Chapter 5
Chapter Five
He closed his eyes.
The silence stretched, elastic and suffocating. Harper became hyperaware of the hum of fluorescent lights, the distant traffic, and her own pulse hammering in her ears.
“You abandoned me,” she said, her voice trembling. “Without caring that it would gut me.”
He opened his eyes slowly. His voice was hoarse. “I cared. I cared too much. That’s the problem.”
She shook her head. “Caring doesn’t look like ghosting your wife, Everett.”
“I didn’t know how to come back,” he admitted. “I left in the middle of a fight. Again. And the longer I stayed away, the harder it got. Every day, the thought of walking back through that door felt more impossible. I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to face you.”
“So you decided,” Harper said, “that silence was easier than accountability.”
“I left because I didn’t know how to love you right anymore.”
She looked at him, really looked. “Then you have a warped vision of what love is.”
He shrugged.
Her jaw tightened.
“I hate how that sounds. Not like a promise. More like a challenge.
She had come here for a signature. For a clean severing of something that had been gangrenous for years.
She didn’t sign up for this. I hate him. I hate that I don’t hate him enough.
Everett leaned against the opposite counter, arms folded, eyes lowered.
He looked worn.
Human.
She hated that too.
“It would be easier if you stayed the villain and signed. I didn’t know leaving hurt you at all,” she said quietly.
Everett watched her hands.
“In fact, I bet you breathed easier the moment you crossed the county line.” The idea unsettled her. If he had been miserable too, it dismantled the version of the story she had clung to.
Her skin prickled under the weight of his gaze.
“I deserved that,” he said. He didn’t defend himself. He didn’t argue.
“That’s the first thing we agree on.” That unsettled her more than anger would have.
“I know how to fight you. I don’t know how to do this.”
“You’re not the only one who’s tired,” he added.
Her fingers stilled against the counter. “Admitting weakness isn’t your style.” Her hands trembled slightly around the mug she still held, heat seeping into her palms. “I thought we’d get through this week with minimal damage,” she said. “Sign the papers. Go home. Breathe again.”
“You will,” he said.
She lifted her eyes. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” he admitted. “But I told you—if you still want the divorce at the end of the week, I’ll sign. I won’t fight you.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why does that sound like it hurts you to say?”
“Because it does.”
The admission landed harder than anything else he had said.
She hadn’t prepared for this version of him.
She knew the Everett who retreated, the one who barricaded himself behind silence and polite nods.
She knew how to maneuver around his avoidance.
There was no playbook for this version of him, standing in the harsh kitchen light, bleeding out without asking her to stitch him up.
He stepped closer. Close enough that not touching became deliberate. Something unlocked in her chest, a door welded shut three years ago creaking open against her will.
Her fingers laced together to keep from reaching for him.
Don’t believe him. Don’t let him rewrite this.
“You blindsided me,” she whispered. “Back then. Today too. You can’t disappear for three years and walk back in like you get a say.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I’m not asking for one. I’m trying to be honest. For once.”
Her breath hitched on the way out.
“Harper,” he said gently, “you can hate me for what I did. You should. But don’t hate yourself for what it turned you into.”
Her breath caught sharply.
“I don’t need your absolution. And how dare you act like you had nothing to do with what I turned into?”
He continued, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that her lungs filled with the familiar scent of his soap.
“I left because I couldn’t handle the fighting anymore.
You stayed because you loved us enough to keep trying.
That doesn’t make you needy. It makes you loyal. And stronger than I ever was.”
Harper gripped her mug tighter. If he’d thrown a chair or raised his voice, she would have known exactly what to do. But this? Her throat closed, hot and tight, forcing her to breathe through her mouth.
“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he added. “Just the truth.”
“How can you say that with a straight face? You left. You didn’t respond to how many calls, emails, and texts? And now you want to act like you’re the only one searching for truth. Where were you to give me the truth when it counted most? Goodnight, Everett.”
The words slipped out automatically.
Reflex.
Habit.
She froze, horrified. She disappeared into her room before she could say anything else.
