Chapter 29 #4
Gunnar shouted something unintelligible as he heaved the weaker of the two pilots into the cabin, assisted by the hand of the other, who had already successfully shimmied in.
Tobin didn’t envy either of them. She knew exactly how terrified they’d been on the way down—and exactly how long their impending recovery would be.
By her estimation, one sported a broken arm and likely a dislocated shoulder; the other had severe burns and deep lacerations along one leg.
Still, the fact that they were both conscious gave them a considerable edge over her own crash and recovery. For that, she was deeply grateful.
“Thanks for the ride,” Gunnar quipped as he hauled himself back into the cabin. “Now get this bird in the air!”
“We’re gonna have to perform a hover check!” Njáll barked into their mics.
“I figured,” Tobin grunted, teeth already clenched in preparation for the rough lift-off.
Together, she and Njáll fought the thin, heated air, managing to hover for only a few seconds before the skids slapped back down in defiance.
It took them four tries before they were able to hover long enough to pivot the nose with the wind.
With Gunnar yelling obscenities at them from the cabin, their fourth attempt aligned with a gust of wind—it was still Iceland, after all.
The helicopter bucked, bounced—and then surged upward, the lift finally catching them and pulling their weight away from the molten earth.
Once they’d climbed to a comfortable altitude, Tobin felt her body relax, and she settled into the rhythm of routine flight.
Behind her, Gunnar grunted, and Njáll chuckled airily beside her. “Good thing we got off the ground when we did,” he said, turning toward her with a sly grin. “I was about to sacrifice Gunnar to Surtr—just to have an excuse to throw him out and reduce our weight.”
“Fokk off!” Gunnar grumbled playfully from behind.
Tobin looked at Njáll quizzically, arching an eyebrow in question.
“The fire giant,” he clarified, as Gunnar began slapping the backs of their seats in anxious exuberance.
“When you recount this afternoon to your girlfriend, just make sure you tell her how brave I was.” Gunnar practically swallowed the last of his words, trying—and failing—to stifle the unrestrained guffaw that bellowed from his gut the moment they left his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Tobin scoffed, both eyebrows shooting up. “What—you didn’t think I noticed that lovesick look on your
face? Or the literal hundreds of times you sneak a glance at your phone to see if she’s texted you?” His grin was boyish, and the timber of his voice was playful, jesting with a hint of playground mischief.
“I hardly doubt she’ll believe that when I tell her,” she responded, baiting him.
“Why not?” Gunnar whined, bringing a fist to his chest in mock injury.
“Because she’s my girlfriend. Which means I’m the hero in every story I tell her. Besides…” she paused for effect, her cheeks were already aching from the grin she was fighting to contain. “… she’d never believe that I let a man do all the heavy lifting.”
The four men around her tumbled into laughter, and Tobin couldn’t help but join them. It truly was the best medicine.
Tobin stood naked in front of the mirror, admiring the new swirls of black and white that wrapped around her upper arm and elbow, flowing seamlessly into the fiery feathers of her phoenix.
Dagny had mastered her craft, and Tobin’s arm bore the truth of that art.
She covered her chest and raised her phone to the mirror, taking a selfie to send to Grier.
TOBIN—8:17 p.m.
This doesn’t do it justice—I can’t wait
for you to see it in person!
She twisted her shoulder, studying every loop and whirl of the traditional lopi pattern.
Dagny had used the homemade ink, and it burned a little more than Tobin was used to.
Her arm wasn’t red—at least no more than she expected from past tattoos.
She’d mentioned the burn to Dag, but she’d laughed it away, claiming it was just the fire of the island entering her blood and claiming her.
From the fire comes the phoenix, she reminded herself, the thought fortified by the blending of the lopi pattern into her phoenix’s emblazoned plumage. So it does.
Her phone buzzed on the counter where she set it, snapping her mind back to the present—more specifically, to Grier.
GRIER—8:21 p.m.
It is ENTIRELY unfair of you to send me
THAT picture, with THAT arm covering
yourself up.
GRIER—8:21 p.m.
But really, it looks fantastic! I can’t wait to see
it in person, too.
GRIER—8:21 p.m.
But also really, I can’t wait to see the REST of
you in person, too!
GRIER—8:22 p.m.
No more near-death experiences, either,
please. I really can’t take any more of those.
Tobin chuckled, and looked at herself in the mirror to confirm what she’d already suspected—she was blushing. She hadn’t intended to tease Grier with a nearly-nude selfie, but she certainly wasn’t mad about the response. She couldn’t wait to get home to Grier either.
TOBIN—8:23 p.m.
