Page 107 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"Beau—"

"This is what he does!" My voice cracks with the weight of years of buried rage. "He takes everything good and destroys it! Our whole childhood, anything I cared about, anyone who mattered to me—he'd find a way to poison it, ruin it, make sure I lost it!"

The memories are flooding back now, not just from Afghanistan, but from years before.

Riley breaking my model planes. Riley convincing my parents I was lying when I told the truth. Riley stealing girlfriends, achievements, moments of pride.

Always taking, always destroying.

"And now he's doing it to you," I whisper, but my voice sounds like it's coming from underwater.

I fall to one knee, grasping my chest, unable to hold myself up any longer.

"Because you chose me instead of him, and he can't stand that someone finally saw through his bullshit."

Molly's moving toward me, her lips forming words I can't quite hear over the roaring in my ears.

The snow feels like ash falling, the sharpness of the freezing cold air like the heat of an explosion. My hands are shaking, and I can't tell if it's rage or terror or the phantom tremors of memories I've spent years trying to bury.

"He's never going to stop," I say, the realization hitting me like shrapnel. "No matter how far we run, how perfect we make this life, he'll keep coming. Keep taking. Keep destroying everything we build until there's nothing left."

Suddenly I'm not standing in the snow anymore.

I'm back in that valley in Afghanistan, watching Riley—no, not Riley, but it feels like Riley—take everything that mattered. Take the three men in my unit who didn't make it home. Good men who had families waiting, futures planned.

The explosions start echoing in my ears, loud blasts that make me duck instinctively. The smell of cordite and blood fills my nostrils even though all I should smell is pine and snow and Molly's gorgeous vanilla perfume.

"Beau." Molly's voice cuts through the chaos, soft and steady and so full of love it almost breaks me. "Beau, look at me. I'm right here."

Her hands find my face, warm and real and present. "You're not there anymore, sweetheart. You're here. With me. And I'm not going anywhere."

"But he'll take you," I whisper, my voice breaking as another blast detonates in the distance, vibrating the ground around me. "He takes everything, Molly. Everyone I've ever—"

"No." Her thumbs brush away tears. "I chose you, remember? I chose this life, this mountain, this crazy beautiful mess we're building together. And I keep choosing it. Every single day."

She pulls me closer, her forehead resting against mine. "Riley can steal cars and manipulate children and threaten us with lawyers, but he can't take what we have. He can't take this love, Beau. This is ours."

Her face swims in and out of focus, concerned and beautiful and so fucking far away.

"Come back to me, Beau. Come back to me… please…"

The sound of my phone ringing cuts through the chaos in my head like a clean blade. Molly scrambles in my pocket for me and pulls the phone out.

"Beau! It's Jamie! It's Jamie, beau." I feel her hands shoving me, trying to bring me back to the present. "Please… answer it, sweetheart."

The bright lights of my phone flash in front of my face, and Jamie Striker's name flashes on the screen.

Something about seeing it—seeing the name of someone who was there in the war with me, who survived with me, who understands what flashbacks like this feel like, helps anchor me back to the present.

"Jamie," I answer, my voice steadier than it has any right to be in this horrible moment of panic.

"Beau, we've got a situation." Jamie's voice is tight with urgency. "Vehicle crash on the north ridge road. Sedan, matches the description of Molly's car. Driver's trapped, and with this weather moving in, we need to move fast."

"Molly's car?"

"Yes, Beau. We haven't identified the driver yet…" Jamie says. "Because if this is her vehicle—"

"Molly's standing right here next to me," I say, my eyes finding Molly's face through the swirling snow. "It's not Molly driving."