“And then you weren’t there.”
“Yeah.” He looked away, closed his eyes. “And I blamed the river, and I blamed my parents, and I blamed God...”
“And you blamed yourself.”
He opened his eyes.
Aw. They’d filled, and she couldn’t stop herself from touching his hand. “But it wasn’t your fault.”
He said nothing.
“Dawson.”
“I realized that, today. When I fell in. The current—I’d forgotten how strong it was. It took a minute for me to get out. And then it hit me that ... even if I had been there, maybe I couldn’t have rescued her...”
“And maybe you need to stop blaming yourself for stuff you have no control over.”
He finally made a sound. “Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“I had stuff. Anger, and frustration, and guilt, and ... stuff.”
“We all have stuff.”
“My stuff kept me trapped. I’m tired of being trapped.”
Stuff. “God, if you get me out of this, I’ll pay attention. I’ll listen. And I’ll trust you.”
He frowned at her.
“I started asking God for help when the plane went down.And then you showed up. I prayed again right before the barn fire that, well, if he got us out of this, then I’d pay attention.” She swallowed, nodded. “I think it’s time for me to listen. To trust. To believe that God has something good for me and to stop trying so hard to make it happen on my own.”
He nodded. “Me too. I’m tired of always trying to stop everything from blowing up.”
“Oh, no, you need to stop stuff from blowing up. But if it does, you stop blaming yourself.”
He smiled. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“Your brain is just frozen.”
His gaze ran over her, and in his eyes she saw a desire, something deeper than simply physical, but a longing, maybe.“Could the warmth we found in the coldbe ours to keep?”
She met his gaze.Yes,Dawson.
Then, “You really made soup?”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you’re shivering. Bath first, Iceman.”
She headed to the bathroom and opened the faucet to the claw-foot tub. Water cascaded out, and she kept it lukewarm so as not to shock his body.
River’s advice when they’d been drawing a bath for Wren, after the fall in the woods.
He came into the bathroom and stood in the doorframe, holding on. He’d taken off his socks.
“My mom used to do this after I went ice skating,” he said. “My feet would be so cold. She’d draw a bath, and I’d soak my feet in it until the feeling came back.”
“Where’d you go ice skating?”