By late afternoon, the sky turned a deep charcoal bruise, swallowing the sun in thick, swirling bands of cloud.
It looked menacing as the storm brewing intensified.
The wind whipped the treetops into a frenzy and tugged at her hair.
Harper released a sigh as she stood on the small, covered porch of their shared cabin.
“This wasn’t supposed to hit us,” she murmured.
Everett stepped up beside her, eyes scanning the horizon. “Forecast was wrong. Happens. Especially up here.”
A crack of thunder split the air, sharp enough to vibrate the boards beneath their feet.
Everett wrapped his heavy jacket around her shoulders and gestured toward the lodge. “Come on. They’ll probably want everyone together for an update.”
Mandatory fun in the mess hall. Fan-freaking-tastic.
With a nod, she pulled her arms through the sleeves and stepped off the wooden planks, heading down the path to the main building.
He followed without saying a word.
Inside, the lodge lobby was buzzing with anxious energy. The rain battered the roof in relentless sheets; the wind moaned through the eaves. The windows rattled, and the lights flickered ominously overhead.
Outside, the wind rattled against the structure. The storm had rolled in fast, unnaturally fast.
She stared out the window.
Everett’s voice carried faintly from the other side of the cabin.
“Come sit. The chairs by the fire are warm.”
She hesitated.
If I sit beside you, something cracks.
Logic told her to retreat.
Emotion told her something far more dangerous.
She stayed where she was.
Breathing.
Waiting.
Holding the line.
Marnie stepped onto the hearthstone, raising her voice above the howling wind. “Everyone, eyes on me! This resort is designed for winter storms. We have wood, propane, pantry supplies, and a well for water.”
Cal added, “And a heavy-duty diesel generator that keeps everything stable.”
The lights flickered again, went out, then flickered back on weakly.
“But,” Cal continued, “the generator didn’t auto-start. It should have.”
Groans echoed around the room.
One woman squeaked, “Does that mean we’re going to freeze?”
Her husband kissed her temple. “No, babe. They have fireplaces.”
Cal added, “Exactly. We’re prepared. We need a volunteer to check the generator shed and manually start it. It’s behind the lodge, down the slope, near the big pine.”
Thunder boomed, loud enough to shake dust from the rafters.
Cal continued, “We need someone mechanically inclined.”
A manual start. Wonderful. That implied a level of grit none of the men in the room seemed to possess.
Harper glanced toward the darkened windows where the storm was currently trying to dismantle the architecture. Going out there isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s a liability. Someone could slip, get hit by debris, or get lost in the deluge.
Everett stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
Of course he does. He doesn’t look around for approval or make a show of his bravery; he just stated it as a fact.
It’s the same quiet competence that used to make her feel secure, back before “security” became a lie between them.
He’s the only one here who actually knows how to work with his hands, the only one who wouldn’t call a contractor to change a lightbulb.
His reflex to fix things irritated her still.
Everett ignored everyone around them, expression steady. “I’ve fixed generators on worksites. I can handle it.”
He wasn’t posturing. Everett didn’t do bravado.
If he said he could fix a machine, he’d probably taken three of them apart in his spare time just to understand the mechanics.
It was one of the few things about him that hadn’t changed, he faced mechanical failure head-on.
It was only the emotional wreckage he ran from.
Cal nodded with obvious relief. “Good. But you should have someone with you. For safety.”
She scanned the faces encircling them. No one was offering. In fact, no one seemed willing to even make eye contact. If she stayed behind and the power remained off, she’d be trapped in the dark with them. The math was simple, even if the solution made her teeth ache. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Everett met her gaze. “You don’t have to.” His voice carried that same low timbre that once meant safety, meant home. It still sounded like comfort.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
The words tasted like defeat and necessity in equal measure. Martyrdom didn’t suit her, but cowardice annoyed her more.
That was the trouble with being the most pragmatic person in the room, eventually someone had to do the heavy lifting. Even when you suspected the real danger wasn’t the storm outside, but the one you’d been carrying inside your chest all along.