Page 11 of Restored by the Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #3)

I give his question a moment. I respect the man. I don’t believe in bullshit answers.

“Once, I did,” I quietly reply.

He nods. “You know, Veronica wasn’t my first love.”

My feet almost trip on the next step but I keep quiet.

“Sofia. We met young. Loved wild. She was a beautiful young woman. Brought lots of light to my life.”

My jaw clenches anticipating his reasoning for sharing this highly personal story.

“We had six beautiful years together. Then, fate said it was her time.”

Now, my blood courses anger because fate didn’t take my wife and child. I fucking did.

“It wasn’t until another seven years of fucking my way around multiple bottles and almost losing what my father and grandfather bled to build that Veronica came and demanded my walls come down.

She verbally kicked my ass when I got notice that the grain wasn’t sufficient or of quality for that year’s harvest. We lost a couple contracts.

Her father and my father were best friends. She was there when I lost Sofia.”

We reach the RV and Francisco blocks the door by leaning on it, facing me. I cross my arms and wait for this damn story to finish so I can go to sleep.

He studies my face, no doubt tracking my anger. Grinning, he chuckles. “Ay, Ezra. Of all the women in the world, Veronica was the last one I expected to mend my heart and give me purpose to love again.”

I shake my head, staring off the distance at the manicured fields of grain.

“Mijo,” his hand at my shoulder startles me, forcing my eyes to look into his. “What happened to your wife and baby girl–,”

“Don’t,” my voice quietly but firmly warns.

“No matter the choice, complications happen. The best doctors in the world aren’t able to always predict what will go wrong.”

“I betrayed her choice. She made me promise her. I went against it. And fate,” I spit the word, “punished me for my selfishness. I lost them both,” I choke, reigning in the sob.

Francisco, three inches shorter than me but with the authoritative force of a man ten feet tall, takes my face in his hands. Just like Dad used to. My back molars are surely about to break with how hard I’m biting down the emotion.

“Nothing, and I mean nothing, will change the fact that she knew you loved her. Both of them. But, her body couldn’t fight.

She left this world knowing she was loved.

How many people get that, Ezra? And mijo,” he shakes me.

“This self flagellation is not what she’d want for the man she loved.

Me not living and not being loved is not what my Sofia would’ve wanted for me.

I know that is not what Elizabeth wanted for you. ”

The first rebellious tear falls. Francisco’s hands land on my shoulders, squeezing. “It’s time to expel the venom. It’s killing you. And a part of you wants it to.”

I don’t confirm or deny.

“That woman over there,” he tips his head toward the house.

“I don’t know if that’s fate’s gift to you.

Your Veronica. But, from an old man, wiser than you,” he grins, almost making me do the same.

“Don’t let what might be more than fate…

maybe somewhere, in another existence, your Elizabeth is sending you a chance.

Because love beyond this life is unconditional in the purest form. ”

Another damn tear. My arms, still crossed, squeeze as my chest fights to let in a proper breath.

“Stop punishing yourself, Ezra. Stop killing yourself. You still have so much life to live. And while theirs was cut short, we should see ours as a gift not meant to be wasted.”

He stares at me, serious, loving, paternal. He nods, a silent question.

Fighting the multiple voices of my familiar demons, I look into his hazel aging eyes and see his peace. And suddenly, I’m envious. I want to be his age and feel at peace.

I nod my acknowledgment. He pats my shoulders, pulling my head down and kissing my temple.

“Sleep well, mijo.”

I watch Francisco leave as the sun sets and paints the field a deep golden.

Flatter land, unlike at home where the mountains cut into the horizon, show endless skies that look ethereal.

My body grows heavier from unrest and heavy emotions.

I climb inside the RV, get to the bed, and in my clothes, lie down. Sleep finds me instantly.

“Ezra,” Elizabeth’s voice whispers.

My eyes shoot open and there she is. Young. Shoulder-length blonde waves, cornflower blue eyes, and her crooked smile I always loved.

“Liz?” I rasp.

Her hand brushes hair off my forehead. “My big dumb dumb,” she softly chuckles. Her heavy sigh that follows speaks volumes.

