Chapter 19 #2
He sat with the silence, letting it settle over him. His ribs ached. His temple throbbed with a low, steady beat that had been there since he woke and showed no interest in leaving. The concussion made the light from the window slightly too bright, so he shifted the chair until his back was to it.
Footsteps creaked in the hall outside. He turned his head toward the door too fast, and the headache spiked.
But it wasn’t Rainey.
Greta knocked twice, then came in without waiting for an answer because she had never once in their friendship waited for an answer.
She wore her typical trail clothes— cargo pants, a faded green fleece, her strawberry-blond braid pulled into a ponytail through the back of her baseball cap. She looked like she’d driven straight from the backcountry, which, knowing her, she probably had.
Her gaze swept him once, top to bottom. “My God, you look terrible.”
He glowered at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, quit mean-mugging. I’m visiting my friend, who looks like he needs a hug.”
“No—”
She ignored the protest, crossed the room, and put her arms around his shoulders. He stayed rigid for three seconds, then gave up fighting against the hug. The more he fought, the longer she’d hold, just to be spiteful. He knew from experience.
When she finally drew back, she studied his face again for a long beat. “You’re thinking about leaving.”
“I’m thinking about my horse.”
“Your horse is fine. Jonah found her, and she’s in the barn, safe and warm.”
Fuck. There went his excuse.
Greta pulled the other chair around and dropped into it backward, arms folded across the top rail. She’d always sat that way, like furniture was something to be argued with. She watched him with those pale green eyes that had a way of finding the seam in everything he put up.
“So,” she said. “You got yourself into one hell of a mess.”
“It’s your fault,” he muttered.
She blinked. “My fault.”
“I went to the Dead Marshall because I kept hearing your voice in my head nagging me about being lonely. So I went. I met Rainey. I stabbed a man. I spent a week on a mountain getting shot at, and I ended up in a hospital gown with my ass hanging out at Valor Ridge.” He scowled at her. “Your fault.”
Greta sat on the edge of the bed and was quiet for a moment. “Okay, yeah. I’ll take the blame for the most interesting thing that’s happened to you in eight years. So… you’re welcome.”
He almost laughed. It came close enough to the surface that he had to look away, which she noticed and had the grace not to remark on.
“Evander,” she said, her voice going soft. “Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Run away.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and when he turned back to look at her, the lightness had gone out of her face.
“You’re sitting there figuring out how fast you can get out of here.
How long until Bear clears you, what trail gets you back to your cabin fastest. You’re thinking about how to leave before anyone here expects you to stay.
“We’ve been friends for a while now.” She picked at a loose thread on her cargo pants.
“But I only just realized recently that I’m your only friend.
You’ve turned isolation into punishment and convinced yourself it’s just how you live.
And I let you, because you’re not mine to fix and I know better than to try. ”
“I like how I live.”
“That’s a bald-faced lie. Maybe it didn’t used to be, but it is now.
Whatever happened on that mountain this week changed you.
I can see it on you, and I have never once seen you look the way you looked walking through that gate last night with your ribs caved in and that woman’s arm through yours.
” She lifted her gaze to his and held it.
“Running back to your cabin won’t undo it.
You’ll still be changed. And you’ll just hate yourself more for not giving that change a shot. ”
He looked at the window. The pale Montana morning, the pines along the fence line, the edge of the barn roof visible at the corner.
“I’m not asking you to stay here forever,” Greta said.
“I’m not asking you to ask Valor Ridge to take you back, or to have some conversation with Walker, or to figure out the whole rest of it right now.
I’m asking you to—” She stopped. “I’ve spent years wishing you’d want more than survival for yourself.
That’s all. I’ve been watching you survive, and it is impressive, but it’s also exhausting to witness.
Now you might actually want something more, and I can’t stand back and watch you punish yourself for it. ”
He didn’t answer her right away.
The window held his attention. A pair of sparrows hopped the fence line below, indifferent to everything. A rooster crowed. Dogs barked. Men shouted to each other and laughed.
It was too much noise, and he missed his mountain already. That was the honest truth of it.
“Say something,” Greta said.
“You’re not wrong.”
She waited.
“Doesn’t change anything.”
“Evander—”
He turned from the window and looked at her directly, because she deserved that much.
“It doesn’t change the fundamental problem.
I put people in the ground because I trusted my own judgment.
Five of them. You’re telling me to stay here—” He stopped.
Started again, quieter. “There are men at this ranch who are trying to rebuild. Who need this place to be what it is. And I am not—” The word got stuck somewhere. He cleared his throat. “I’m not that.”
“Not what?”
“Safe.”
Greta stared at him for a long moment. The pale green eyes didn’t soften and didn’t look away. “Says who?”
“History.”
“Your history.” She stood up from the chair, pushed it back into place with the toe of her boot, and crossed her arms. “You made a catastrophic decision in a war zone, and men died because of it. You paid for it. You’ve spent every year since paying for it again.
At some point, Evander, this stopped being accountability and became punishment. ”
“Greta—”
“I’m not finished.” She held up a hand. “You know what I see when I look at this place? Men who were worse than broken when they got here. Men who have done terrible things. Some made selfish choices. Some lost control. Some knew better and did it anyway. And Walker took them in anyway, because he believes people can be more than the worst thing they ever did.” She dropped her hand. “But you won’t even let yourself try.”
He stayed quiet because what could he say to that? She’d hit the nail squarely on the head.
She shook her head and moved toward the door.
“If you disappear again,” she said, her hand on the frame, “I know where you live. And I own snowshoes.”
The door closed behind her.
Evander stayed where he was and closed his eyes.
Silence.
Finally.
You won’t even let yourself try.
Fuck.
His eyes popped open. He looked toward the window again. The sparrows had moved on. The fence line sat empty.
He pressed two fingers hard against his taped ribs. The pressure gave his mind somewhere else to go. Cold water did that. Cigarette burns did it better.
At some point, Evander, this stopped being accountability and became punishment.
He dropped his hand and breathed through the lingering pain.
Another set of footsteps came down the hall.
He knew Rainey’s footsteps.
Those weren’t hers.
He stared at the door.
He had wanted everyone gone. Now they were, and the silence he’d been wanting all morning was suddenly suffocating.
Why hadn’t she come in?
Maybe she was sleeping. Maybe she was with Brandt, or River, working through eight years in a single afternoon.
All of it reasonable.
None of it did anything about the fact that he’d been tracking the hall for hours, waiting on a set of footsteps that hadn’t come.
Fuck it.
He pushed himself out of the chair.
Pain washed his vision white. He braced a hand against the wall and breathed until the room steadied.
Then he went to find her.