Page 97 of Beneath the Mountain Sky

Taught us how to run the lumberyard…

Most importantly, showed us what love really meant.

I may not have a clue about children and have no idea how to even hold one, but the woman in my arms could teach me.

Willow wouldn’t let me fail.

“I told you I realized how absurd it was, how stupid I had been, but by the time I did, it was too late. You were gone.”

She stares at me for a few moments longer before she finally sighs, releasing so much of the frustration she’s held on to for the past two weeks. “I understand why I would have been upset. Why I would have felt betrayed and lost. But…”

Her eyes glaze over slightly.

“But what?”

She tilts her head slightly, her face still angled up at me, but she’s not looking at me.

Willow is somewhere else.

Her brows draw low together, and she frowns. “But I didn’t leave you.”

“What?”

That tempest-filled gaze clears, snapping back to meet mine. “The whole time I was in here, I was thinking about what you said. About what you told me that day, and how I packed up everything and left. And it felt…wrong. Like I was hearing a story that didn’t make any sense and was missing pieces.”

Missing pieces.

“Your memory is still messed up?—”

She shakes her head. “No. I remember now.”

“Remember what?”

“Not everything. God, I wish I did. But enough about that day.” She chews on her bottom lip, thinking. “I did pack up. I did intend to leave. I had even started down the mountain, intent on spending a few days, maybe even a few weeks, away from this place, away from you, somewhere I could think and process what you said and how much it hurt me. But then I stopped.”

“What do you mean?”

She stares up at me, her eyes wide as the memory floods her. “I stopped. I didn’t make it to Asheville. I turned around, and I came back.”

My heart stutters.

My hands tighten on her.

My knees tremble.

“Are you positive?”

Willow nods adamantly. “Yes. I realized you only would have said that if something else was wrong, if you were terrified. You’ve never intentionally hurt me, with words or otherwise, in our entire lives. And I didn’t believe you would have for any other reason than that you were scared. So, I came back so we could talk, so I could figure out why you felt like you needed to say that…”

“But you never made it.”

“No.” Her body tenses. “And I can’t remember why.” She squeezes her eyes closed. “There’s something else there. Something important I can’t remember.”

WILLOW

Killian holds me steady, silent. Giving me time to sort through the flashes of memory assaulting me.

When I finally open my eyes, he stares down at me, his jaw locked hard, his eyes glinting in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. “Maybe you changed your mind and turned around again to leave because of what I said, because you couldn’t forgive me.”