Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Wyatt
The shower’s hot enough to sting, but I stand there anyway, letting the water beat against my shoulders until the room fills with steam.
I close my eyes and wish like hell the plow would turn around and crawl back down the mountain.
Just a few more hours.
A few more laughs.
A few more mornings of waking up with her soft curves pressed against me.
But wishing doesn’t change a damn thing.
The road is clear.
She doesn’t belong up here anyway. It was my choice to live on this ridge, away from the world, away from noise and people and pain. That’s not her life. Gina’s used to city lights, chatter, cameras clicking, music playing. She deserves more than the quiet I’ve built for myself.
Still, the thought of her leaving twists something sharp inside my chest.
I reach for the soap, scrubbing hard, trying to focus on the rhythm instead of the ache.
But it’s useless. Visions of her fill every corner of my mind.
The way her thick auburn hair felt slipping through my fingers.
The warmth of her skin under my palms. The way she says my name in that breathless, trembling voice that makes every scar I carry fade for a second.
God help me—I don’t want her to go.
And if I don’t want her to leave, what the hell am I going to do about it?
I turn off the water and grab a towel; my reflection fogging in the mirror. I pull on clean jeans and a flannel shirt and dress without fully drying off. With my shirt sticking to my skin, I start pacing the room. If I want her to stay, I’m going to have to ask her. But what should I say?
Gina, you don’t have anywhere to be right now. Why don’t you stay here? I mutter, running a hand through my hair. No. That sounds all wrong. It’s too casual.
Gina, I have plenty of room. Why don’t you stay for a while? No. I don’t want her as a guest.
I want her as mine.
Lucky’s dream flashes through my head, the one he used to talk about over cold MREs and sandstorms. A cabin in the mountains. Cats. Laughter. Kids running around. A life worth fighting for.
It punches me right in the gut because that’s exactly what I want—with her.
Babies. Morning coffee. Her laughter echoing through these walls every damn day.
I roll out my shoulders, take a deep breath, and settle on the only words that feel right.
Gina, don’t leave. Stay with me. Forever.
Short. Honest. To the point.
I say it one more time, just to hear it one more time. Convinced that it’s right, I open the bedroom door.
“Gina?”
Lucky pads across the floor, his tail flicking. He looks at me, lets out a sharp hiss, and darts toward the window.
“What’s wrong with you, buddy?”
The silence answers me. It’s heavy and all wrong.
I step into the living room. Her blanket’s folded neatly on the sofa. Her mug’s rinsed and turned upside down on a mat next to the sink. My stomach drops.
“Gina?”
Nothing.
I run down the hall, yank open the spare room door—empty. The ridiculous little ballet flats that made me laugh the first day I saw them are gone.
Panic slams through me. I charge back to the front door, fling it open, and see the prints in the snow—small, neat steps leading down the drive.
“She’s gone,” I whisper.
My knees nearly buckle. I know what she did. She saw the plow and hitched a ride down the mountain.
And I let her.
For the first time in years, the quiet feels unbearable.
“Not this time,” I growl, grabbing my coat from the peg and storming into the barn. I grab a shovel, clearing snow like a man possessed. My breath burns in the cold air, my muscles screaming, but I keep going.
If Gus is still making his rounds, I can catch him before he reaches the bottom. Maybe—just maybe—there’s still time.
I throw the shovel aside, start the truck, and gun the engine. The tires spin in the slush, spitting ice, but I grip the wheel hard and aim for the main road.
Hold on, Red.
I’m coming for you.