4. BEAUDEN
FOUR
BEAUDEN
The idea of letting Nixie out of my sight in the woods when the sun is setting makes my blood run cold. I know she wants to find Tiberius. I get it, but splitting up? That’s a hard no.
It’s not that I don’t think she’s capable.
She is, obviously. Even under the pressure of losing something she holds so dear to her heart, she’s fighting to hold herself together.
Which is a good reminder that she isn’t the same woman who was in tears when I kissed her goodbye before leaving for basic training.
Or the one who clung to my jacket like some part of her was sure I was saying goodbye forever.
It wasn’t supposed to be forever.
Two months. My plan was to make it through basic training, get a solid start on becoming the man she actually deserved, and then show up on her front steps in my Army greens with an engagement ring.
We were too young for that kind of commitment.
I know that now. But that wasn’t why I didn’t call.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. I’ll love Nixie until the day I die, but every time I thought about calling back then, a part of me crumbled.
I knew her voice would twist the blade in my heart.
And hearing her in tears over the phone, when all I wanted was to be with her?
That would have broken me.
There was no way I could become who I needed to be for her if I fell apart in basic training.
But I waited too long, and she thought my silence was something it wasn’t.
Then everything went sideways. I was fast-tracked from Basic to AIT. I tried to call her when I realized I couldn’t make it home, but she’d changed her number. She’d blocked me on her socials. And when I broke down and called her mom directly, that fiery woman refused to tell me anything.
I almost went AWOL to come back to Black Timber Peak and find her, but then that insidious thought worked its way into my heartsick brain .
If she really loved me, she would have waited.
I left to make myself a better man, for her, and it was easier to believe that she gave up than to admit I’d broken something I didn’t know how to fix.
I suck air through my teeth and turn my attention back to the trail. “Eyes and ears open, Nixie,” I say, fighting hard to keep that bone-deep regret from bleeding into my voice.
As much as I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, that’s not what she needs. She needs to be strong, and if she finds that strength in anger, so be it. I’ll take that hit.
I deserve so much worse.
Nixie huffs out a breath. It might be irritation or impatience.
Doesn’t really matter. Whatever it is, I keep my focus forward and start walking, albeit a little slower.
One thing that clearly hasn’t changed is her sheer stubbornness.
It’s one of the reasons I fell for her in the first place, but when it’s something this serious, she’s already shown me she’ll push herself too hard.
Ten minutes pass in a silence so thick I could cut it with a knife.
At the twenty-minute mark, when I toss a glance behind me, desperation paints a scowl on Nixie’s face.
And when the sun sinks below the mountains, and I pause to put on my headlamp and hand Nixie my flashlight, I can already see the hope fading in her hazel eyes.
“We’ll find him,” I say, searching for confidence that isn’t there. Nightfall means we have to slow down. We can’t cover as much ground. And the odds of missing some tiny sign of Tiberius skyrocket.
Nixie swallows hard and nods.
“Are you thirsty?”
She shakes her head, but I see that little denial for what it is.
I open my canteen and hand it over. “Thirteen years later, and you’re still a lousy liar.” I try for a slightly teasing tone to lighten the moment, but the look she shoots me is so cold it could freeze fire.
She brings the canteen to her lips but pauses, glaring at me. “You’d think I’d be better at it, wouldn’t you? After some of the whoppers I’ve fallen for?” She takes a sip and hands it back without another word.
Nixie doesn’t have to say anything else. I got the message loud and clear.
I could try to explain myself. God, I want to. I want to confess everything. But we’re not the same foolish kids we were back then, and this isn’t about me. It’s about finding and saving something that matters to Nixie more than anything else in the world.
So, I put the canteen away, swallow my pride, and keep moving.
A few minutes later, I spot a small piece of broken black plastic on the ground. A couple yards ahead, I spot another. On a hunch, I ask, “What kind of leash do you use when you walk Tiberius?”
“One of those fancy retractable ones. He loves to explore,” she says, with a note of sadness in her voice.
I keep my eyes peeled without saying anything else. Nixie is already struggling, and the last thing she needs is me getting her hopes up for nothing.
A few more bits and pieces are scattered further ahead. Then, a couple of feet off the trail, the mangled side of a black plastic handle peeks out from beneath a bush. Without thinking, I put up a fist and stop.
Nixie either doesn’t understand the signal or isn’t paying attention because she bumps into my pack with a yelp.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice pitched half an octave higher. “Do you see him?”
I walk over, pick up the chunk of rigid plastic, and hold it up so she can see it. “Does this look like Tiberius’s leash?”
She nods quickly. Her throat is working but no sound comes out.
Standing, I cast a glance along the trail ahead of us, then out into the trees. “I think he probably chased whatever he was after out there.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before Nixie charges into the woods. “Tiberius!” Her voice carries, but there’s no hiding the tremor in it. “Come on, big guy.”
I’m hot on her heels, ready to grab her and remind her that I’m the one in the lead here. The safest place is behind me. Always. But a sound snags my attention, just as I catch her by the arm.
She wheels around like a feral cat. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses.
My instinct is to recoil from that snap, but I hold on. “Quiet. Listen.”
Beneath the sounds of the dark forest and running water from the creek nearby, I hear it again. A weak whimper.
Tears pool in Nixie’s eyes. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Let me go!” She wrenches out of my grip and blunders forward.
The light from her flashlight sprays wildly across the trees, the shrubs, the ground.
And when her light catches on Tiberius —half-submerged in the icy creek, fur plastered to his trembling sides, eyes wide with panic— the cry that breaks her voice nearly does me in.
“Nixie, wait!”
She doesn’t. She plunges forward without a single fucking thought about the consequences.
“Careful!” I bark, fear slithering up my spine.
The water’s cold and it’s dark. That is a dangerous combination in more ways than one.
But she’s not careful. Her entire focus has narrowed to her dog. She barely even slows as she slogs through the thigh-deep current. And when she loses her footing and goes under, my heart stalls.
“Goddammit,” I growl, throwing my pack off and shoving into the water after her.
She’s up and fighting her way to Tiberius before I make it to her, but the damage is done. She’s soaked, head to toe. When she gets to him, she wraps him in a hug.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into his wet fur. “I’m so sorry, big guy. We never should’ve come back here.”