Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
JUNIE
I’m happy he’s here. Truly happy. Having my brother close again feels like part of me that was missing has finally come home.
We eat meals together every evening at the main lodge.
We talk late into the night about old memories and new dreams. He already loves the mountain.
He talks about helping build more cabins and learning to track with Thorne.
He even jokes about joining the Sunday dinners as a permanent member of this strange, wonderful family.
Yet every time I see him smile, a sharp pain twists in my chest. Because this new life came at a cost. I betrayed the man I love to get it.
Wyatt has not said he forgives me. He hasn’t said much at all about that night.
He’s kind. He’s patient. He still checks on me every day.
But the easy trust we once shared is gone.
I see it in the careful distance he keeps.
I feel it in the way his touches linger a second less than they used to.
I deserve that distance. I deserve every bit of hesitation.
How could anyone forgive what I did? I gave his name to dangerous people.
I handed him over without warning. I chose my brother over the man who saved me.
I do not deserve him. I never did.
I moved out of Wyatt’s cabin. The women helped me settle into a bedroom at the main lodge with Lily, Sadie’s fourteen-year-old sister.
Lily is quiet and kind. She lets me cry at night without asking too many questions.
She simply hands me tissues and sometimes braids my hair while I talk about nothing important.
Having her near helps. The lodge feels less empty.
But every night after the lights go out, the guilt returns.
I lie in the narrow bed and cry into my pillow until my eyes burn.
I cry for what I broke. I cry for the trust I destroyed.
I cry because I still love Wyatt with every piece of my heart, and I know I may have lost him forever.
During the day I try to stay busy. I help Harper in the garden.
I read to the little ones when Kayley needs a break.
I sit with Caleb while he works on his cabin and listen to him plan his future here.
He’s excited about everything. The fresh air.
The quiet nights. The people who treat him like family instead of a problem to solve.
I smile for him. I laugh when he jokes. But inside I carry the weight of what I did.
Every afternoon, though, there’s one thing I look forward to more than anything else.
Bird watching with Wyatt.
We meet at the same flat rock overlooking the valley almost every day.
He brings the binoculars and a thermos of huckleberry tea.
I bring a small notebook where I write down the birds we see.
We sit side by side on the blanket, shoulders almost touching but never quite.
The silence between us used to feel comfortable. Now it feels careful. Fragile.
Today the air is crisp and cool. A light breeze moves through the pines. Wyatt points out a pair of mountain chickadees flitting between branches.
“See the black caps?” he says quietly. “They mate for life. Once they choose each other, that’s it.”
I nod and write it down. My hand shakes a little. “That’s beautiful.”
We watch them for a long time. The birds chase each other through the trees, calling softly. Wyatt doesn’t speak for several minutes. When he does, his voice is low and steady.
“I understand why you left that morning,” he says. “I know you were scared for Caleb. I know you thought you had no choice. I get it, Junie. I really do.”
I swallow hard. Tears prick my eyes again. “But I still hurt you. I gave them your name. I put you in danger. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me either.”
He stays quiet for a while. A northern flicker lands on a nearby trunk and begins drumming. We both watch it.
“I’m not saying it doesn’t still hurt,” he finally replies.
“It does. Every time I think about it, it stings. But I also know you were backed into a corner. You were trying to save the only family you had left. That doesn’t make it okay.
But it makes it human. I just wish you would have come to me. Talked to me.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve. “I still feel like I don’t deserve to be here. With you. With any of you. I’m thinking about leaving. Greta at the Timber Creek diner has a room she’s willing to rent me, and a job at the diner. It’s honest work.”
Wyatt turns his head and looks at me. His gaze is steady and warm. “Don’t you are fucking leave me again.” His voice is thin and threadbare.
Tears stream down my face. “I feel like I don’t belong here. That you’d be happier if I disappeared.”
He grabs my face with both hands. “I love you so goddamn much. If you go down that mountain, I’ll follow.”
I cry harder. “I won’t leave you, Wyatt. Not again. I love you too, and I’m so so sorry that I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right.”
“You stay.” His eyes blaze into mine. “You don’t leave.”
I nod. “I can do that.”
We sit together until the sun starts to dip lower.
We talk about small things. The birds. The new garden plots.
How Caleb wants to learn to fish. Wyatt tells me stories from his time in the military, the lighter ones that make me smile.
I tell him about growing up with Caleb and the trouble we used to get into.
The conversation flows easier than it has in weeks.
Not perfect. Not like before. But real. Honest. A bridge we’re both willing to walk across, one careful step at a time.
As we walk back to the lodge together, our hands brush once. Neither of us pulls away. It’s a tiny thing. Barely anything at all. But it feels like hope.
That night I still cry in my bed. The guilt hasn’t vanished. The shame still sits heavy in my chest. But for the first time since I left that morning, I also feel something else.
A small, quiet belief that maybe we can rebuild something stronger than what we lost.
A friendship.
A future.
A love that survives mistakes and fear and impossible choices.
I fall asleep thinking about chickadees who choose each other for life. I wonder if people can do the same. I wonder if Wyatt and I still can.
Tomorrow we’ll go bird watching again.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
One slow, honest conversation at a time, until we find our way back to each other.
And I’m willing to wait as long as it takes.