“I’m sorry,” my voice cracks.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she keeps her voice low. “Enough of that.”

My eyes pan down to her slightly swollen belly. My hand cautiously reaches forward, hesitating. Feeling undeserving.

Liz’s hand takes mine and settles it firmly on her stomach. In her eyes, lights swirl. No other words are spoken. Deep sadness aches in my bones but also, a strange calm also hums over my skin. Goosebumps flare as a quiet wind surrounds us.

“Rest, my love,” Elizabeth’s voice says before my body shakes awake.

“Elizabeth,” I call, my throat dry.

Disorientated, I blink and find Zoe sitting up in bed with the small reading light on her side on. Confusion has me trying to remember what day it is, where we are, and what time it is? I ask the last one.

She sets her tablet aside. “It’s ten thirty.” I squint toward the windows in the front, by the door. “At night,” she clarifies.

Grunting, I sit up, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palms.

“Nightmare?” she asks.

I sit, staring at my lap, still feeling the goosebumps slowly reside.

“No, actually. Not really,” I answer.

I finally look at her. Her face is fresh from makeup again, her long hair is resting over her opposite shoulder. Her sleep tank is perfectly appropriate but still, so much warm skin. Staring at that bare shoulder, I confess.

“My wife,” I whisper.

“Elizabeth,” she states gently.

I nod. “For the first time. This dream felt different.”

“Good different or bad different?” she asks, turning her body toward me.

Keeping my gaze on that shoulder that’s my lifeline, I think about it. “Good, I guess. And yet…”

“The first four months after Tom died…my fiancé.” That has my eyes meeting hers in surprise. “Yeah,” she whispers.

“How long?”

“A year next week,” she answers and I feel like shit. “Stop,” she firmly says, reading my mind. “You didn’t know.”

I move so that my body angles closer to hers. Leaning my shoulder against the headboard, I study the golden flecks in her brown eyes that the faint light catches. The space is intimate but feels sacred at the same time.

“Car accident. Three months before the wedding.” She lifts her right hand, showing the ring that clearly looks like an engagement ring and I’ve had questions about. But it’s on her right hand. No man has been around her life. I concluded it was just fancy jewelry.

“Shit, Zoe. I’m so sorry.”

She twists the ring around before looking up. “Laurel told me. Not all the details. But, enough.” She waits for my reaction. “About what happened.”

Honestly, I’m so damn tired of fighting against the thick, dark stream of sludge every day, I’m suddenly desperate to talk to her about it.

“Every day, since my decision cost both of their lives,” I begin.

“Ezra,” she breathes out.

I shake my head. “Let me get this out,” I plead. At her nod, I continue. “Sleep was never respite. It was where I laid my body and mind at the altar of penance. I’d wake and find ways to continue punishing my body. I didn’t want to be questioned or fixed. So, I avoided everyone.”

“That’s why they call you Ghost,” she concludes.

“Yes,” I confirm. After a few moments of silence, I whisper, “She asked me to promise her. If something went wrong with the delivery, to choose her. Our little Rosie,” I choke. “But how was I supposed to be that little girl’s father when choosing her meant killing her mother?”

Tears falls that I angrily swipe away, shaking my head. “That selfish thought took them both from this world. They should be here, living, thriving. Not me,” I spit.

Zoe quickly gets up on her knees and plasters her body against my side, taking my face in her hands–the second person today to do this.

“Listen to me, Ezra Hunter.” She waits till I lift my head, her beautiful face blurring from my tears.

“Tom’s car accident was no one’s fault. I could easily spiral into thinking how the only reason he was on that road, on that street, at that exact moment was because my bratty ass was on my period and I wanted a pistachio cronut from my favorite bakery. Should I blame myself for his death?”

“That’s not the same thing, Zoe,” I bite.

Her face gets close to mine. “It is,” she whispers. “You are not God, Ezra. You may look like a mountain God, but sorry. Newsflash, you’re not.”

She’s says that ridiculous statement with such sincerity, I almost laugh which is unimaginable in this moment.

“Preeclampsia is tricky as fuck and too many women have experienced this during labor.” At my shock of her knowing, she shrugs. “I told ya. I was given information.” Her thumbs brush tears that fall and I find that I can’t even be mad at whoever told her.

