Chapter 10 Becken
Becken
Evening settled around the cabin like a blanket, muffling the sounds of the storm outside.
The battery-powered lamp cast a warm glow over our small space, making everything feel intimate despite the howling wind beyond the walls.
Carla had won the last three hands of gin rummy, and I was beginning to suspect she’d fooled me into thinking I was improving.
“Tell me more about Wexla,” she said, gathering the cards for another shuffle. “But only if you want to.”
The request should’ve closed me off completely. Instead, I found myself considering it. All day, Carla had shared pieces of herself. Her childhood disappointments. Her dreams for her career. The loneliness she carried like a boulder on her back. Her honesty deserved the same from me in return.
“We met during a clan gathering when I was twenty-three.” I watched her deal the cards. “She was visiting from a neighboring territory with her family. I’d been struggling to find my place in the community.”
“In what way?”
“I was too serious. Too focused on work. Other orcs my age were finding love, starting families. I preferred sorhoxes to social gatherings.” I picked up my cards but didn’t look at them. “Wexla was different. She didn’t expect me to be someone I wasn’t.”
“She accepted your grumpiness?” A hint of teasing colored Carla’s voice.
“She found it amusing rather than off-putting.” The memory brought an unexpected smile.
“When her family returned home, she stayed, taking a job in my city, seeking me when she was free. She’d bring art supplies to the sorhox pens and sketch while I worked.
We’d spend hours together without feeling the need to fill the silence with conversation. ”
“That sounds peaceful.”
“It was. We courted for two years before I asked her to be my mate. We fit so well together. We wanted similar things from life. A home. Younglings. And a person who accepts the other for who they are.”
Carla arranged her cards, but I could feel her attention focused entirely on me. “When did she get sick?”
“Three years ago. She started tiring easily, losing weight. The healers thought it was stress from caring for her aging mother who’d moved in with us.” My throat closed off with the familiar helplessness. “By the time we understood how serious it was, the illness had spread through her body.”
“What did you do?”
“Everything possible. Consulted every healer in the kingdom, tried traditional remedies. Spent our savings on experimental medicines.” I set down my cards and got up to pace, needing to move. “Nothing worked. The illness wore her out until there was nothing left of the female I loved.”
I walked to the window, looking out at the swirling snow. “Her last six months were hard. She grew weaker, and she needed constant care. She was in incredible pain. I took leave from work to stay with her.”
“That must’ve been exhausting.”
“I didn’t mind. She’d have done the same for me.” I pressed my palm against the cold glass. “Watching someone you care about fade away while knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it is pure torture.”
“I can’t imagine.”
Her voice held no pity, no false sympathy. Just understanding, which somehow made it easier to continue.
“The night she died, she made me promise to live fully. Not to let grief become my permanent home.” I turned back to face her. “I thought I was honoring that promise by coming to the surface to start over. But I’ve spent the last six months existing.”
“Grief wears you out. It sucks away all your joy.”
She’d lost her parents; she’d know. “Lately…” I hesitated, then plunged ahead.
“I’ve been feeling guilty because some days I don’t think about her at all.
Hours pass without that sad, lonely feeling latching onto my heart and squeezing it.
I catch myself laughing, planning for the future, feeling hope. ”
“That’s healing, not betrayal.”
“How can you be sure?”
Carla set down her cards. “Because healing is what the people who love us want for us. Taking joy from life again doesn’t dishonor her memory. It honors the love she had for you.”
“What if I forget her? What if someday I can’t remember the sound of her laugh or the way she smelled like paint and flowers?”
“Then you’ll remember other things. The way she made you feel loved. How she accepted you as you are. The peace you found together.” Carla’s eyes held gentle certainty. “Love doesn’t disappear when the details fade. It changes into something that lets us love again.”
My chest loosened. For months, I’d carried guilt like a weight, convinced that moving forward meant leaving Wexla behind. But Carla was right. Wexla would want me to be happy. She’d told me that before she died.
“Thank you for not telling me to move on or that she’s in a better place or any of the other things people say when they don’t know what else to offer.”
“Grief isn’t something you move on from.
It’s something you carry in different ways as time passes.
It roars in and chokes you, but then it eases off.
The easing off period grows longer, and you find you can smile about the person you lost without tears stinging your eyes.
” She picked up the cards again. “Ready for another game? I promise not to beat you this time.”
The shift to lighter conversation felt good, and I joined her on the bed. We played cards as the evening passed, and I was able to laugh when she accused me of cheating after I managed to win with a particularly good hand.
“You palmed that seven of spades,” she said, her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.
“Orcs don’t cheat at cards.”
“I thought orcs don’t play cards.”
“We don’t.”
Her laugh snorted out. “What do orcs cheat at then?”
“Wrestling matches. Drinking contests. Anything involving physical prowess.” I grinned at her. “Cards require mental agility. I believe it’s a much more honorable game.”
“Mental agility, huh?” She shuffled the deck with theatrical flair. “In that case, prepare to be dominated.”
As the night grew later, we fell into the routine of preparing for bed. This time, there was less awkwardness about the shared sleeping space. When I offered to carry her to the bathroom, she tested her weight on her injured ankle.
“I think I can walk a little.” She took a careful step.
“Don’t push it.” I swept her into my arms before she could protest. “Better safe than to fall in the snow. You could be hurt all over again.” A great excuse, but inside, I knew I was lying. I enjoyed holding her in my arms.
“You like carrying me around,” she said, though her tone held no complaint.
“It’s practical,” I said, echoing her earlier words.
“Right. Practical.”
But she relaxed against my chest, and I took the longer route to the bathroom just to extend the contact.
When we returned, she settled on her side of the bed while I arranged things for the morning. The domestic routine felt natural in a way that should have alarmed me.
“Becken?”
I looked up to find her watching me, a hint of vulnerability in her expression.
“What you said earlier, about hours passing without grief? I think that means you’re ready to live again. Really live, not just survive.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you’re here with me, sharing stories and playing cards and making sure I don’t freeze to death. You’re taking care of someone again.” Her smile held a touch of sadness. “That’s not surviving. That’s choosing to engage with life.”
I turned off the lamp and settled under the blankets on my side of the bed, conscious of her lying a short distance away.
Tonight, neither of us retreated to the far edges of the mattress.
We lay facing each other in the darkness, close enough that I could hear her breathing, feel the warmth radiating from her body.
“Carla?”
“Mmm?”
“I’ve enjoyed this time with you.”
Her pause went on for a long time before her voice came out in a whisper. “Me too.”
The storm continued, but inside our little cabin, the world felt peaceful.
As sleep started to drag me down, I thought about Wexla, and I wondered what she’d think of Carla.
My mate would like her. She’d appreciate Carla’s determination, her kindness toward a grumpy orc who’d forgotten how to be anything but competent. She’d probably tease me about my obvious attraction to a human who challenged me at every turn.
The thought followed me into sleep, where I didn’t dream of grief and loss, but of auburn hair catching lamplight and brown eyes that saw past my defenses to the male I was slowly remembering how to be.