Chapter 26 Ransom
Ransom
I'm not sure how long we remain curled up on the wooden floor of the ranger hut after the storm subsides. Perhaps an hour, maybe longer.
The once howling wind has quieted to a gentle whisper, and the snow drifts down softly and lazily, as if exhausted from battling gravity. The air feels still, almost serene, with the storm's fury now a distant memory, leaving a blanket of white that hugs the landscape in its calm embrace.
I kiss her hair, her cheek, her temple.
“I’ve missed you.”
She raises her head from my chest to look at me. “Have you?”
I nod.
“I’m very confused, Ransom.”
“I know.”
“Then help…ah…un-confuse me.”
I smile at her, stroking her hair, touching her, thrilled to have that right. “Do you know that every time I came to Boston, I came by your apartment?”
She frowns. “How did you even know where I live?”
“I…I got your address from my mother’s Christmas mailing list.”
She grins at that. “Your mother sends some unhinged postcards.”
My parents are both retired particle physicists with an eccentric sense of humor.
Last Christmas, their card featured a photo of a beaker filled with eggnog, labeled “C?H?O + Nutmeg.” Inside, it read:
“Season’s Greetings from your favorite controlled experiment.
Results: Mildly tipsy. Highly festive.
Merry Christmas from the Marchands—still mixing science and chaos!”
The year before that, the card showed a chalkboard covered in complex equations, with a doodle of Rudolph prancing in the corner. The message inside said:
“Proof that Santa can achieve Mach 10 in one night: still unsolved.
But we’re working on it.
Happy Holidays from your favorite theoreticians.”
This year’s card might be their most unhinged yet. It arrived in a shiny, red envelope with a return address labeled simply as: The Lab.
The front featured a carefully staged photo of their cat wearing a tiny lab coat, sitting next to a stack of physics journals and a menorah made out of test tubes. Inside, it read:
“2025 Hypothesis: Feline assistants increase holiday joy by 72%.
Control group: No cat. Experimental group: Very grumpy cat.
Conclusion: Unclear, but morale is up and so is the glitter budget.
Happy Holidays from the Marchands—where the laws of physics bend for festive chaos!”
“I’m convinced PETA is going to reach out to them for what they did to Higgs.”
She lets out a breathy laugh. I love hearing it.
“Your parents are so obvious that it’s cute.”
“You mean because they named their cat Higgs Boson?”
“Exactly.”
We become silent again for a while. The hut is warm, and I like holding her as we lie on the floor.
“How have the past five years been for you?” I ask her.
I want to know everything, all the things I ached to hear about every time I thought about her, every time I saw her at family events, every time I didn’t see her at family events.
“Good,” she murmurs, nuzzling her nose against my chest. “Finished my PhD. Started my postdoc.”
“Dated?” Jealousy courses through me. It’s ridiculous, so I tamp it down.
“Some.”
“The musician?”
“Mama and Aunt Tanya talk about that?”
“He hurt you.”
She shakes her head. “No, he didn’t. I didn’t love him. He cheated on me, and that was disrespectful. I didn’t even eat the pint of ice cream I had in my freezer after it was done, or drink the bottle of Burgundy I had in my kitchen. It was…just one day to the next, moving on.”
She sits up and stretches, extending her arms over her head. “How about you?”
“Just…casual.”
“Like Calypso?”
“Yeah.” I watch her, hands tucked behind my head, letting myself soak in the sight of her, like I’ve earned this, though I know I haven’t.
“Nothing serious in five years?”
“I…thought it was because of Olivia, you know. But now I think it was because of you. I thought about you all the time. I regretted letting you go. At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do, considering our ages. I…I was confused about how I felt.”
She walks over to the window and stares out. Outside, the last of the storm blows past.
“And now?”
“Now, I am un-confused. I told your parents and mine—”
“Without talking to me about it,” she cuts me off, still looking out of the window.
I push up to my feet and walk to her, slowly. I gently press my chest to her back, arms sliding around her waist.
“I wanted to tell them so you’d know that I’m not hiding us.”
“That was taking a chance, thinking there could be an us.”
“I know,” I murmur against her hair. “But I’m done making choices out of fear. I’d rather risk the fall than keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”
She leans into me, just a little. Enough to make my pulse stumble.
“I don’t know what this is. But I don’t want to ruin it by dragging five years of baggage into it every time I see you.”
I turn her to face me. “You’re not ruining anything.”
She looks up at me, wary. “I don’t trust easily anymore. Not even myself. When I feel…I second-guess everything.”
“I’m sorry. I know that I caused a lot of that damage. I thought I was being noble, letting you go. I thought I was being smart to end it before…it ended.”
“Why now? Why should we connect now?”
I kissed her nose. “Fate? Destiny? Christmas? Chamonix?” I tease, eyes glinting.
The corners of her lips twitch into an almost smile. “It just seems so…out of nowhere, which makes me distrust it.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
She shakes her head.
“Have I ever said something to you that I didn’t mean?”
She gives me a measured look. “Except that you were stalking my apartment when you told me you wouldn’t be in touch like that after we ended.”
I tilt my head, more entertained than I should be. “Except that.”
“No, Ransom, usually, if you’re saying something, it’s because you believe it. Doesn’t mean that you sometimes believe some really dumb things.”
I sway us as if we’re dancing. “You mean like thinking how the age gap between us was a problem?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“I was wrong.”
She swallows. Her expression folds in on itself, quiet and raw. “What if you do something like that again? Decide…I don’t know—that we shouldn’t have children because you’ll be an old father. Or….”
Understanding dawns. I nod slowly, considering my response.
