Chapter 12 Amelia #3
"Exactly like that," I say, even though my hands are shaking so badly I have to clasp them behind my back so the kids won't see. "But first, we need to gather intel. That means finding clues. Can you each find me five different types of leaves? Different shapes, different sizes. Go!"
The kids scatter immediately, the game distracting them from their worry.
Riley finds a maple leaf almost immediately, Isaac discovers one with serrated edges.
They bring them to me one at a time, and I make a show of examining each one carefully, praising their excellent explorer skills, keeping my voice steady even though my vision is still spotted and my breathing is too fast and too shallow.
I'm trying to figure out which direction to go, scanning the trees for any kind of landmark or familiar feature, when I hear voices in the distance.
"Amelia! Riley! Isaac!"
Silas. That's Silas' voice, rough with worry.
"We're here!" I try to call back, but my voice comes out thin and breathless, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Riley, bless her, has louder lungs. "Dad! We're over here! We're finding leaves!"
The sound of running footsteps crashes through the underbrush, and then suddenly Silas and Wyatt are there, bursting through the trees with wild eyes and labored breathing. They must have been running, searching, and oh god they must have been so scared when they realized we were gone.
"Oh thank god," Silas breathes out, dropping to his knees in front of the kids. "You guys scared us. What happened?"
"We were looking for flowers," Riley explains, holding up her collection of leaves instead. "And then we were explorers! Look at all the different leaves we found!"
Isaac runs to Silas, launching himself at his father with the complete trust of a child who knows he'll be caught. "We were on an adventure, Dad! Miss Amelia said we were explorers!"
Silas pulls both kids into his arms, holding them tight, his eyes squeezed shut. Over their heads, his gaze finds mine, and I see the moment he really looks at me. The moment he sees past the smile I'm still forcing onto my face and recognizes the panic attack I'm barely holding at bay.
"Why don't you guys tell Wyatt all about your explorer adventure," Silas says gently, releasing the kids. "Show him all the leaves you found. I need to talk to Miss Amelia for a minute, okay?"
The kids immediately swarm Wyatt, chattering about their leaf collection and how they were super brave explorers.
Wyatt catches my eye over their heads, something dark and concerned in his expression, but he lets Silas handle it, gathering the kids and starting to guide them back toward what I assume is the main trail.
The second the kids are out of sight, my composure crumbles like wet paper.
My knees buckle. I don't even feel myself starting to fall, don't register the ground rushing up to meet me, but then Wyatt is there his hands catching my elbows, keeping me upright.
"I've got you," he murmurs, and then he's pulling me against his chest, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other hand cradling the back of my head. "Breathe with me, sweetheart. In and out. You're safe. I've got you."
But I can't breathe. My chest is locked up tight, my lungs refusing to expand, black spots swimming across my vision. My hands clutch at his shirt, fisting in the fabric, anchoring myself to him because he's the only solid thing in a world that's spinning out of control.
"In through your nose," Wyatt instructs, his voice low and steady against my ear. "Come on, sweetheart. Follow me. In for four."
He takes a deep, exaggerated breath, his chest expanding against mine. I try to follow, try to drag air into my collapsed lungs, but it comes in as a thin, wheezing gasp.
"That's it, that's good. Now hold for four." He holds his breath, waiting, and I try to do the same even though every instinct is screaming at me to gasp and pant and struggle. "Now out for four. Nice and slow."
He exhales, the breath warm against my temple, and I try to copy him. It takes several cycles, his steady counting and the solid warmth of his body against mine, before my breathing starts to even out. Before the black spots recede and the world stops tilting quite so violently.
When I can finally breathe without feeling like I'm suffocating, he walks me a few steps away from where Silas has the kids distracted, settling me down on a fallen log. He sits next to me, close enough that our thighs press together, and doesn't let go of my hand.
"What happened?" he asks gently.
"We got lost," I whisper, my voice raw and broken. "The kids wanted to look at flowers and I thought we were close enough to the trail but then I looked up and I couldn't see it anymore and I didn't know which way to go and—"
My voice cracks, words dissolving into a sob I can't quite hold back. Wyatt pulls me against his side, tucking my face into his shoulder, his hand running soothing patterns up and down my spine.
"You weren't lost for long," he says softly. "Twenty minutes, maybe. We noticed you'd wandered off the trail and started looking."
Twenty minutes. That's all it was. But it had felt like hours, like a lifetime, like being back in that parking lot with Vincent's taillights disappearing into the dark.
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I should have been more careful. I should have kept them closer to the trail. If something had happened to them—"
"Nothing happened to them," Wyatt interrupts firmly. "They're fine. You're fine. Everyone is safe."
"But I panicked." The shame of it burns through me, hot and acidic. "They could see me panicking and I tried to hide it but I couldn't breathe and the trees were closing in and all I could think about was—"
I cut myself off before I can finish that sentence, before I can tell him about Vincent and the parking lots and the rest stops and all the times I was left behind as punishment. Before I can expose just how broken I really am.
But Wyatt seems to understand anyway. His arm tightens around me, holding me closer. "What triggers you?" he asks quietly. "Being alone? Being lost?"
"Being abandoned," I admit, the word scraped raw from somewhere deep in my chest. The shame of saying it out loud is almost worse than the panic attack itself.
