Chapter 5
Five
Three days of rain had been both a blessing and a curse.
Noah stared out the window of his office as another downpour arrived with vengeance, the glass streaked with water running in rivulets. The world outside was reduced to gray shapes and the steady drumming on the roof.
The rain had kept most people from taking too many chances in the canyon over the weekend.
But it had also made it impossible to return to the cave to seal it.
Not that they’d gotten approval. The most Virgil had agreed to was to rope it off with warning tape.
But going back also meant watching Meg walk in there.
He should never have agreed to let her go.
But even two days later, he hadn’t come up with a good reason for her not to.
Eden stepped into the room. “Just got a call about a—whoa there, Thor. You look terrible. Maybe I’ll call Teague.”
“No.” He held out his hand for the note she was holding. If he could just get through today, finish the patrol schedule, and make sure everyone was covered…“I’ve got it.”
She reluctantly passed it over. “Three trees came down blocking the trail, and some hikers are trying to figure out a way around it.”
Noah rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The ranger station’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a persistent headache. The chaos over the past couple weeks—fights, rescues, endless patrols—piled up and weighed him down.
He leaned over the map spread on the table and searched for the coordinates Eden had given him. But his vision blurred and doubled, lines swimming like they were underwater.
He blinked hard. The X he’d just marked was…gone? No, there. Or was that a different one? He needed sleep. But people needed him more.
He wouldn’t let another person down. Not again.
Liam’s voice echoed down the hall before he appeared in the doorway. “Whoa, boss. You look terrible.”
He wished people would stop saying that. “I’m fine.” The words scraped against his throat like sandpaper.
Liam exchanged a look with Teague.
When had Teague walked in?
“I told you.” Eden was there again with her arms crossed. She must have called them.
“Would you all relax? I’m fine.” He looked back at the map and squinted. The trees. The hikers. He had to coordinate the rescue before dark, before the cold set in. “We need to get a team out there before—”
Meg stepped in with her medic bag slung over one shoulder, eyes blazing. “Eden told me you’re sick and won’t admit it. No doubt still trying to save everyone on your own.”
Caught.
But this wasn’t just about keeping others safe. If he admitted weakness, if he let them see him break, he’d have to face why he drove himself this hard in the first place. Why he couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t rest.
And he wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not with Meg watching him with those knowing blue eyes that saw too much.
“It’s just allergies.”
“Then you won’t mind if I check your vitals.” She moved toward him with that determined look that said arguing was pointless.
He dropped the marker and leaned against the map table. “I’m a little tired.”
She angled toward him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo—something floral and clean. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves. “Exhaustion is a liability, Noah.”
He ran a hand through his hair. The room felt like it was tilting. Or maybe that was him.
Meg placed her cool hand on his forehead. The touch grounded him and made the spinning slow. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine. It’s just warm in here.” But even as he said it, chills raced down his spine.
She lifted his arm and rolled up his sleeve. “Stitches look good. No redness.” She released a deep sigh. “Probably viral. But you need water, medication, and sleep.”
“Can’t.” He tapped the map, but his finger missed the mark. “We have people to save. The hikers—they’re stuck and it’ll be dark in four hours.”
“Teague and I will handle it.” Liam’s voice held an edge he rarely used. “Trust us to do our job. You go to bed.”
“But the cave—”
“Isn’t a problem for today,” Teague cut in as he stepped closer. “We’ll patrol it tomorrow. The world won’t end if you rest for twelve hours.”
Won’t it?
The thought came unbidden, irrational but persistent. Because the last time he’d let someone else take the wheel, the last time he’d believed everything would be fine…
He stood upright and his body swayed. Suddenly Teague’s hand was on his shoulder, gripping tight enough to steady him.
“That’s it.” Meg’s voice went firm. “Head to your cabin and I’ll check on you in fifteen minutes. And before you argue, you’re not driving anywhere. You can barely stand. Someone needs to monitor that fever.”
She seemed to be waiting for him to tell her no, to push her away again like he always did. But right now, he didn’t have the strength to deny what he desperately wanted—her.
When he only nodded, she left.
