Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

T amlyn

The moonlight filters through the trees outside my cabin, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. The air feels thick tonight, heavy, like the silence itself is waiting for something to break. I stand by the window, staring out into the darkness, but my mind is far away. Caught between two worlds, two versions of myself—one that wants to keep moving, chasing the next horizon, and the other that's slowly being pulled toward something more… solid.

Barron.

Just the thought of him sends a shiver through me, one I can't explain, but I can't ignore either. I press my palm against the cool glass as I think about his tongue sliding against my skin in the deep woods this afternoon. I let the cool surface ground me, but all it does is remind me of the distance between us. Not the physical distance—he's only a few miles away—but the emotional one. The barrier I've put up to keep myself safe, to keep from falling too far.

Because if I fall, I'm not sure I'll know how to stop.

I close my eyes, letting the memory of his touch wash over me, the way his hands felt on my skin, rough and steady, like he was the only thing keeping me grounded in that moment. It's terrifying, how much I've come to crave that feeling. I've never let anyone get this close before. I've always been able to leave before anything could tie me down, before I could risk losing myself. But with Barron, it's different. He's different.

The forest outside is still, but inside, there's a storm brewing. My heart is racing, my thoughts tangled, and no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the fear that's creeping up on me.

"What if I stay?"

The question is soft, barely a whisper, but it hangs in the air like a weight pressing down on my chest. If I stay, it means giving up the freedom I've always chased, the thrill of never knowing what's next. But if I leave… if I walk away from Barron, I know I'll be walking away from something deeper than anything I've ever known. Something I might never find again.

I step back from the window, turning away from the view that usually brings me peace. Tonight, it feels suffocating, like the trees themselves are closing in on me. I move to the center of the room, my hands brushing over the edge of the table where my notebooks and maps lie scattered. They're reminders of all the places I've been, all the adventures I've had. But tonight, they feel distant, like relics of a past life that no longer fits.

I run my fingers over the worn pages of my notebook, the lines filled with notes about plants and ecosystems, about all the things I've discovered in my travels. But there's a hollowness to it now, a feeling I can't quite name. Like something is missing. Like the adventures I've always loved aren't enough anymore.

And it terrifies me.

I've never been one to stay. I've always been the girl who packs up and leaves before anyone can get too close, before I can lose myself in someone else. But Barron… he's steady in ways I'm not used to. Solid, like the mountain itself. And that scares me more than anything.

I pace the small cabin, the walls feeling like they're closing in. I love my life. I love the freedom that comes with constant movement, the thrill of never knowing what's around the next corner. But Barron is starting to feel like home, and the thought of that sends a jolt of fear through me. What if I stay? What if I lose myself in him, in this place? What if staying means giving up the part of me that's always been free, always chasing the next adventure?

I stop in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. The conflict is written all over my face—fear, uncertainty, longing. I don't recognize the woman looking back at me. She's afraid. Afraid of what staying means, afraid of what being with Barron means. Afraid that if she stays, she'll lose herself. But at the same time, I know that if I leave, if I run now, I'll be walking away from something even more important.

I press my hand against my chest, feeling the rapid beat of my heart. I've always prided myself on being independent, on not needing anyone or anything to keep me grounded. But with Barron, it's different. He makes me feel seen, understood, in ways I've never experienced before. And that's what scares me the most. The thought that I could lose that, lose him, if I keep running.

My gaze shifts back to the window, the forest outside bathed in moonlight. The trees are tall and unyielding, much like Barron, and for the first time, I wonder if I'm strong enough to stand still. Strong enough to stay.

I take a deep breath, my heart heavy with indecision. I've never felt so rooted to a place—or to a person—before. And it terrifies me. The idea of staying, of building something real, is both thrilling and terrifying. But the idea of leaving, of walking away from Barron, from everything we've started to build together, feels like a loss I'm not sure I can handle.

I move to the window again, my fingers tracing the cool glass as I stare out into the night. The distance between Barron and me feels palpable, like a barrier I've put up to protect myself. But the truth is, I'm already in too deep. I know it, feel it in every moment we've shared, every stolen kiss in the forest.

I turn away from the window, my heart heavy with uncertainty. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, casting flickering shadows across the room. It's a quiet, intimate space, but tonight, it feels like a battleground. A place where I have to make a choice that will change everything.

As I stand there, staring into the flames, I know one thing for sure—whatever decision I make, it's going to change everything. I can't keep pretending that nothing has shifted inside me, that Barron hasn't become more than just a passing attraction. He's stirred something deep, something real, and the weight of that realization presses heavily against my chest.

But what does staying really mean? It's not just about him—it's about me. About everything I've spent my life building and avoiding at the same time. I've never been tied down. I've been to places most people have only dreamed of, seen things no one else will ever see. It's who I am—rootless, always moving, always searching for the next adventure. But now... now there's this quiet in the pit of my stomach, a whisper I can't ignore, telling me that maybe there's more to life than wandering. Maybe the real adventure is in standing still. In finding something—someone—worth staying for.

I cross the room again, my steps slower this time, my mind a mess of tangled thoughts. The more I try to push away my feelings, the stronger they come rushing back. Barron's face flashes in my mind—those intense eyes, the way he looks at me like he sees every piece of me, even the ones I try to hide. He doesn't ask for more than I'm willing to give, but his presence demands it. And that's what scares me.

I reach the small, worn wooden table in the center of the cabin, running my hand over the smooth surface. Scattered across it are pieces of my life—maps, journals, photos of the places I've been. They're my history, my freedom, my identity. But tonight, they feel distant. They don't hold the same weight they used to.

I pick up one of the notebooks, flipping through the pages. The notes inside are meticulous, documenting every discovery, every path I've walked. But as I stare down at my handwriting, at the memories I've recorded with such precision, I realize they don't feel like enough anymore. They were always placeholders—distractions, maybe. I was always moving, always running, so I wouldn't have to face what was really missing.

And now I know what that is.

My hands tighten on the edge of the table as my heart pounds. Barron. He's the missing piece, the thing I didn't even know I was looking for. He's more than just a man, more than just a distraction from my usual path. He's someone who makes me feel anchored in a way that doesn't make me feel trapped. He makes me feel free, even as I'm standing still.

But it's a different kind of freedom, one I don't know.

I think of how he turned down my invitation to dinner and my stomach twists with anxiety. Does he only want to use me? Discard me like I'm nothing more than a fun distraction for him? He's been avoiding giving me his heart for reasons I now understand, but why does it feel like he's been avoiding my very presence too? I spend the next few minutes getting ready for bed as my thoughts swirl on visions of Barron's head between my thighs, the quiet forest breathing around us. I want more of something that only he can give, and living without it feels more unbearable with each passing moment.

I tuck myself into bed, letting my eyes fall closed as I imagine his warm body curled against mine, our heated breaths mingling as I come down from an orgasm under his body.

I love him, I know that now. Maybe I always did, and in loving him, the only person I was ever running from was myself. As I fall asleep, I vow to get to the bottom of this thing that pulses between us. Come morning light, I'll find him and tell him how I'm feeling. If I don't, I may never do it. The idea of leaving Copper Mountain without revealing my heart to the man I love feels like a risk I'm no longer willing to take.