I ended us unilaterally. Then I told our families about our past and my intentions on my own without consulting her. In both instances, I disrespected her, didn’t treat her like an equal.
“I’ve never been in a healthy relationship. I’d like to be in one with you, which means when I make decisions for us—or even for just me when we’re a couple—I talk to you about it.”
That revelation-slash-vow surprises her. Her eyebrows lift slightly. The weight in her shoulders shifts.
“We’re a team, Em,” I continue, desperate to convince her. “You and me. Just like during the wine tasting.”
She huffs a soft laugh. “You mean because I have a better palate than you?”
I smile, grateful she’s teasing me again. “Exactly. We won because we listened. Trusted each other’s instincts. Didn’t try to outsmart one another.”
Her features soften with tenderness. “You’re saying you want us to be partners. Not just…a man trying to win over a woman he hurt?”
“I want that, too,” I admit. “But I want more. I want to build this time. Build us. Where we check in with each other, where I don’t steamroll ahead with what I think is best, and leave you trying to catch up.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Then start here. Start now.”
I kiss her lips. It’s a benediction. It’s gratitude. It’s a promise.
“Tell me what you need from me.”
She meets my gaze evenly. “Consistency. Honesty. And time.”
“Done,” I whisper.
Her fingers curl around mine, and the smallest smile ghosts across her lips. Hope, though barely visible, is there. “I used to think love was supposed to be obvious. Easy. Now, I think maybe it’s just…showing up. Again and again.”
“I can do that.” I feel like the worst and smallest man in the world. Her needs are so simple, so basic, and I discarded her and us without giving us a chance. “I want to do that.”
Worry and doubt crease her face. “Are you sure you’re not just chasing a ghost?”
I know what she means. The version of her I’ve held onto all these years. The memory. The regret. The easy comfort of nostalgia. But this—her, now—is not an illusion.
“I’m not chasing a ghost,” I assure her. “I’m looking at you. Right now. Not then. Not some ‘what if.’ Just you. Just now.”
The heat in her gaze shifts. I wonder if she’s finally ready to give me a chance. I’m not fooled. She’s affectionate, she’s kind, she’s generous, but that doesn’t mean she’s all in, that doesn’t mean she’s saying, ‘Let’s do this.’
Not yet.
“Em. I know you.”
“Do you?” It’s a challenge.
“Yes. I know your heart. I know your dreams. I know what you’re afraid of.” I hold her gaze. “I know I can make you happy.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know that.”
“And, Ember—”
“We should go,” she whispers, glancing toward the window, where the snow has thinned to lazy flurries. “The storm’s over.”
“You know me,” I continue, like she didn’t speak. “You know when I’m feeling insecure. You know when I’m angry, even if I don’t show it. You know…me.”
She licks her lips and then worries her upper lip with her teeth.
“We were friends that year when we were lovers.” I refuse to let this moment slide without doing everything I can to convince her, show her what we could be.
I let her out of my embrace and lace my fingers with hers, not freeing her from me but giving her distance, a choice. “We’ll go, but not back to where we were.”
“No, we won’t,” she agrees slowly, as if weighing her words. “We’ll move forward.”
I kiss her lips softly. “Good girl.”
She blushes. It goes straight to my cock.
I want her. I want to make love to her. I want intimacy with her. Connection.
But I also know that it will take the time it takes—because my Ember is a careful person. She doesn’t just jump into things. She likes to measure. She likes to collate data. She likes to understand herself better before she makes a decision.
How on earth did I ever think that this careful, deliberate woman was immature? Well, it speaks to my lack of emotional maturity at the time.
I mistook depth for doubt. Caution for fragility.
I see it now—her way of processing, of loving, is rooted in strength. She doesn’t move slowly because she’s uncertain. She moves slowly because she intends to stay.
And I want to be the man who earns that kind of forever.
The trail is half-buried when we step outside. The world wiped clean by the snow. The air is cleaner, as if the mountain had taken a deep breath, and exhaled everything but what truly mattered.
Ember skis ahead of me, and even in all her layers, she moves with a quiet grace that calls to me.
She stops once we reach the ridge, looking out over the valley. The sun’s low behind the peaks, painting the snow in lavender and gold. I glide up next to her.
“You know the biggest change I see in you?” she asks all of a sudden.
I look at her, at this woman I used to know better than anyone, and still do in all the ways that mean anything. “Tell me.”
“You used to think being in control meant being safe. That if you managed everything, if you anticipated risk, you could avoid pain.”
“I didn’t avoid it,” I admit. “I brought it on in spades. I lost you. That hurt. I hurt you. That hurts worse.” I look at her as she watches the view in front of us; endless snow-capped peaks.
“I worry that I’m weak if I take you back.”
I’m relieved at her words. She wasn’t rejecting me. She was contemplating us—being herself—as she processed the new information she now has about me.
We weren’t together, but we would be.
It would take time, past Chamonix, past these holiday days...it would be work.
Beautiful, glorious work.
“Sweet Em, real strength is showing up when you’re scared.”
She turns. Holds my gaze. Smiles.
I smile back, and offer, “And loving someone is not about protecting them from hurt, but standing beside them through it. I want to stand beside you, baby.”
Her eyes glint with excitement, like discovering a door she didn’t know about.
My chest tightens both with joy but also with pain at the hurt I inflicted upon this woman I love. “I want to choose you even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard,” I finish.
Back at the chalet, we leave our boots and coats by the door. The house is warm, with the scent of wood smoke and food.
Voices echo from the kitchen. Laughter.
“You guys all good?” Margot asks as she walks by us in the living room.
Ember smiles gently, replying, “Yeah, Mama, we’re all good.”
She nods knowingly. “Come into the kitchen and get something to eat.”