Chapter Nineteen #2
"We climbed our way out," Nash says. He walks over to the counter, pours himself a coffee, and leans against the island next to me.
He doesn't touch me. He doesn't put his arm around me. But he stands close, inside my personal space, close enough to say it without a word. Claimed.
Finn notices. His eyes flick from Nash to me, and a slow, smug grin spreads across his face.
"So," Finn says, leaning back against the refrigerator. "Successful trip, then? All objectives met?"
"Shut up, Finn," Nash says into his coffee cup.
"I didn't say anything!" Finn holds up his hands. "Just asking about the science. How was the … data collection?"
"The data is safe," I say, steady, though my face feels hot. "The hard drive is in the case."
"Speaking of the case," Nash says, looking at me. "You need to charge the satellite modem. Check your messages."
The reality of the world crashes back in. The grant. Dean Reynolds. The deadline.
"Right," I say, setting down the half-eaten roll. "I need to … I need to see if I still have a job."
I grab the case with my laptop and carry it to the great room. Finn's satellite modem sits on the shelf by the window, already plugged in. I connect, and the laptop hums to life.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The notifications cascade down the screen like a waterfall. 14 Unread Emails. 6 Missed Calls. URGENT: Grant Compliance Warning.
My stomach drops. The cinnamon roll turns to lead.
I click on the most recent email from Dean Reynolds. The subject line is in all caps:
IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED.
Dr. Thorne,
Per our previous correspondence, your failure to complete the scheduled Friday check-in, followed by six days of unexplained radio silence, constitutes a breach of the safety and compliance protocols outlined in your grant agreement.
As of this morning, the University Oversight Committee has placed a temporary freeze on your funding disbursement.
Unless you can provide immediate, verified data proving the viability of the project and a satisfactory explanation for the communication blackout within 48 hours, the expedition will be formally recalled.
Regards,
Dean Reynolds
I stare at the screen. Forty-eight hours. That was sent yesterday morning.
"Bad news?"
I jump. Nash is standing behind the sofa.
"They froze the funds," I whisper. "He actually did it."
Nash walks around the sofa and sits down next to me. He reads the email over my shoulder.
"Forty-eight hours," he reads. "Sent yesterday at 9:00 a.m. You have until tomorrow morning."
"I have to send the data," I say, my fingers flying across the trackpad. "I have to upload the GPS tracks, the photos, the behavioral logs. If I can show them what we found, the adaptive feeding, the predator avoidance strategy, they can't cancel it."
"Can you upload it from here?"
"The connection is too slow for the raw files," I say, watching the Wi-Fi icon struggle. "It's satellite internet. It'll take days to upload the high-res images. I need fiber optic. I need the university server."
I look up at Nash. "I have to go to Fairbanks. Now."
Nash looks at the clock on the wall. "The last flight out of Port Promise was at noon, and Hank's done for the day."
"Then I have to go tomorrow morning," I say. "First flight. If I can get to the campus before nine, I can upload everything directly to the mainframe. Over the fiber line, I can walk into Reynolds's office with the data already in hand."
"Tomorrow," Nash repeats.
The word hangs between us, heavy and final.
"I can't lose this, Nash," I say, pleading with him to understand. "It's not just the job. It's the promise. We did the hard part. We survived the climb. I can't let a bureaucrat kill it because of a bad internet connection."
"I know," Nash says. He reaches out and covers my hand on the keyboard. His skin is warm, rough, reassuring. "I know. We'll get you on the plane. Hank owes me a favor; he'll fly you out at first light."
"Thank you."
"But tonight," Nash says, standing up and pulling me with him. "Tonight, you are not Dr. Thorne, the panicked academic. You are Aris. And you need a shower."
He leads me toward the hallway. "Go. Get clean. I'll talk to Finn about the plane."
I walk into the guest bathroom, the luxury of tile and porcelain feeling alien, and turn on the shower. When I look in the mirror, I stop.
The woman staring back at me is a stranger. Her hair is matted with sweat and pine needles. Her face is thin, the cheekbones sharper than I remember. There's a dark bruise on her jaw and a scrape across her cheek. Her eyes are wide, dark, and fierce.
Whoever she is, she's no tenure-track professor. She looks like someone who clawed her way up a mountain while being hunted by wolves.
I touch the glass. You changed, I tell my reflection. You adapted.
I strip off the dirty base layers and step under the hot water. It feels incredible. I scrub the soot and the fear from my skin.
When I step out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, I feel human again. But underneath the clean skin, the muscle memory of the climb is still there.
I open the door to the room Mags made up for us.
Nash is there.
He's showered too. His hair is wet, darker than usual, and combed back. He's wearing clean jeans and a gray flannel shirt that fits his broad shoulders perfectly. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands.
He looks up when I enter. His gaze sweeps over me, the towel, the damp hair, the bare shoulders, and the hunger in his eyes is immediate and raw.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey." I clutch the towel tighter. "Did you talk to Hank?"
"Yeah. He'll be at the dock tomorrow morning. Seven AM."
"Okay."
"So," Nash says, standing up. "This is it. The last night."
"The last night in Port Promise," I correct him. "Not the last night forever."
"Fairbanks is a long way away, Aris."
"It's a one-hour flight," I say, stepping toward him. "And I have tenure review in the fall. But … summer is coming. Fieldwork season."
"You planning on coming back?"
"I have a herd to track. I'm coming back next season with a full team to do the calving-ground work. And a very stubborn logistics expert I need to keep in line."
Nash's mouth curves, but his eyes don't follow. He steps closer, invading my space.
"You really think you can go back to that office and be happy?" he asks. "After the box canyon? After the river?"
"No," I admit. "I don't think I'll ever be the same. But that's the point, isn't it? I'm evolving."
I drop the towel.
Nash's breath hitches. He reaches out, his hands spanning my waist, pulling me against him.
"Then evolve with me," he whispers.
He kisses me. This kiss is nothing like the desperate, survival-driven one in the tent. It's slow and deliberate, a kiss trying to memorize the taste of my mouth, because it knows that tomorrow there will be a hundred and fifty miles between us.
He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down.
"We have a door," I whisper.
"We have a lock," Nash says.
He looms over me, bracing his hands on the pillow. "No wolves tonight, Aris. No storms. Just us."
"Just us," I agree.
And as he lowers himself onto me, I push the emails and the dean and the grant to the back of my mind. I lock them away in a mental box marked Tomorrow.
Tonight, I am not a scientist. I am not a variable.
I am the woman who climbed the mountain. And I am exactly where I belong.