Page 10

Gabriel

I was startled from sleep. Not from a sound or another dream.

But because I’d slept so long. My internal clock told me it was almost dawn, hours after I usually woke up. I realized instantly what had changed.

Callie.

Callie curled against my side, her hair tickling my chin, her arm draped across my chest again. In the dim light, I studied her sleeping face—relaxed, peaceful, impossibly beautiful.

And that scared the ever-loving hell out of me.

Because she didn’t belong here.

She didn’t belong to me.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d woken up in this bed alone. How many times I’d convinced myself I preferred it that way. Silence, solitude, routine. No expectations. No surprises.

She’d come crashing into my life, demanding entrance. And nothing felt simple anymore.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want it, or at least that’s what I’d kept telling myself.

It wasn’t just the sex—though fuck knows that had exceeded anything I could have imagined—but this. The intimacy. The way she’d somehow slipped past every defense I’d built over the last few years of careful isolation and really my whole damn life.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. Just one night. One distraction. That one night had turned to two, then three. And now… every time I looked at her, all I could think was, don’t go.

I’d worshipped her body like it was the only thing that mattered—and maybe it was. But what the hell was I supposed to do now? She wasn’t mine. Not really. Just a woman stranded in a storm, a temporary visitor in a life I’d deliberately emptied of anything soft.

I shifted carefully, easing out from beneath her arm, trying not to wake her. Max lifted his head from where he was curled near the bed, his eyes tracking me like he already knew what I was doing.

And maybe he did. Maybe the damn dog could smell regret.

I pulled on sweatpants and a shirt and moved through the cabin, silent and restless. I needed air. Space. Something to drown out the echo of her voice, her laugh, her soft gasps still ringing in my ears.

We’d spent the day yesterday cleaning up after the storm. No trees had come down, but branches covered the clearing. I’d watched her working without complaint, playing with Max and healing parts of me I never thought would heal.

I stepped out onto the porch once again. It seemed like I’d repeated this day forever. Fog drifted between the trees like smoke. It was beautiful. Quiet. Exactly what I used to crave.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt hollow.

I gripped the railing and stared into the distance, trying to shove her out of my thoughts. Trying—and failing—to remind myself this had been temporary. That she’d leave today, and everything would go back to normal.

But I didn’t want normal. Not anymore.

And that scared the shit out of me. Because if I let myself want something, I could lose it. Again. She’d changed something in me, just by being here. Just by looking at me like I was worth saving.

Callie stepped out onto the porch and I could feel her presence like a physical force, disrupting the careful equilibrium I’d maintained for so long.

“Hey,” she said softly, coming to stand beside me at the railing. She’d pulled on my flannel shirt and a pair of shorts I’d found for her yesterday. Her lips were still slightly swollen from our night together.

Beautiful. Devastating.

“I checked the bridge. It’s safe to travel across it.”

“Is it?” She looked at me, those whiskey-colored eyes searching my face. She moved closer, her hand resting on my chest, over my heart. Like she was trying to feel what I wasn’t saying.

The worst part was—I wanted to say it. All of it. That she’d crawled under my skin, reawakened those places I thought were dead. That she’d reminded me I was still a man with wants. With hope.

But hope was dangerous. Hope got people killed.

“You need to get your photos before another storm rolls in.” I moved away from her touch, unable to bear it.

“I’m not on a deadline,” she said quietly. “I really didn’t expect anything, Gabriel. Just maybe not to be dismissed before I’ve even left.”

“What did you expect, Callie?” I turned to face her fully. “That a few days together would suddenly make me pack up and follow you back to civilization? That you’d give up your career to live in isolation with a man you barely know?”

She stood there, challenge in every line of her body. “You’re pushing me away because you’re scared.”

The accusation hit too close to home, igniting a defensive anger. “I’m not scared. I’m realistic. This—” I gestured between us, “—was temporary from the start. A product of circumstance. Storms pass and life returns to normal.”

Something flickered in her eyes—hurt, quickly masked by anger. “Circumstance. Right. That’s all this was.”

“Callie—”

“No, I get it. Really.” She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. “You’ve got your perfect isolation all figured out. Wouldn’t want someone messing with that.”

“That’s not fair,” I said, even though she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Isn’t it?” She looked out over the clearing. “You know what I think? I think you’re hiding up here, not because you like being alone, but because you’re afraid of what happens when you’re not.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” My anger rose to cover the uncomfortable truth in her words.

“Don’t I?” She turned back to me, eyes flashing. “I know you wake up before dawn. I know you take your coffee black. I know you keep your sister’s favorite board game even though it hurts to look at it. I know your hands are gentle even when the rest of you is not.”

