Bear's cold nose presses against my hand.
"I'm losing it," I tell him.
He whines in agreement.
DAY 18 ~ JANUARY 10
Day Ten.
I pick up the phone six times. Put it down six times. I don’t even have her fucking number, so I’d have to call my niece.
Screw that.
What would I even say?Come back? I'm sorry, I was scared?
I'm forty years old—I’m too old for this kind of fear.
But not too old to recognize a mistake when I'm drowning in one.
I stare at my phone, at Beth's contact info, at the message I've typed and deleted a dozen times.
Then I hear an engine on the road.
I suck in a breath, unable to hope that it’s her; unable to accept it if it’s not.
Bear's head snaps up, his ears forward, his tail starting to wag before I've even processed what I'm hearing.
That rust-bucket wheeze. That death-rattle of an engine held together by hope and duct tape.
She really needs a new fucking car. I’ll buy her one. Fuck, I’ll buy her anything, as long as she stays.
I'm at the window before I can think, heart in my throat.
Sasha’s car fights its way up the road through ice and snow, stubborn as its owner.
She's back.
Chapter Thirteen
RED
DAY 18 ~ JANUARY 10
Ican't breathe for a second, and my smile is so wide it hurts my face.
I don't move—I can't. I just stand there watching her park, watching her sit behind the wheel like she's gathering courage.
Come on, Sasha; come to me, baby.
When she finally gets out—of the passenger side, of course—she’s holding something—a tin, maybe—and her face is set with determination that doesn't quite hide the fear underneath.
My body sags at the sight of her.
Bear’s at the door, whining low in his throat.
"I see her, Bear,” I whisper, my legs feeling like Jell-O.
She looks up at the cabin, takes a breath, and squares her shoulders. Then she starts walking.
