Page 55 of When The Mountains Held Us

He nods, taking another sip of his beer. “It is. Some days, it’s all I can do to drag myself out of bed. But the pain of losing her reminds me that I got to love her. And when I look out at those mountains that she loved so much, the ones we built our lives around and raised our beautiful children in, I swear I feel her right there with me. She lives on in every ray of sunshine that graces our back porch. I feel her touch in every whisper of the breeze against my skin, and I know I could never leave this place.”

My tears spill over and dribble down both cheeks as Bill reaches out to grip my hand, patting it in the comforting way a grandfather might pat the top of a small child’s head.

“I’m so sorry.” I sniff and wipe my face, a half-hearted chuckle choking free.

“None of that, sweetheart. All I’m trying to say is, sometimes, the hard things life throws our way have a way of building us up stronger than we ever could have imagined. Hurts like hell while you’re working through it, but everything in life has its own version of growing pains. Nothing in life worth having comes easy.” He considers me for a moment. “You remind me so much of my Rosie. She would have loved you.”

I don’t think I’ve ever received such a compliment.

Twenty-Eight

Levi

Iwake with a start from where I fell asleep on the couch, blinking my eyes rapidly to clear the sleep from them and trying to figure out what time it is. How long had I been asleep? I’ve been running myself ragged these past few weeks between work and keeping an eye on Oakley. I must have needed the sleep, my body deciding for me that it’s had enough before effectively shutting me down for some much-needed shut-eye.

I grab my phone off the coffee table and check the time. Ten-thirty.

“Shit,” I curse and fling my legs over the edge of the couch, practically running to the stairs and taking them two at a time. When I reach my room, I go into the bathroom and start the shower, peeling off my clothes until I’m standing naked in front of the large mirror.

I take another quick glance at my phone, noticing several missed calls and messages from the guys asking where the hell I am. Irritation floods me as I step under the spray of water and hastily scrub shampoo into my scalp.

I told her I would be there tonight, but I never expected to be so late. How is she supposed to count on me when I can’t even show up when I say I’m going to? I know she says she’s fine, and she is, but I can’t help the fear that overwhelms me at the thought that he might be waiting for an opportunity like this.

I’ve done some digging in the past few weeks, calling in a favor with an old buddy of mine who has since moved away from town and now works for a prominent tech company in the city. With his help, we were able to track down one Travis Cameran, thirty-four-year-old habitual drunk and drug addict with a rap sheet longer than the Bible.

Multiple DUIs resulting in the eventual loss of his license, along with various citations and tickets for driving without a license, possession, and possession with intent to distribute. Convictions dating back years, detailing multiple reports of domestic and sexual abuse, and a litany of orders of protection on behalf of his victims. It’s a wonder the man is still out and walking the streets, a fact that is a testament to how fucked our justice system is.

All of this I’m sure Oakley has no idea about, and I have every intention of keeping her in the dark about it for as long as I can. She’s just starting to get her spark back after the motel incident, and I can’t bring myself to dull that by weighing her down with information that would only serve to hinder her progress. At least not while I’m looking out for her.

Climbing out of the shower, I dry off and quickly dress in clean clothes, running my fingers through my hair until I get the tousled look I know she likes. She hasn’t said as much, but I see the way her eyes linger on my wet locks when I’m fresh out of the shower and standing in the kitchen brewing a cup of coffee. That’s alright. I don’t need her to say it out loud. She’ll admit it to herself eventually.

I see the way she looks at me, the way she appreciates my body while I’m outside doing yard work, her face that of a deer caught in the headlights, like she’s in wonder of me. I have to admit, it feels good to have her admire me.

What doesn’t feel good is the fact that I have to continuously hold myself back from touching her, from lifting that plump little ass onto the kitchen counter while I kiss and lick my way down her neck. I long to whisper all the filthy things I plan on doing to her in her ear, just to hear her whimper of need in answer.

But I don’t do any of that, no matter how badly I might want to. I’m giving her space, trying to allow her the time to settle in and decide for herself what she wants, all while being the perfect gentleman, when in reality, I’m aching to touch her.

Fuck, the way I want to devour her is anything but respectful, but the difference between myself and a piece of shit like Travis Cameran is the ability to deny myself for her sake.

When I touch her, it’ll be because she’s finally had enough of waiting and begs me to. Then, and only then, will I allow myself to show her exactly how it feels to be worshiped and fucked by a real man, not the sorry excuse of a man like Travis.

I shoot her a quick text to let her know I’m on my way before I peel out of the drive and down the road. She likely won’t see it, with how busy the bar is on Saturday nights, but it selfishly brings me a little comfort. I don’t bother sending the same message to the guys. They’re not nearly as important as she is, and they’ll see me when I get there. I’m pulling into Joe’s twenty minutes later, and a jittery energy at the thought of seeing her fills me as I push through the doors and into the dimly lit bar.

A lively atmosphere greets me, the smell of spilled beer and cigarette smoke bringing me the odd sort of comfort that only comes with being around a place like this all your life. Patrons, both old and young, fill the space, the latter taking up room on the dance floor, laughing boisterously with each other through heavy-lidded eyes that suggest they’ve been here long enough to be on the bad side of buzzed by now. My eyes scan the crowd, impatience and concern flowing freely through my veins when I don’t immediately spot her.

A hand claps me on the shoulder before Justin lands a wet kiss against my cheek. “Mwah!” he exclaims loudly, and the stench of beer on his breath, along with whatever the fuck that was, has me pushing him back a step with a glare.

“What the fuck, man?” I grumble, wiping a hand down my cheek in disgust.

Justin guffaws, throwing his head back like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “I’ve missed you! I thought you stood me up.”

We make our way to our back-corner booth, where Isaac and Brandon are already seated, both of them nursing what I’m sure are not their first beers. My eyes continue to scan the crowd, looking for a glimpse of that golden hair. Eventually, I spot her behind the bar, chatting with one of the regulars as she mixes a Jack and Coke, and I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her.

Fuck, she looks good in those painted-on blue jeans, and that little ribbed tank top has my knees buckling every time I see it on her.

“Fell asleep for a little longer than I planned to after work today.” I tear my gaze from Oakley and turn my attention to the group of men sitting around the table.

They nod their understanding. They’re probably as tired as I am with all the overtime. Still though, the extra money is good, and I’m not going to be one to complain about it.