs. Then I gripped his forearm, using him to steady my strokes.
“Swim,” he ordered.
So I swam. We swam together to my father, standing waist-deep on the opposite shore, ready to dive into this lake and rescue his daughter.
The second I found my footing on the slippery rocks, he rushed to catch me, hauling me out of the water.
“Vera.” He pushed the wet hair off my face. “Oh, God, Vera. What were you thinking?”
I let the tears fall and the sobs choke loose. “Don’t leave me.”
He hauled me into his chest, hugging me so tightly it was hard to breathe. “This isn’t what I want.”
“But it’s what she wants.” Mateo was breathing hard as he stood by our sides, his hands planted on his dripping jeans. “And that’s all that matters.”
Dad shifted me to the side but didn’t let me go.
Mateo held out a hand. “Mateo Eden.”
Dad glanced down at me, looking between the two of us. Then he blew out a long breath, a breath that seemed like two years in the making, and shook Mateo’s hand. “Cormac Gallagher.”