Chapter 15 #2
This is insane. Showing up at her door at night, after the way I sent her away. She’s probably not even here. Probably went out with friends, telling them about the asshole hermit who broke her heart. Probably—
Movement in a second-floor window catches my eye. A familiar silhouette passes by, hair piled in that messy bun.
She’s home.
She’s right there, two floors up, living her life without me. Like she should be. Like she has every right to be.
I could leave. Drive back to my mountain, to my silence, to my carefully controlled existence. She’d never know I was here.
But then I think about tomorrow. And the day after. And all the days stretching ahead, empty of her laugh, her warmth, her stubborn insistence that I’m worth fighting for.
I get out of the truck.
The buzzer panel lists twelve units. M. Campos is 2B. I press the button before I can think too hard about it.
Silence. Then: “Hello?” Her voice through the speaker, cautious.
“It’s Finn.”
Longer silence. I can almost feel her shock through the intercom.
“Finn? What are you—how did you—”
“Can I come up? Please?”
The pause stretches so long I think she’s going to refuse. Then the door buzzes, and I’m inside.
The stairs feel endless. My legs, already shaky from the drive, threaten to give out.
The hallway is narrow, decorated with generic apartment building art.
Someone’s cooking dinner—curry, from the smell.
Normal life happening behind closed doors while I stand outside 2B with my heart trying to escape my chest.
I knock.
Footsteps, soft and cautious. The door opens a crack, chain still on, and Marcella’s face appears in the gap.
She looks terrible. Beautiful, always beautiful, but terrible—eyes red-rimmed and swollen, hair tangled, wearing sweats and an old t-shirt. Like she’s been crying.
Because of me.
“You drove to Denver.” Not a question. Disbelief.
“You were right,” I say. “About everything. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Marcella. Can we talk?”
She stares at me for a long moment. I can see the war in her eyes—hurt versus hope, self-protection versus the connection we both feel.
The chain rattles. The door swings open.
But she doesn’t step back to let me in. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, a barrier I’ll have to earn my way past.
“Talk.”
So I do. Everything I couldn’t say yesterday pours out—my revelation about dishonoring my team’s memory, Moira’s words about Jimmy, the empty ranger station that feels like a tomb without her.
I tell her about the drive here, the panic I’m fighting just standing in this hallway, how none of it matters because losing her is worse than any anxiety attack.
“I love you,” I say. “I should have said it days ago. Hell, I should have said it that first night when you looked at me over dinner like I was worth knowing. But I was a coward, and I hurt you, and I’ll spend as long as it takes making that right if you’ll let me.”
She’s crying now, tears streaming down her face. But she doesn’t move toward me. Doesn’t reach for me.
“You drove to Denver,” she says. “You hate cities.”
“I hate being without you more.”
“That’s a line from a movie.”
“Is it working?”
She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t soften. “You said you loved me. Yesterday, when you were packing my bags and pushing me out the door—did you love me then?”
The question cuts deep. “Yes.”
“And you still made me leave.”
“Yes.”
“So loving me wasn’t enough to make you fight for me.” Her voice is steady, but I can hear the blade underneath. “What’s different now? What’s going to stop you from panicking again next week, next month, next time things get hard?”
I don’t have an easy answer. She deserves more than promises I might not be able to keep.
“Nothing,” I admit. “Nothing’s going to stop me from being scared. I’m going to wake up some days convinced you’d be better off without me. I’m going to have panic attacks and bad nights and moments where I want to retreat into isolation because it’s safer.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“I know. But here’s what’s different.” I take a breath. “Yesterday, I was trying to protect myself by pushing you away. Today, I drove three hours through a city that makes me want to crawl out of my skin because I realized something.”
“What?”
“That the only thing worse than risking loss is guaranteeing it.” My voice cracks. “I’ve already lost you once. I did that. And it nearly destroyed me. So yeah, I’m terrified. But I’m more terrified of spending the rest of my life wondering what we could have been.”
She’s silent for a long moment. The tears keep falling, but she doesn’t wipe them away.
“I can’t do this again, Finn.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I can’t let you in and have you decide I’m not worth the effort. I’ve already had one man make me feel like loving me was a burden. I can’t survive another.”
“I know.” I want to reach for her, but I don’t. She hasn’t given me permission. “I know I have to earn this. I know words aren’t enough.”
“They’re not.”
“Then tell me what is. Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”
She studies my face for a long moment. I stand still under her scrutiny, letting her look for whatever she needs to find.
“I need time,” she says finally. “I need you to prove this isn’t just panic and regret. I need to know that tomorrow, next week, next month, you’re still going to choose this. Choose me.”
“I will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” I agree. “But I know I want to. And I know I’m willing to do whatever it takes to show you.”
Another long pause. Then she steps back from the doorway.
“Come inside,” she says. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”