“Even healthy young woman can die during childbirth. And your little Rosie wasn’t ready to come into the world.

It was too early. The risk was there no matter what you chose.

I am so sorry you all had to go through that and more so, I’m sorry you convinced yourself you deserved to carry this guilt for three long years. ”

“It felt like tonight, she told me goodbye,” I whisper, my voice raspy as I choke back more tears.

“Tom came to me four months ago and said goodbye,” she whispers, getting choked up herself. “I wasn’t ready to accept it mentally but my body literally exhaled. Unconsciously, the healing began.”

“We met ten years ago. Married her two years later,” I quietly tell our story. “We waited but eventually, Liz wanted to start trying.”

Seamlessly, Zoe adjusts us as I keep talking. I recline more against the pillows she adjusts and she then curls herself in my arms. As natural as breathing. Unconsciously, I run my fingertips up and down her arm, keeping our faces close, voices intimate.

“It wasn’t easy. She miscarried for a few years.

The recovery from each time, emotionally, was so damn heartbreaking.

I tried to be what she needed every time.

Make her believe she was not failing us.

At all.” Clearing my throat from it closing, I continue.

“When she got pregnant with Rosie and made it well into her second trimester, we were over the moon.”

Zoe gently caresses my face with the back of her hand.

“But doctors told us,” I look her in the eye. “We knew the potential risks. But Liz was determined to manifest Rosie into existence.”

Closing my eyes, I remember how tiny Rosie was at seven months. Two months too early. She didn’t look real. Especially since she was lifeless. Unmoving.

“Hey,” Zoe cups my wet cheek. “It’s okay to let it out, Ezra. Avoiding the pain doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It’s just there, waiting to be faced.”

Gathering myself again, I exhale, leaning my forehead against hers. “How long were you with Tom?”

She smiles. “Since high school. Classic tale of high school sweethearts who actually made it past college.” She runs her fingers over my shirt aimlessly. “His parents don’t want me to let go.”

Pulling my face back so I can see her clearly, I ask, “How so?”

Sighing, she looks up. I wipe at her wet cheeks.

“They call all the time. When I was in Portland, they stopped by unexpectedly multiple times a week. They always had a box of his stuff to give me. They wanted to spend all day at the table, reminiscing about him.” She shakes her head.

“I moved back in with my parents after since I couldn’t be in his and my apartment without him. Sometimes,” she pauses.

When she doesn’t continue, I lay my hand on her cheek. “Sometimes?” I prompt her to continue.

“I wonder if I got back to living too quickly? Should I be deep in it still?”

“Hey,” I call till she gives me her eyes. “That’s their voices in your head, not yours. And just because you’re thriving, laughing, loving those around you, doesn’t mean you’re entirely over it or healed. I’ve seen the mask fall when no one’s around. You just carry it better than I do,” I grin.

She smiles, her eyes heavy with this intimate release and peace we’re finding in each other’s arms. She combs through the hair by my ear and my eyes become hooded at the shivers that brings down my back. My hold on her tightens, pulling her body closer till there’s no space between us.

“Where did you come from, Zoe Diaz?” I whisper.

“Three hours north, Ezra Hunter. Go figure, huh?” she softly laughs.

“Go figure,” I say, our heads closing the distance before the simple, reverent touch creates a burst of light that pierces my soul.

Delicate, cautious, and yielding are our lips. This first kiss feels more than a romantic gesture. This is two broken hearts, meeting in purgatory, and giving each other a life line.

Zoe’s quiet whimper has me turning my head, pressing my lips deeper against hers which open slightly, taking my bottom lip into her kiss. We pull away in a hypnotic state, watching the other, coming into agreement. This was more than just a kiss.

I scoot further down until I’m lying completely, pulling Zoe further into my chest. She settles in, draping her knee over my thigh.

This is more comfortable than I last remember feeling.

We don’t say anything more. We drift off together into what I know will be the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years.

Hope is the last emotion I remember feeling as I let myself entertain for once that maybe, it wasn’t entirely my fault. Perhaps, Liz had a hand in fate, to help me heal. And this remarkable woman in my arms is worth exploring.