And sitting there, safe in his arms,cherishedin his arms, I... I find myself unable to hold back anymore.
I spill everything.
“I was seven,” I hear myself say. The words come out quiet. Shaky. “A family camping trip. An ‘adventure,’ my dad called it.”
He squeezes tighter. Doesn’t speak. Just listens.
“I wandered off. Just for a minute. I thought I saw a rabbit and I wanted to show my parents. But then... then I couldn’t find the path back. I kept... walking. Stopping sometimes to change directions. Then... walking some more. Called out. No one answered.”
The memory hits like a wave. Sharp and cold and way too vivid.
“By the time I realized I was lost, it was getting dark. I kept trying to find my way back but everything looked the same. Just trees. And more trees. And... shadows. I finally gave up, and just... waited. To die.”
“How long were you out there?” His voice is rough.
“Three days.”
His grip tightens.
“I found a creek that first day. Drank the water even though I knew I probably shouldn’t have. Tried to stay calm. Tried to remember what my dad taught me about moss growing on the north side of trees. But I was seven and terrified and I just... gave up. Sat there. Waiting.”
A tear slides down my cheek. Still hugging Marco, I swipe at it angrily.
“The rescue team found me at dawn on that last day. Hypothermic. Dehydrated. Completely traumatized.”
He pulls away to look me in the eyes. “Fuck, Jess.”
“Yeah.” I laugh but it comes out broken. “So that’s why I’m not exactly outdoorsy. Nature and I have history. And it’s not the cute Instagram kind. I’ve never really... gotten over the trauma. Therapy helped, enough for me to survive in city parks. But the wilderness...”
I look at the dark window and shudder.
He pulls me into his lap again. Wraps his arms around me again, like he can shield me from memories that are two decades old. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I smile sadly. “Its not your fault.”
“I know.” He presses his lips to my temple. “But I’m still sorry.”
We sit like that for a while. Me curled into him. Him holding me steady. The cabin quiet except for the sounds of the woods doing their thing outside.
“You could have told me,” he says finally. “Before we came.”
I sigh wistfully. “I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
I pull back enough to look at him. “You would have canceled it if you knew.”
“You’re damn right I would have canceled.”
“There you go,” I reply. “Ben needs this. And you need this. And I didn’t want my baggage to ruin it.”
His voice has that edge that means he’s angry on my behalf. “Your trauma isn’t baggage. It’s a part of you. And I want all of you. Even the scared parts.”
Oh.
Oh wow.
My eyes are definitely leaking now. The full waterworks.
