Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

Grasp. Hold. Attain for myself what no one else would give me, because I wasn’t worth the effort.

And it’d brought nothing but unhappiness. Loneliness. Even when a crowd of people surrounded me.

I shut my eyes, pain winding through me at the mere idea of just . . . letting go.

For her.

The way I’d done with Archer and that amendment, but harder. Infinitely harder.

The lessons just kept on coming, didn’t they?

Life testing whether I’d truly gotten it.

Archer’s words came back to me. She made me braver, and stronger. Because of her, I wanted to be the best version of myself. And that, I think, is what love does, if it’s really love.

The best version of myself wouldn’t try to force Haven to choose me. The best version of myself would let her keep her fear because, for now at least, she needed it. It was helping her survive, and only she got to decide when to let it go.

Bree had given Archer the time he needed to overcome his fear once upon a time. And I’d give Haven hers. Despite that it killed me.

I wouldn’t plot. Not with Archer, and not with her. Not with anyone. I’d made my case. I’d bared my heart and it was all I could do. All I should do. I laced my fingers, clenching my joined hands, because I’d thought it earlier, and I thought it now: old habits died hard.

My eyes remained fixed on the kid in front of me. He carried things too. And he was all she had. Whatever his reasons, he’d turned his pain outward.

I was no better, and probably worse.

“Go to bed, Easton,” I said, my voice thick. “You’re probably going to have a hangover in the morning.”

“Yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair again and pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled toward the doorway, stopping and turning his head back toward me. “Goodnight, Chief Hale.”

“Goodnight.”

I sat there for a few more minutes, letting the suffering wash through me, over me. And then I stood, making my way to my room and packing hastily. I left the key on the dresser and then I exited, looking down the hall at Haven’s closed door, longing to go to her, but resisting.

I walked quietly down the stairs, stopping only to write a brief note to Betty before I left.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT




Haven



My eyes cracked open, light seeping through the edges of the blinds. I was surprised I’d slept at all. I had been sure sleep would be virtually impossible, that I’d stare at the ceiling, the picture of Travis’s face front and center in my mind, the way he’d looked so broken as I’d turned and walked away.

My ribcage felt hollow, empty. I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

Have you considered that you really have no feelings for Gage and that’s why he’s safe?

I sighed, my shoulders sagging.

Have you considered that you’re using him to keep me emotionally at arm’s length?

Yes, of course he was right. I could see that now, all too clearly. I’d been using Gage to keep Travis at arm’s length. Because it meant my survival. I couldn’t risk it again, not now, just when I was finally feeling stronger, just when the sharpest edge of agony over that horrifying night had begun to fade, when finally, finally, the smell of smoke and ash wasn’t the first thing I swore I smelled when I woke.

I propelled myself off the bed, heading for the bathroom. I’d found peace out on the road, stopping only long enough to fund another stretch, forming no attachments, none at all. It’d been a relief. I couldn’t go backward. I didn’t have more heart to risk.

But right from the beginning, I’d sensed a kinship with Travis that defied words. It had scared me. Concerned me. And so I’d done what I thought I had to do to keep him in the box I’d carefully constructed for him.

Friends.

Then—though riskier—friends with benefits.

At first, I’d thought he wanted those things too.

How could he want more? His rebound status would ensure that he’d keep things casual. And in a way that had hurt, but in a way, it had also comforted me.

And so I’d let my guard down.

Give us a chance, Haven.

The joy—the possibility—in those words still caused my heart to gallop, but they terrified me too, because chances were risky. Chances could go either way. Chances offered no guarantee.

I’d been forced to grieve. What kind of fool would I be to willingly put myself at risk of that again?

And the scariest part of all was that I saw a future with him too. The beautiful way it might look. I’d pictured it, clear as day, our bodies connected and our eyes locked as visions of wildflower meadows under a setting sun and a myriad of other visions—dreams—I wouldn’t think about now had flashed through my mind. Each time we were together and I was wrapped in the protective cocoon of his arms, the visions grew stronger and stronger until I could no longer shut them out.

And as I’d learned more about Travis, the question I’d asked as I’d sat reading about the terrible way his father had died, was answered.

Who had helped Travis grieve, I’d wondered.

And the more he divulged about himself, about the shames and the burdens he carried, the more I realized that my hunch was correct: no one had. And so he’d tried to heal on his own and gone about it the wrong way. Maybe the hurt part of me that had never received any closure, recognized the same wound in him.