Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

S late

The cabin is quiet, save for the soft crackle of dying embers in the fireplace. The storm outside has finally settled, leaving a muffled silence in its wake, broken only by the occasional drip of melting snow from the eaves. Dawn filters through the frosted window, painting the room in pale, silvery light. The chill of morning seeps into the air, biting through the lingering heat from the fire—and from the night before.

I lie there, barely moving, feeling the warmth of Emma beside me, the curve of her body fitting into mine. Her hair spills across the pillow, a tangle of dark strands that catch the first hint of light, and her lips are parted slightly, a soft breath escaping her with every rise and fall of her chest. For a moment, I let myself just look at her, the reality of her being here, in my arms again, hitting me like a punch to the gut.

But even with her so close, the questions gnaw at me, sharp and insistent. Why did she leave? Why didn’t she think I was worth staying for? The old hurt rises, thick in my throat, turning the sweetness of the moment into something bitter. I pull away slightly, feeling the cold creep in where her warmth was, dragging a hand through my hair, my jaw tight with everything I can’t keep buried any longer.

Emma stirs beside me, her body shifting as she wakes, her eyelids fluttering open. She blinks up at me, still half-lost in the haze of sleep, but when she sees me already sitting up on the edge of the bed, a shadow crosses her expression. She sits up too, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, her gaze searching mine.

“Morning,” she says, her voice soft, tentative, like she’s testing the waters. But I don’t look at her right away. Instead, I stare out the window, watching the last flurries of snow fall gently from the sky, like they hold the answers I need.

I can feel her eyes on me, feel the tension building between us, the same tension that’s been pulling tight since the moment she walked back into my life. When I finally turn to face her, I see the worry in her expression, the way her hands clutch the blanket as if it’s her last line of defense. But I can’t soften. Not now. “Why’d you leave, Emma?” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t take them back. “And don’t give me some vague excuse this time. I want the truth. All of it. I still can’t wrap my head around the decision you made.”

Her face pales, the bluntness of my question hitting her like a slap. But she doesn’t look away. Instead, she sits up straighter, pulling the blanket tighter around herself like she’s steeling herself for a fight. “You think I wanted to leave? You think it was easy for me to walk away from you, from this?” Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t stop, her eyes locked on mine, defiant and raw. “I had to–I told you. I thought... I thought I’d hold you back.”

Her words hit me like a punch, my frustration spilling over. I push up from the bed, crossing the small space of the cabin in a few long strides, the anger I’ve held back for so long boiling over. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You decided for both of us, like I didn’t get a say in it. Like we didn’t matter enough to fight for.” My voice rises, echoing off the wooden walls, but I don’t care. I can’t hold it back any longer.

She flinches, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she lifts her chin, meeting my anger with her own. “I was scared, okay? Scared that if I stayed, I’d resent you, resent myself for never going after my dreams. I thought you’d be better off without me dragging you down.”

Her words hang in the air between us, each one digging deeper into the wound. I clench my fists, trying to hold back the surge of frustration, but it’s too much. I turn away, pacing in front of the fireplace, the embers casting shadows over the tight set of my jaw. “You thought you’d be doing me a favor by leaving? You thought I’d be better off alone, wondering every damn day what I did wrong? You destroyed me when you left.”

I hear her breath catch, and when I glance back, I see the tears shining in her eyes, the way her shoulders tremble as she tries to hold it together. But she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t run. “I thought I needed to prove something to myself. That I could stand on my own, that I could be strong without you. But I never stopped wanting you, Slate. Not for a second.”

Her words hit me like a blow, cutting through the anger, leaving something raw and vulnerable in its place. I turn back to her, my steps faltering as I take her in—the way her chin quivers, the tears she’s trying so hard to hold back. “And you think that makes it better? You think knowing you still wanted me makes up for the years I spent trying to move on from someone who never gave me a damn chance to fight for her?”

Her expression crumples, and she reaches out, gripping my arm, her fingers digging into the hard muscle like she’s afraid I’ll slip away. “I know I hurt you. I know I messed up. But you have to understand, I thought... I thought if I didn’t go, I’d never be able to come back and be what you needed.”

I stare down at her, my jaw tight, but as I look into her eyes, I see the truth there—the fear, the regret, the hope she’s too scared to admit. And something inside me starts to break. I drag a hand through my hair, letting out a rough breath, trying to steady the pounding in my chest. “You should have trusted me. Trusted that I wanted you—flaws, fears, and all. But instead, you ran, and you left me here to figure out how to live without you.”

Her tears spill over, but she doesn’t let go, her grip on my arm tightening, her voice breaking. “I know. And I’ve hated myself every day for that choice. I just didn’t think you’d still want me, not after everything.”

The words are like a knife, twisting deep, but they cut through the anger, leaving something rawer, more painful in their wake. I let out a shuddering breath, my shoulders sagging as the fight drains out of me. I take a step closer, my hand brushing against her cheek, wiping away the tears with a thumb, my voice rough with the emotion I can’t quite keep hidden. “It was never about wanting you, Emma. It was about needing you, even when it hurt like hell.”

She leans into my touch, her breath hitching, her eyes searching mine, and for the first time in a long time, I see hope flickering there. “Do you think we can try again? After all this time, after everything we’ve put each other through?”

I look down at her, the morning light catching the vulnerability in her expression, the way she clings to the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. My thumb brushes over her bottom lip, and she shivers, a tremor that matches the one running through me. “I don’t know, Emma. But I think I want to try, if you do.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her lips curving into a tentative smile, and for a moment, the distance between us doesn’t feel so insurmountable. I cup her face with both hands, tilting her head back to meet my gaze, letting her see the truth in my eyes. “But if we do this, we do it together. No more running. No more deciding for both of us. You understand?”

She nods, her hands coming up to cover mine, her fingers warm against my skin. “No more running. I promise.”

I search her face for a long moment, and then I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing her in, letting myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time we can make it work. The snow outside falls in a gentle hush, like the world is holding its breath, waiting for us to take the next step. And for the first time in years, I think I’m ready to take it with her.