Chapter 7 Willa #2
It wasn’t supposed to be a romantic gesture. She held it the way you hold someone’s hand when they have said a true thing, and you want them to know you’ve heard it.
“Thank you,” Willa said. “For being here. For the past ten years. For all of it.” His eyes met hers. “For my kids. For me.” She swallowed. “For going into the water yesterday.”
“Willa,” Ace stopped her. His hands were slightly squeezing hers.
“I mean it,” Willa persisted. “All of it. I need you to know I mean it.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
She became aware that he hadn’t moved his hand.
“I’ll always be there,” Ace told her. His voice was low and hoarse. His eyes darkened with emotion. “For you and for the kids. That’s not going to change.”
She looked at him then.
“You stayed,” Willa pointed out. “After Shaun. You stayed in Sandpiper Shores, and I’ve never once asked you if that’s what you actually wanted, or whether you stayed because of us. Or because of that promise you made to Shaun.”
“Willa.” Ace’s voice was very calm. “I stayed because it’s my home. Because the people I love are here.” He looked at her steadily. “That was my choice. Not a sacrifice. Not an obligation. My choice.”
She felt the truth of it. The directness of it. No performance in it.
“Still,” Willa pushed on. “I’ve held onto you, and I haven’t always been—” She stopped and thought about the breakfast table that morning. The cold, precise way she’d aimed at him over something she had no right to aim at him about. “I haven’t always been fair to you.”
“You’ve been human,” Ace said simply. “That’s allowed.”
The fire shifted, sending a brief warmth across them both. But the rest of the cave seemed to shrink away, leaving only them.
They leaned closer together without either of them making the decision to.
Willa could feel the warmth of him. She could feel the pull of the past ten years, the weight of everything that had happened on the island.
All the impossible things that happened in the spaces between people who had known each other long enough and honestly enough that pretending became exhausting.
Then the tarpaulin blew open.
The wind hit with a sharp, sudden force, and the weighted edge of the makeshift door tore free from two of its stones, billowing in the cold, wet air that rushed through the opening, sending the fire reeling to one side and bringing two of the sleeping teenagers upright with startled cries.
They were both moving before the thought arrived.
Willa reached the edge of the tarpaulin and grabbed it with both hands, fighting the wind’s pull, her feet sliding on the damp rock near the entrance.
Ace was beside her in a second, his hands over hers on the fabric, his weight braced against the frame they had built from branches the previous evening.
“Hold it,” Ace called over the howling gusts.
“I have it,” Willa told him.
They pulled the edge down together, the wind fighting them for it, and Ace used his knee to pin the corner while he repositioned the stones, and Willa held the fabric taut, desperately trying not to let go.
After about thirty seconds of genuine effort, the tarpaulin was secured again, and the wind was outside where it belonged.
Willa stepped back from the entrance, and her foot hit a slick patch of rock.
She felt the moment of no return, that instant when the body knows before the mind does that the ground is gone and there is nothing to do but fall.
But before Willa hit the ground, Ace’s hands were on her arms, and she wasn’t falling anymore.
Willa was being held, caught cleanly and firmly, her hands coming up to grip his jacket as he pulled her back from the entrance edge.
They stood in the relative warmth of the cave interior, breathing hard, his hands still on her arms, hers still on his jacket.
She looked up at him.
He looked down at her.
The cave was very quiet around them. The fire had settled back to its steady pulse. Outside, the wind pressed at the tarpaulin and held. Nobody spoke.
Then his head dipped, and he kissed her.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t preceded by any announcement.
He simply lowered his head and kissed her.
A toe-curling warmth spread through Willa, and for a moment, the cave, the storm, the cold, the exhaustion, and the ten years of careful, managed distance all went somewhere else entirely.
There was only this, only him, only the warmth of it and the startling, quiet rightness of it.
Then they pulled apart.
Willa stared at him, blinking in surprise.
Ace looked back at her with an expression she’d never seen on his face before, or rather, one she’d seen but never allowed herself to name. The silence between them was the loudest thing in the cave.
“Ace,” Willa said finally.
“I know,” Ace said.
“It’s been a long day,” Willa babbled, grasping for words, wondering what to do next. “A long night. We’re both—”
“Willa,” Ace said gently. His hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders.
She stopped and stared at him, her mind racing as fast as her heart.
“It’s been a long day,” Willa repeated stupidly.
“It hasn’t been a long day for me,” Ace said, and Willa was sure he was no longer speaking about their disastrous camping trip, although he kept his voice low so only she could hear. “It’s been a long, hard twenty years.”
Willa’s brows shot up at his words, and she blinked at him as realization started to seep through her confused brain. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come as Ace stood watching her intently.
Willa tried her vocal cords once again, croaking out, “Ace, I…” I what? Her mind screamed. What is going on here? She knew full well, but Willa just didn’t want to register it.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” Ace assured her. His eyes held hers steadily. “But I need you to know this because I’m just done pretending. Especially after today, when I nearly lost you for good.”
She opened her mouth. Again, her words failed her, so instead of standing gaping at him like a fish, Willa closed it.
“I’ve been in love with you from the moment I met you, Willa.
” Ace’s voice was filled with emotion, and his eyes shone with love.
“But so did my best friend, and the two of you were so good together. I never once doubted that you were meant to be.” He swallowed.
“I’ve held back for so long. I…” He breathed, and Willa could see he was struggling as love wasn’t the only thing shining in his eyes.
It was mixed with guilt. “But earlier…” A muscle ticked at the side of his jaw. “This is going to sound crazy.”
Before he could finish, a voice called from across the cave.
“Mom,” Andy called. “Is there water? My mouth and throat are so dry.”
A strange cowardly relief washed over her as she quickly stepped away from Ace. “I… I have to go see to Andy.”
“Yeah,” Ace nodded, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “Of course.”
“Coming, Andy,” Willa called back and hurried away, forcing herself not to turn back and glance at Ace.
Her mind was in turmoil, just like her emotions were.
Willa went to grab a bottle of water from the make-shift supply table, and that’s when she felt it.
A cold that didn’t make her shiver but wrapped around her like a soft hug.
A familiar waft of an aftershave she hadn’t smelt in ten years drifted past her nose.
Willa stiffened and looked at the bottle in her hand, wondering if the water was too cold, but it wasn’t; it was at room temperature.
She stood for a few seconds, frozen to the spot, not in fear but in fascination.
Wondering if she was having a psychotic episode or if she was still in the water and this was all a dream.
Then a soft voice so faint it was barely audible tickled her ear.
You need to let go and move, my love. It’s time.
Something stroked her cheek, like a soft kiss or caress, and then the cold was gone, leaving her feeling strangely alone and wanting to grasp at the air, trying to pull it back. Willa gave herself a mental shake. Good grief. What had just happened? Was she having a mental breakdown?
“Mom?” Andy called, pulling her from her reverie.
Willa glanced around the cave and then walked to her son, feeling strangely… free?