"He used to... Vincent used to leave me places.
Parking lots, rest stops, once at a mall three towns over without my phone or wallet.
He'd drive away and leave me there and I'd have to figure out how to get home or wait for him to come back and I never knew if he would come back and—"
I'm crying now, the tears hot and humiliating on my cheeks. Wyatt doesn't say anything, just holds me tighter, his hand steady on my back, letting me shatter against him.
When the tears finally slow, when I can breathe again without sobbing, he pulls back just enough to tilt my face up with his fingers under my chin. His blue eyes are blazing with something that looks like fury, but his touch is gentle.
"You're not alone anymore," he says, and there's steel underneath the softness. "Not ever. Do you understand? We will never leave you behind. Not in a parking lot, not in the woods, not anywhere. You're not a chore to be abandoned when someone's pissed off. You're—"
He stops, his jaw working like he's fighting with words that won't come. Then he takes a breath and tries again.
"You're important, Amelia. To us. To the kids. And we protect what's important to us."
The words settle into my chest, warm and foreign and terrifying.
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it physically hurts.
But Vincent said things like that too, in the beginning.
Said I was important, that he'd never hurt me, that he'd keep me safe.
And then he spent two years systematically destroying every piece of me he could reach.
But Wyatt isn't Vincent. I know that logically, rationally. Wyatt, who reads to the kids every night and makes sure I eat breakfast and catches me when I fall. Wyatt, who's holding me now like I'm something precious instead of something broken.
"Okay," I whisper, because I don't know what else to say.
Silas appears through the trees, having left the kids with what I assume is some kind of distraction. He crouches down in front of me, his dark eyes soft with concern.
"How are you doing?" he asks gently.
"I'm okay," I manage, though my voice is still shaky. "I'm sorry. I should have kept them closer to the trail."
"The kids are fine," Silas says firmly, echoing Wyatt's words. "They had a great adventure. But I don't want you worrying about getting lost again."
He pulls out his phone, tapping at the screen for a moment before handing it to me. "Put your number in and then go to your phone's settings. I'm going to share my location with you, and you're going to share yours with me. That way, if we ever get separated again, we can find each other."
I blink at him, confused. "You want to track me?"
"I want to make sure you're never lost again," he corrects gently. "So we can always find you. So you're never alone."
The gesture is so thoughtful, so protective without being controlling, that fresh tears spring to my eyes.
Vincent always tracked me, but it was about control, about making sure I couldn't escape, about catching me in lies he'd invented in his head.
This is different. This is about safety. About making sure I know I'm not alone.
I take his phone with trembling fingers and add my number, then fumble with my own phone to pull up the settings and share my location with him. When I hand his phone back, he smiles at me, warm and reassuring.
"There," he says softly. "Now I'll always be able to find you. And you'll always be able to find me."
"So we never lose you," Wyatt adds, his arm still around my shoulders.
The words feel like a promise. Like a vow. Like something I'm almost brave enough to believe in.
We make our way back to where the kids are waiting, Isaac showing off a rock he found while Silas was gone. The main trail is maybe fifty feet away, close enough that I can see how we got turned around, how the trees had hidden the path while we were focused on flowers and leaves.
The walk back to the car is slower than the walk out had been.
My legs feel shaky, unreliable, and I'm grateful when Wyatt stays close beside me, ready to catch me if I stumble.
Silas carries Isaac on his shoulders, the little boy chattering happily about all the adventures they're going to have next time, completely oblivious to the crisis that almost happened.
Riley walks next to me, her hand finding mine. She doesn't say anything about my red eyes or the tear tracks on my cheeks, just holds my hand and tells me about all the different flowers she wants to find next time we go exploring.
When we reach the parking lot, my legs finally give out. One second I'm walking, the next I'm stumbling, my knees buckling beneath me. Wyatt catches me before I hit the ground, his arm around my waist keeping me upright.
"I've got you," he murmurs, and then he's lifting me, one arm under my knees and the other around my back, carrying me the last few feet to the car like I weigh nothing at all.
I should protest. Should insist I can walk. Should be embarrassed that he's carrying me like a child while his children watch. But I'm so tired, wrung out from the panic attack and the adrenaline crash, that I just let my head rest against his chest and let him take care of me.
He settles me in the passenger seat, making sure I'm buckled in before closing the door gently.
Through the window, I watch him and Silas get the kids situated in their car seats, both men moving with practiced efficiency.
They're so good with Riley and Isaac, so patient and loving, and the kids are so clearly secure in their fathers' love.
I want that. The realization hits me with startling clarity. I want to be part of this family. I want Saturday morning cartoons and flower-hunting adventures and someone to catch me when I fall. I want to believe that I'm important, that I'm not alone, that I'll never be abandoned again.
I want to be brave enough to reach for it.
Silas climbs into the driver's seat, glancing over at me with concern. "You okay?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. He studies me for a moment longer before starting the engine, pulling out of the parking lot carefully.
Wyatt keeps up a steady stream of conversation with the kids from the back seat, asking them questions about their favorite parts of the hike, making them laugh with silly voices.
I close my eyes and let the sound of their voices wash over me, let myself feel safe in this car with these people. Let myself, just for a moment, believe that maybe I'm not alone anymore.