Leaving Noah fifteen minutes to think about why letting her be there for him—be close to him—was a very bad idea.
“Need help back to your place, boss?” Liam eyed him.
“Now that I’m up, I’m fine. It was just a head rush.”
Neither of them looked convinced, but they didn’t argue as they left. Although he was calling himself a fool the very next minute. A fool to not take the offered help and a fool to let Meg check on him.
But the entire walk back to staff cabins, all through his quick shower where he had to brace himself against the tile wall, while he collapsed onto the couch in his one-bedroom private unit, he couldn’t make himself call and tell her not to come.
And when she rapped softly on the door thirty minutes later holding a bowl of hot soup, some Gatorade, and his favorite movie on DVD, he just opened the door wider and invited her in without words.
“Sorry I’m late. Something at the clinic needed my attention.” She set the bowl on the side table next to his nest of blankets, put in the DVD, then chose the recliner across from him.
But as much as he loved this movie—had watched it dozens of times—he couldn’t focus on anything but the brunette stretched out in his La-Z-Boy a few feet away.
“You should eat,” she said without looking at him.
He picked up the spoon, but his hand trembled. Everything felt loose and disconnected. Like he was floating three feet above his body.
“Noah?” Meg’s voice pulled him back. She paused the movie. “You okay?”
“She was killed in a car accident. A guy was on his phone and missed the red light.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
Meg went very still.
Why had he just said that? Because he wanted her to know. Usually he was able to talk himself out of it, to build the walls back up. But right now, he didn’t have that much self-control. The fever had stripped him bare.
“By the time I got to the hospital”—his throat closed—“Penelope was already gone. Mary held on for two hours. Just long enough for me to…” Say goodbye. Tell her he loved her. Watch the light leave her eyes.
Meg’s hand landed on his.
“I should’ve been there.” The fever made everything raw, every nerve exposed, and stripped away the walls he’d spent three years building.
“I should’ve been driving. Maybe I could’ve…
I was supposed to protect them.” His vision blurred.
He wasn’t sure if it was tears or fever.
“That’s my job. I protect people. But I couldn’t… I didn’t…”
Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “You work yourself into the ground because if you stop, if you rest, someone might get hurt on your watch.”
He closed his eyes.
“But you can’t save everyone, Noah. And burning yourself out won’t bring them back.” Her cool hand brushed back his hair.
This was the calmest he’d felt in a long time. The constant roar in his head quieted to a whisper.
Closing yourself off to the pain also closes you off to the joy—something amazing God might still have for you. Will’s words from a couple weeks ago drilled right through him.
How easy would it be to let himself love Meg?
But loving her and then losing her? He didn’t think he had the strength to bury another person he loved. Didn’t think he could survive that grief again.
A million catchphrases from church echoed in his ears, platitudes he’d heard at Mary’s funeral. All about trusting God. All about letting go of control. All were well-meaning, but he wondered whether the person who first coined them had ever walked through real grief.
Real pain.
The type of pain that steals your breath and consumes your whole body, that makes you wish you could cease existing just to make it stop.
Meg must have thought he’d fallen asleep because she restarted the movie and lowered the volume. When she laughed at something on the screen—that bright, uninhibited sound—he forced his eyes open to watch her. A grin stretched from ear to ear.
And she was…breathtaking.
She wore a simple graphic tee with Chewbacca on it. Her hair was now up in a loopy bun on top of her head. She’d ditched her preferred contacts for the glasses she claimed to hate—black frames that suited her perfectly.
In that moment, he had no doubt she could be wearing a garbage bag and unbrushed hair and she would still be amazing, still be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
The realization hit him in the chest.
He’d been so busy trying not to fall for her that he hadn’t realized he already had. And keeping her at a distance wouldn’t make losing her any less painful. The damage was already done.
He loved the way she cared for people, fierce and gentle all at once.
The way her eyes disappeared when she laughed.
The way he could tell her anything—wanted to tell her everything.
The way she’d just sat here and listened to his worst moment without judgment or platitudes, without trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed.
He’d been locked away for so long. And she’d been the only person he wanted to open up to, the only person who made him want to try again, to risk his heart one more time.