Chapter 14 Cole
I've never begged for anything in my life.
Pride, stubbornness, a childhood that taught me wanting was weakness, take your pick.
But standing on Emma Reed's porch at seven in the morning, watching her try to close the door on everything we'd built, I discovered I'd beg for her without a second thought.
Last night was the longest night of my life. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment on her porch until the memories were worn thin.
"Uncle C?" Sarah's small voice drifted from her doorway around midnight. "I can't sleep."
"Me neither, kiddo."
She padded across the room and climbed into my bed, curling against my side like she used to when she was smaller. "Are you sure Emma is not mad at us?"
"No, sweetheart. She's not mad."
"Then why did she close the door?"
I didn't have an answer. I pulled her closer and stared at the darkness until her breathing evened out.
Around three in the morning, I gave up on sleep entirely. I made coffee, sat on my porch, and watched the stars wheel overhead—the same stars Emma and I had kissed under just days ago. The memory was a knife turning slowly in my chest.
The news notification came at six. I almost missed it, my phone buried under a couch cushion where Sarah had been playing games. But something made me check.
Missing hikers found safe. A couple was discovered in a ranger cabin after taking shelter from the sudden storm. Minor hypothermia, expected full recovery.
I read it three times. Then I was moving, grabbing my keys, formulating a plan that was probably stupid and definitely desperate.
"Cole Brennan." Maggie's voice was rough with sleep when she answered. She had been Sarah’s teacher last year, and my relationship with Emma got us talking, as she was, in Emma’s words, ‘her only friend’. "It's six-thirty on a Sunday. Someone better be dying."
"I need you to watch Sarah."
A pause. "Are you about to do something brave or something stupid?"
"Probably both."
"That tracks." I heard rustling, like she was sitting up. "Cole, that woman is drowning in her own fear. You can throw her a rope, but you can't force her to grab it."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you've got that stubborn voice. The one that says you're going to fix this through sheer force of will."
"I just need to talk to her."
"Talking is good. Lecturing is bad. There's a difference."
"Thanks for the advice."
"You're not going to take it, are you?"
"Probably not."
She sighed. "At least you're honest. Get over here."
I dropped Sarah off at Maggie’s with promises I wasn't sure I could keep. The drive to Emma's cabin felt endless, every curve in the road a chance to second-guess myself. What if Maggie was right? What if I pushed too hard and lost her completely?
The alternative was losing her anyway. At least this way I'd know I tried.
Her cabin looked quiet, curtains still drawn. I sat in my truck for a full minute, hands gripping the steering wheel, rehearsing what I'd say.
The hikers were found. You're not crazy. I understand. Please let me in.
Eloquent, Brennan. Really compelling stuff.
I knocked before I could talk myself out of it.
The door opened slowly. Emma stood there in worn pajamas, her hair tangled, her eyes red and swollen. She looked like she hadn't slept either. She looked like she'd been crying for hours.
She looked like the most beautiful, broken thing I'd ever seen.
"Cole." My name came out hoarse, exhausted. "I told you I need space."
"I know. I'm sorry." I held up my phone, and the news article was still displayed. "But I thought you should know. The missing couple was found. Last night. They're safe."
She took the phone, scanned the headline, and handed it back. "That's luck."
"It's more than luck. They made good decisions. Took shelter instead of pushing through."
"And next time?" Her voice was flat, hollow. "Next time the storm comes faster. Next time the shelter isn't there. Next time luck runs out."
"Emma—"
"I don't trust life to have happy endings, Cole." She wrapped her arms around herself, a defensive wall. "I've seen too many stories end badly. I won't survive another one."
There it was. The core of everything.
"Can I come in?" I asked quietly. "Please. Just to talk."
She hesitated, and for a terrible moment I thought she'd refuse. Then she stepped back, holding the door open just enough for me to pass.
The cabin felt different. Cold, somehow, despite the morning light. The spelling tests were still scattered on her table. A mug of tea sat abandoned, stone cold. Evidence of a life interrupted.
"Emma." I turned to face her. "What's really going on?"
"I told you. I need space."
"That's not an answer. That's a wall."
Her body went stiff. "Maybe I need walls right now."