Same, Cinderella. I can’t wait to see you
again either! And, no—no more near-
death experiences. I promise.
The week was going well for Tobin, despite the “near-death” volcano incident.
But she could tell Grier’s week was not—and that her harrowing adventure was not something Grier had been emotionally prepared to process.
Tobin hated recounting the details, but she felt worse withholding them.
So, she tried to downplay the scenario as best she could, promising to amend her story when they were together again.
It felt a little manipulative, and she knew it. But she didn’t want to detract from Jonah’s memory right now, and hoped that Grier would appreciate this temporary omission as one of genuine concern and not an indicator of manipulation or insincerity.
They’d managed to carve out a little more time for texting and FaceTime over the past few days, but Tobin could sense the distance between them growing.
She could feel Grier’s distance in the absence of her against her body, in the way she fit perfectly against her—their edges aligning in perfectly opposing symmetry.
She heard the sorrow lingering in Grier’s voice when she talked about her day.
Tobin could tell Grier was curating her work updates, distancing herself from the memories that lingered there—and emotionally stonewalling herself ahead of the very emotional funeral scheduled for tomorrow.
Tobin understood that Grier was protecting herself, but still, she longed for the side of her that was typically so predictably and intentionally vulnerable. She was grateful that Alix and Maren were there, and trusted they’d carry Grier through until she could return and take over.
Tobin missed Grier’s eyes—those dark, amber waves of warmth and mischief.
And the way they brightened when she laughed, or narrowed when she was scheming.
She missed the way her eyes darkened and hooded when they focused on Tobin—often stealing her breath.
Grier’s soft, understanding eyes were the ones that Tobin had dived into, the ones that told her it was okay to trust again; they were the eyes that invited her in and told her to let go—to lose herself.
This week away, those eyes were what she missed most. And when she saw the despair in them—sharp and quiet, hitting her in the space between her ribs—Tobin’s heart clenched with acceptance of the unbearable truth: she could not carry Grier through this mourning from afar.
Grier was everything Tobin feared too much to hope for. She was everything she fought for in her life. She was kind, and funny, and flirtatious. She was brave, and determined, and patient—but only as patient as necessary. Because she was bold. Gods, Grier was bold.
And… well, there was that and again.
Tobin smiled at herself in the mirror, her gaze roaming over the collection of tattoos—the ink of her story on her body.
Memories flickered through her mind like Polaroids: the accident, her recovery, the fights with Talia, each and every one of her tattoos, meeting Grier, their “non-date,” and every date and milestone since.
Some of the seemingly insignificant moments, too.
Her eyes lingered on her newest piece, the one Dagny had just completed, before drifting to the cherry blossoms lining her torso. And… she thought to herself, an idea inking its way into her brain.
She traced the line of the cherry blossoms along her left ribs, her fingers turning and twisting until they found the scar at the base of her breast. She followed its firm edge, unable to see the mark but feeling the memory of its pain as vividly as she felt the burn of fresh ink on her arm. Yes, she thought. It’s perfect.
“Hey, Dag?” she called through the door, quickly pulling her shirt over her head. She stepped back into the living area, where Dagny was cleaning her instruments.
Dagny looked up—and a slow, confident smile spread across her face.
It was the knowing look of a friend—no, of a sister—who understood something was about to happen and was absolutely preparing to perform her ride-or-die duties with eager determination. She lifted her tattoo gun, triggering a few short bursts in the silence between them.
“What are we doing next?”
Tobin lifted her shirt, exposing the underside of her breast, revealing both the existing tattoo and the scar.
Dagny already knew the story of Tobin’s accident, had seen the tattoos in bits and pieces over the years.
Instinctively, Tobin’s free hand found the scar as she locked eyes with her foreign sister.
“Can you add something to the branches?” Her voice was startlingly steady, as if this was a moment pre-ordained in her future—as if it had always been what would be.
Dagny studied the tattoo, then the scar, and met Tobin’s gaze again. “I’d be honored. Tell me about it.”
Grier was her tomorrow—the one who echoed through her soul from some unknown moment in the future. That moment was now. She was everything Tobin had dared to dream of, and then forbidden herself to believe in. But here they were: together. Except they weren’t. And Tobin intended to change that.
She described her vision to Dagny, then lay on her side as Dagny prepped her skin. Tobin pulled out her phone and logged onto the airline’s website to reschedule her flight home.
She had been wrong before. Grier’s eyes weren’t the kind you got lost in. No—they were the kind of eyes in which you found your way home.
Grier was her home. Grier was her tomorrow. And she wanted to be with her today.