For the first time since this all began, I truly, completely believed him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
AVA
Mason woke the next morning, with me still tangled in his arms, still floating in the haze of our newly completed bond. His presence in my chest was a steady warmth now, a constant reminder that I was his and he was mine in equal measure.
"It's time," he murmured against my hair, his voice soft but firm. "Caleb needs you now." I nodded, my throat tight with a mixture of anticipation and guilt. Of all of them, Caleb was the one I'd hurt the worst. He'd been the one to find me in the snow, to hold my cold, nearly lifeless body and think I was dead. The memory of his roar when he'd found me still echoed in my nightmares. Mason helped me dress, one of his shirts, a pair of soft leggings, and pressed a kiss to my forehead before guiding me to the door.
"He's in his workshop," Mason said quietly, his dark eyes soft with something that looked like understanding. "He's been there since yesterday. Hasn't eaten, hasn't slept.” My chest ached at the thought. Caleb, my gentle giant, my quiet protector, sitting alone in his workshop, too hurt to even carve. "Go to him,"Mason continued, his hand squeezing my shoulder. "You hurt him the most, Ava. You need to heal it." I went. The workshop was in a small building behind the cabin, separate from the main house. I'd been there before, once, when Caleb had shown me the wooden animals he carved, his pale eyes bright with a rare, shy pride. The memory felt like a lifetime ago now.
I pushed open the door and found him exactly where Mason had said he'd be. Caleb sat on the workbench, his massive frame hunched forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his pale eyes fixed on the floor. He wasn't carving. Wasn't doing anything. Just sitting there, still and silent, like a statue carved from grief. Wood shavings littered the floor around him, remnants of projects abandoned. Half-finished animals lined the shelves, a deer with no antlers, a wolf missing its tail, a bird with only one wing. Like he'd started a dozen things and couldn't bring himself to finish any of them.
"Caleb?" My voice came out small, tentative, barely more than a whisper in the dusty silence of the workshop. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the day, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
He didn't look up. "Did Mason send you?" His voice was flat, emotionless, nothing like the warm rumble I'd grown used to. His massive hands hung between his knees, completely still, and I noticed sawdust clinging to his fingers like he'd been holding wood at some point but had simply... stopped.
"Yes." I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest, my palms slick with nervous sweat, my feet silent against the concrete floor scattered with wood shavings. "But I wanted to come anyway. I needed to come."
Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence, pressing down on both of us like a physical weight. He still wouldn't look at me, his pale eyes fixed on some point on the floor, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His shoulderswere hunched forward, making his massive frame look somehow smaller, diminished by grief.
"Caleb, please." I crossed the remaining distance between us, stopping just in front of him, close enough to touch but not quite touching, my hands trembling at my sides with the need to reach out. "Please look at me."
"I can't." The words came out rough, broken, scraped raw from somewhere deep in his chest. His massive hands were trembling where they hung between his knees, his whole body vibrating with tension he was fighting to contain. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you in the snow. Blue. Not breathing. I thought—" His voice cracked, shattered like thin ice, and he had to stop, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. "I thought you were dead, Avalon. I held you in my arms and you were so cold and I thought I'd lost you forever."
Tears streamed down my face, hot and wet, my chest aching with the weight of what I'd done to him. "I'm sorry," I whispered, the words inadequate but all I had to offer, my voice breaking on a sob I couldn't suppress. "I'm so sorry, Caleb. I never meant to?—"
"Don't." His voice was sharp now, edged with something that might have been anger if it weren't so clearly born from pain. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, the knuckles going white with tension, his whole body coiling like a spring wound too tight. "Don't tell me you didn't mean to. You ran. You chose to leave. You knew what it would do to us, and you did it anyway."
"I know." I sank to my knees in front of him, the concrete floor cold and hard beneath me, my hands reaching out to rest on his knees, feeling the warmth of him through the worn denim of his jeans. "I know I did. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Caleb. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that's what it takes."
Finally — finally — he looked at me.
His pale eyes were red-rimmed, bloodshot, swimming with tears he was barely holding back. The devastation in his expression stole my breath, made my heart clench painfully in my chest. Dark circles carved bruises beneath his eyes, and his usually neat beard was unkempt, several days past its usual careful trim. This wasn't just hurt. This was destruction. I'd destroyed something in him when I'd run, and I didn't know if I could ever rebuild it.
"I need—" He stopped, his voice breaking, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders with desperate strength, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "I need you to stay. I need you here, where I can see you, where I can touch you. I can't— I can't let you out of my sight, Ava. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
"Then I'll stay," I said immediately, my hands coming up to cup his face, my thumbs brushing away the tears that had finally escaped down his cheeks, feeling the rough scratch of his beard against my palms. "I'll stay right here. I won't leave your sight. I won't leave this room unless you're with me. Whatever you need, Caleb. Whatever it takes to prove that I'm here, that I'm alive, that I'm not going anywhere."
A sound escaped him, somewhere between a sob and a growl, animal and raw and utterly heartbreaking, his chest heaving with the force of it. He yanked me off the floor and into his lap, crushing me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me like bands of iron, his face buried in my hair. I could feel his whole body shaking, tremors running through him like earthquakes.
"Tell me you're here," he whispered, his voice muffled against my scalp, his breath hot against my hair, his whole body shaking with the force of his grief. "Tell me you're real. Tell me this isn't a dream."
"I'm here," I said, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, holding him as tightly as he was holding me, myfingers digging into the thick muscles of his back. "I'm real. I'm alive. I'm not going anywhere, Caleb. I promise. I swear on everything I am."
"Again." The word was a plea, desperate and broken, barely more than a breath against my hair. "Say it again."
"I'm here. I'm real. I'm alive. I'm yours." He shuddered against me, a full-body tremor that shook us both, and for a long moment we just held each other, crying together, grieving what had almost been lost.
The hours that followed were unlike anything I'd experienced with Mason. There was no structure here, no rules, no commands. Just Caleb, needing me close, needing constant proof that I was real and present and not going to disappear. He didn't let go of me. Not once. Even when he moved around the workshop, his hand stayed on me, my wrist, my shoulder, the small of my back. When he sat, I sat in his lap. When he stood, I stood beside him, his arm wrapped around my waist.
He made me talk.
"Tell me what you're feeling," he said, his voice rough but gentle, his pale eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable but somehow wasn't. His thumb traced slow circles on my hip, grounding both of us in the present moment. "Right now. This moment. Tell me."
"Safe," I said, the word coming easier than I expected, my hand resting over his heart, feeling it beat steady and strong beneath my palm. "Warm. Guilty. Sad. Loved."
"What else?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath warm against my temple where his lips brushed my hair.