"Against me?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "Against Sarah? We're not the enemy here."
"I know that."
"Then why are you treating us like we are?"
"I'm not—" She stopped, pressed her hands to her face. When she looked at me again, her eyes were swimming. "You don't understand."
"Then help me understand." I stepped closer, not touching, just present.
"Tuesday, we were fine. We were planning our next dinner date.
Sarah was drawing pictures of our camping trip.
And then the ranger came, and suddenly you're hiding in your house, not answering calls, shutting us out like we're strangers. "
"The ranger—" Her voice cracked.
"I know. The missing hikers. It triggered something."
"It didn't trigger something." The words burst out of her, raw and angry. "It reminded me of what's real. What's always been real. People go into the wilderness, and they don't come back. That's not a trigger, Cole. That's a fact."
"Not always."
"Often enough." She was crying now, tears sliding down her cheeks unchecked. "My sister walked into the mountains on a beautiful day and never walked out. My mother fought for two years and lost anyway. Everyone I love leaves. Everyone."
"I'm not leaving."
"You can't promise that." Her voice rose, cracking.
"You live on that mountain. You walk those trails every day like they're sidewalks.
You teach Sarah to love the wilderness that killed my sister.
How am I supposed to watch that? How am I supposed to fall asleep every night wondering if tomorrow is the day I get the call? "
The words hit like physical blows. I didn't have an easy answer because there wasn't one.
"You're right," I said quietly. "I can't promise nothing bad will ever happen. Nobody can promise that."
"Then what's the point?" She threw her hands up. "What's the point of any of this if it all just ends in loss?"
"The point is the living, Emma. The point is the time we have."
"That's easy for you to say. You choose the risk. You run toward it." Her eyes blazed through the tears. "I'm the one who has to watch and wait. I'm the one who has to stand at windows and check phones and imagine the worst every time you're late. That's not living. That's torture."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. She wasn't wrong. I'd never thought about it from the angle of the person left behind, the one who waits.
"I didn't think about that," I admitted.
"No. You didn't."
Her accusation was looming over me. I deserved it.
"So what do you want me to do?" I asked. "Sell the cabin? Move to the city? Give up everything that makes me who I am?"
"No." The fight seemed to drain out of her. "I don't want you to change. I just... I can't do this. I can't love you and wait for the mountain to take you. I'm not strong enough."
"You're the strongest person I know."
"I'm not. I'm a coward hiding behind lesson plans and spelling tests."
"You climbed that trail for Sarah. You faced your worst fear—"
"And look where it got me." She laughed, a broken sound. "Panic attacks and a sprained ankle and falling in love with someone I'm going to lose."
"Say that again," I said softly.
"What?"
"The last part."
She stared at me, realizing what she'd admitted. Fresh tears spilled over. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters more than anything."
"No, it doesn't. Because love doesn't protect people. Love doesn't stop accidents, illness, or bad luck. Love just means it hurts more when they're gone."
I moved closer, and this time I reached for her. My hands found her arms, felt her trembling beneath my palms.
"You're right," I said. "Love doesn't protect people. But Emma, living without love doesn't protect you either. It just means you're alone when the bad things happen anyway."
"At least alone doesn't hurt as much."
"Doesn't it?" I held her gaze. "Is this not hurting? Standing here, pushing away the people who love you. Is this painless?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"I lost Rebecca," I continued, my voice rough. "My only family. The person who'd been with me through every foster home, every bad break. When she died, I wanted to die too. I thought about walking into the wilderness and not walking out."
Emma's breath caught. I'd never told anyone that.
"But then they put Sarah in my arms. This tiny, screaming stranger needed me to stay alive.
And I realized something." I swallowed hard.
"Grief is the price of love. It's brutal and unfair, and it never fully goes away.
But the alternative, never loving anyone, never letting anyone in, that's not avoiding grief.
That's just grieving in advance. You're mourning people who are still alive. "
"I can't—" Her voice broke completely. "I can't lose you. I can't lose Sarah. The thought of it—"
"Then don't lose us." I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "We're right here. We're not gone. The only way you lose us right now is if you push us away."
"You make it sound simple."