Each observation landed like a physical blow. She did know me. Somehow, in the span of a few days, hours really, she’d seen me more clearly than anyone had in years.

And it terrified me.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re leaving today. Going back to your life. Your career. This was just…”

“If you say a vacation fling, I swear I will push you off this porch,” she interrupted, temper flaring.

Despite everything, I almost smiled at the threat. At this fierce, stubborn woman who refused to back down, even from a man twice her size.

But I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Couldn’t risk opening myself up to the inevitable pain her departure would cause. Better to end it now, cleanly, before I was in too deep.

Too late , a voice whispered in my head. You’re already drowning. I ignored it. “What do you want from me, Callie? Really?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She hesitated, something vulnerable crossing her face before she squared her shoulders.

“I want you to admit this was more than just sex,” she said finally. “I want you to acknowledge that whatever happened between us was real. And I want you to stop using your isolation as a shield against feeling anything that might actually matter.”

Her words cut too close to bone, exposing truths I wasn’t ready to face. Something cold and defensive closed around my heart.

“You’re asking for things I can’t give,” I said, each word carefully measured. “I came up here for a reason. That hasn’t changed.”

“No, you’re hiding up here for a reason,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Call it what you want. This is my life. The one I’ve chosen.” I stepped back, creating physical distance to match the emotional walls I was rebuilding. “Get dressed, I’ll take you back down the mountain.”

Hurt flashed across her face, quickly masked by anger. “Fine. Message received, loud and clear.”

She turned and walked back into the cabin, the door closing firmly behind her.

I stood on the porch, the beautiful sunrise forgotten as I battled the urge to follow her, to take back every stupid word, to beg her to stay even though I knew it was impossible.

Instead, I remained where I was, watching as the last wisps of fog burned away in the strengthening light, leaving the world clear and empty.

Just like my future.

Everyone I ever loved had left me one way or another. My parents in a car wreck. My brothers in the sand. My sister in a fucking hospital bed, smiling even as she slipped away. I was tired of standing over graves. Tired of believing that maybe this time would be different. So I pushed Callie away. Because maybe if she left now, it wouldn’t gut me later. Maybe I could still pretend it hadn’t meant anything.

By the time I went back inside, Callie had showered and dressed in her own clothes, which I’d washed and dried during our first day together. The sight of her in something other than my oversized flannel shirt was a stark reminder that she didn’t belong here. Had never belonged here. It felt like watching her armor go back on. A reminder that the softness she’d given me wasn’t mine to keep.

Max sat by her feet as she stood in the kitchen, her expression carefully neutral when I entered.

“I’d appreciate you driving me to my cabin,” she said, voice clipped. “I don’t really feel like hiking back down.”

I got my truck out of the shed and we headed down the mountain. The silence between us was oppressive, filled with all the things we weren’t saying.

It felt like I was already grieving for her. Like some part of me had already decided she was a loss I needed to brace for. I’d lost too much. Too many goodbyes, each one carving something out of me until all that was left was a man who walked away before anything could be taken. But some part of me kept waiting for her to say something that would let me fix it. I kept hoping I’d find the courage to offer more than silence. But I didn’t. And neither did she.

When we reached the turnoff to the small group of rental cabins where she was staying, I pulled up to the one she indicated.

For a moment, we sat there, the air between us charged with everything unsaid. I should say something—anything—to ease the knot of misery in her expression. To explain why I couldn’t be what she wanted.

But the words wouldn’t come.

“This is me,” she said unnecessarily.

I nodded, putting the truck in park but leaving the engine running. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No.” Max whined from the back seat, sensing the tension between us. “Come on, buddy,” she said, opening the door for him to jump out.

All that training, all that discipline—and I couldn’t manage one fucking sentence that would make this hurt less.

“Well,” she said finally, hand on the door handle. “Thanks for the rescue. And the hospitality.”

“Callie—” I began, not sure what I was going to say.

“Don’t,” she cut me off. “Just... don’t make this worse than it already is.”

At the door to her cabin, she paused, looking back at me with an expression that would haunt me for days to come.

“You know what the saddest part is?” she said, just loud enough for me to hear. “You’ve convinced yourself you’re better off alone. But the man I got to know these past few days? He deserves more than that.”

Before I could respond, she disappeared inside, the door closing with a finality that echoed in the empty space she left behind.

The silence she left in her wake wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating.

I sat there for a long moment, engine idling, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. Everything in me screamed to go after her, to apologize, to beg her to understand why I had to push her away.

But I didn’t.

Because I was still that broken thing, still afraid of wanting too much. The coward who let the best thing he’d touched in years walk away.

I put the truck in gear and drove back up the mountain, alone once more.

Just the way I wanted it.

Just the way I’d always be.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.