Chapter 19
Nineteen
Paisley
The first hour after Chase left, I sat on the couch and stared at the door.
Not because I was planning anything. Not because I was thinking about ending it. But because for the first time in months, I was truly alone with my thoughts, and it scared the hell out of me.
Biscuit jumped up next to me, purring and kneading my thigh. I stroked the soft fur, trying to calm the racing of my heart. The cabin felt bigger without Chase in it. Emptier. The silence was loud, pressing in on me from all sides.
I closed my eyes and took a breath. Then another.
"I'm okay," I whispered to the cat. "I'm okay."
And the strange thing was, I realized I meant it.
I thought back to that day in the field. The rain, the gun, the thought that there was nothing left for me. I remembered the weight of that decision, how heavy it had been, how final. I remembered thinking that this was the only way out.
But sitting here now, in Chase's cabin with his cat purring in my lap, I understand something I hadn't before.
I never actually wanted to die.
What I wanted was out. Out of the situation with Stanley. Out of the betrayal and the lies and the loss of my baby. Out of feeling like I was drowning every single day with no one to pull me out of the deep end.
And I'd gotten out, hadn't I? Just not the way I planned.
Chase had pulled me out. He'd dragged me from that car, brought me to this cabin, and given me space to breathe. To heal. To remember who I was before Stanley destroyed everything.
I'm still devastated about losing the baby.
That pain hasn't gone away, and I don't think it ever will completely.
Some losses you carry forever. But I can look at that loss now without it crushing me entirely.
I can hold the grief and the anger and the sadness, and still see that there's more to my life than this one terrible thing.
I'm in a better place. Literally and figuratively.
Mentally, I'm not where I was in that field. I'm finding my footing. And maybe I have been finding a little every single day. It's been building, brick by brick, until I didn't realize I'm standing on solid ground. But right now? It hits me right in the chest.
And living here with Chase? That's part of it too. This cabin has become a sanctuary. A place where I can just be, without judgment or expectations or having to pretend I'm okay when I'm not.
"He trusts me," I told Biscuit, scratching behind his ears. "He left me here alone because he trusts me."
That thought settles the nerves in my chest. Chase, who barely knew me, who had every reason to think I might try again, trusted me enough to leave. That means so much to me.
I stand up, dislodging the cat, and look around the cabin. The puzzle we started the other night is on the card table and almost complete. The dishes from breakfast are washed and drying by the sink. The fire is burning low, so I add another log, watching as the flames engulf the new addition.
Then I see the laptop sitting on the side table.
My fingers itch to open it. I've been thinking about my book, I started a few days ago. The words have been coming easier than I expected, like they've been building up inside me for years, just waiting for the chance to get out.
I sit back down, pull the laptop onto my knees, and open it. The document loads, and I read over the last paragraph I wrote. It's not my life, but there's pieces of my pain woven through it. The betrayal, the feeling of being trapped, the desperation.
But I'm transforming it into something else. Something I control. Which is what I didn't have when I was in that field. Taking control of my life is what I've been doing since the moment I stepped into this cabin. It's given me the safety to do what I'm doing now.
I start typing.
The words flow, and I lose myself in the story. Emma is running through a dark forest, chased by someone she thought she could trust. The tension is thick, the fear palpable. I can feel her heart racing, hear her gasping breaths, see the shadows closing in around her, as I type out the scenario.
I'm so deep in the scene that when the door suddenly flies open, I scream.
Chase screams too, his hand going to his chest.
Biscuit, startled by both of us, shoots off the couch and dives under it, her tail puffed up and fanned out.
For a second, we just stare at each other, both of us wide-eyed and breathing hard.
Then Chase starts laughing. "Jesus Christ, Paisley. I thought something was wrong."
"I was writing," I say, my heart still pounding. "You scared me."
"You scared me too." He pulls off his hat, running his hand through his hair. Snow is melting on his shoulders. "I heard you scream and thought..."
He doesn't finish the sentence, but I know what he thought. I set the laptop aside and stand, crossing to him.
"I'm okay," I tell him. "I was just really into the scene I was writing."
His eyes search mine. "How did you do? Being alone?"
I take a breath, and then I tell him the truth.
"I was nervous at first. But then I realized something.
I never wanted to kill myself, Chase. What I wanted was out of the situation I was in.
And I'm out now. I'm here. With you. And while I'm still really upset about losing my baby, I can see that I'm in a better place. Both mentally and physically."
Something in his face softens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I reach up and touch his cold cheek. "I'm glad you trusted me to stay here by myself."
"I'm glad I did too." He pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly, pressing my face against his chest. He smells like cold air and horse and leather.
When he tips my chin up and kisses me, it's different than before. There's relief in it, and gratitude, and a feeling deeper that neither of us has named yet.
But we will. Eventually.
For now, this is enough.