Chapter Thirteen
MATT
The crisp Alaskanair bites at my cheeks as Eliza and I make our way from the lodge to her family's home. A week has passed since her parents delivered the devastating news, and it hangs over us like a heavy cloud. The lodge repairs are almost complete, but the emotional wounds remain raw and unhealed.
My stomach churns with dread. In a week, I'll be heading to a new rig as planned, but the thought of it—returning tothatlife—haunts me. It's like a shadow that never quite leaves, even when I try to outrun it. That world nearly swallowed me whole, and now it feels like I'm walking back into the jaws of it, willingly.
There's this weight pressing down on my chest, a creeping unease that's settled deep in my bones. It's not fear—it's something worse, quieter but far heavier, like a slow-burning anxiety that lingers, coiled and waiting. I feel it in every breath, in every steady thrum of my pulse.
"Ready?" she asks, her blue eyes searching mine. I squeeze her hand a little tighter, trying to offer comfort where I can barely find any myself.
Inside, the living room is a patchwork of memories. Faded photographs line the walls, telling the story of their life in thiswild, beautiful place. The scent of pine mixing with something sweet baking in the kitchen should calm me, but the knots in my stomach only tighten.
Mrs. Hollister sits in a worn armchair, a patchwork quilt draped over her legs. Despite her illness and recent cancer treatments, there's a sparkle in her eyes, sharp with life and humor. I squeeze Eliza's hand, sensing the mix of joy and concern she must be feeling.
Nearby, Mr. Hollister stands with a kind of quiet protectiveness, his presence commanding, like a grizzly keeping watch over its den.
"Mom, Dad," Eliza says, her voice soft but full of love, though I catch the nervous tremor beneath it, "this is Matt."
I step forward and extend my hand. "It's an honor to meet you both," I say, trying to keep my nerves steady. "We met once before, briefly, at Finn's graduation." But that moment hardly compares to the significance of this one. I've never been introduced to a woman's parents before.
Mr. Hollister cocks his head, as if trying to shift a memory loose. "Finn's graduation ... Yes, I remember you now. Did you graduate that year too?" he asks, his tone curious.
I meet his gaze steadily, my voice calm and even. "No, sir. I ran out of finances to finish, so I took a job on an oil rig." There's no shame in it. It's my story, and I stand by it.
There's a pause, my words settling in the room, before Mrs. Hollister breaks the silence. "Well, life has its way of leading us where we need to be."
Grace's handshake is surprisingly firm, her gaze piercing as she looks me over. "So, Matt," she says without preamble, "what are your intentions with our Eliza?"
"Mom!" Eliza exclaims, her cheeks flushing a bright pink.
Grace chuckles, a sound like wind chimes in the breeze. "Well, I don't have time to beat around the bush."
I appreciate her frankness. "It's alright, Eliza," I say, then turn back to Grace. My heart pounds as I plan my response, knowing the weight it carries. This isn't about me and Eliza anymore—it's about her family, her future, and the limited time they have left together.
I take a steadying breath, my voice firm but measured. "I want to be the kind of person Eliza deserves. Someone who supports her dreams and doesn't hold her back. I know what she means to this family, and I'd never get in the way of that." The words hang in the air, heavier than I intended but true all the same.
I'm bracing myself. For what, I'm not sure. A challenge? Dismissal? A hard look that says I'm not enough for her daughter? Every muscle in my body is tense, like I'm perched at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the wind to decide if it will push me over or let me stand.
The silence stretches too long. It's suffocating, filling the space between us like a heavy fog. My mind races. Did I say enough? Should I have said more? But no, this is it. It's all I have to offer—the truth.
Grace's gaze narrows for a heartbeat, then softens. "Good answer, young man. And please, call me Grace."
As the evening progresses, we talk about my work on the rig, Eliza's teaching opportunity, and our experiences during the avalanche. At one point, Peter and Grace share with me their greatest gifts to their children—plots of land where they can build their dreams or continue some already set in motion. They mention Kane's land at The Ridge, Eliza's at Serenity Cove, Reid's in Lantern Bay, Finn's at Crystal Creek, Rhys's in Birch Bay, and Nash's in Misty Meadows. Each place represents a piece of their legacy, a promise for the future.
The words hang in the air, and a knot forms in my chest. Legacy. It's not something I've ever allowed myself to thinkabout. I don't have land to pass down, no family name to protect. All I have are the memories of what I've lost—my men, my brothers. I understand loss, but this ... this is different. Do I crave what they have? A small voice in me whispers that I do—maybe more than I ever realized. The thought of leaving something behind, something permanent, sends a strange longing through me. But with the life I've led, could I ever live up to that kind of expectation?
Beneath the pleasant conversation, I can feel the unspoken heaviness—a family trying to pack a lifetime of moments into whatever time they have left.
Later, when Eliza steps out to help her father, Grace leans in close, her voice steady. "Matt, there's something you should know. We told the kids a year, but ... it won't be longer than six months."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. I think of Eliza, her dreams of her mother at her wedding, introducing her children to their grandmother. The reality crashes over me like a wave.
"Thank you for telling me," I say, my voice rough with emotion. "I promise, I'll take care of her."
Grace pats my hand, a sad look on her face. "I believe you will."
That night, as Eliza and I walk back to my cabin at the lodge, under a sky awash with stars, my mind races. My return to the rig feels like walking straight into another storm. But now, there's something more urgent, more vital. I know what I have to do.
