Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

And that had scared me too, because it had made my heart reach for him, wanting—needing—to soothe, to care for, to love.

And so yes, I’d used Gage like a wooden child’s sword, held up against a monster looming out of the dark. A useless shield against something too mighty to fight.

And all a moot point because we were leaving.

I rinsed my toothbrush, setting it on the sink just as a knock sounded at the door. I stilled, meeting my own eyes in the mirror.

“Haven, open up.”

I huffed out a breath. Easton. Simultaneously, my heart sank and relief carried me quickly to the door.

I’m leaving in the morning.

He was really gone.

I pulled it open to see my disheveled brother, sporting a serious case of bedhead, his eyes bloodshot. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, entering the room and sinking down onto the edge of the bed. I took a seat next to him, pulling my legs beneath me.

“Rough night?” I guessed.

“Nah. Good night. I went out with the guys from the firehouse. We had a few too many, but nothing worse than that.”

I sighed internally, watching him for a moment. “So what’s up?”

He paused, running his hand through his hair before meeting my eyes. “What do you think about staying here a little longer?”

“Staying?” My eyes widened. “What? In Pelion? No. Our plan—”

“I know what our plan is. But . . . I like it here. I fit in here.”

“You burned bridges here, Easton.”

“Chief Hale? No . . . I think . . . I mean, I don’t think he carries a grudge.” He looked away as if considering something he wasn’t saying.

Fear licked at my heart like the flames that had decimated our building, our life. I swallowed. Picturing a future with Travis was one thing. Knowing he might want one with me too, if that wanting could be trusted, was another. But staying to find out? Well . . . that would take a certain measure of courage I just didn’t have, nor could I afford to gather.

“No. We have to keep moving.”

“What happens if you stop, Haven?”

My gaze snapped to his. “What?”

“What happens when you stop moving?”

My breath came short, heart picking up speed. Easton stood, walking to the bed where he sat on the edge next to me. “Haven, what happens?”

“It catches up to me!” I blurted. “It all catches up.” And then I’d have to start over, risk again, care again. No more excuses. No more temporary.

I wasn’t ready. Was I?

He laid his hand over mine. “It’s time to stop, Haven. You have to stop running. You’re dragging me with you and I don’t want it anymore.”

My head swiveled his way, a ball of despair dropping inside me. “Oh, Easton,” I breathed, my face collapsing as a sob moved up my throat. I put my hands over my face. “I’m trying to protect you too!”

Easton reached over and gently removed my hands. “But you don’t have to. You already did. A thousand times over.” He turned more fully toward me, shifting closer. “Listen, I’ve been guilty too. I acted in ways that ensured I couldn’t stay anywhere even if I’d wanted to. I burned bridges so it wouldn’t hurt to leave.”

I let out a shuddery breath. “You didn’t want to come on this road trip, did you?”

He shook his head slowly. “No, but I knew you needed it and I wasn’t going to let you go it alone.” He gave me a small weary smile. “I admit, I didn’t think we’d still be on the road two years later.” He paused, tilting his head as the smile dropped. “You sacrificed for me all your life, sis. And it was my turn. But we’ve been on the road long enough now. Let’s stay, Haven. For once, let’s stay. I like working at the firehouse. I think I might have a future there. I can see it, can you? Let’s stay,” he repeated softly. “Even if it means facing the past.”

“I hated her, Easton.” It burst from my mouth like a grenade that had been detonated two years before and only now exploded. “I hated her,” I said, my voice choked with tears. “I kept waiting for her to be more, to do better, for us, and she never would.”

“I know,” he said. “I know, Haven. But you loved her too, and that’s the worst part. It’s time for us both to let it go now though. We have to try.”

I nodded miserably. I had loved her. Deeply. And though she couldn’t care for me, I’d tried to care for her. And it’d never mattered.

Sometimes I wondered if I had a form of PTSD.

Maybe from the fire. From seeing our mother dead—the reality of a lifetime of fearing just that.

Maybe just from our life.

The incessant struggle, the hurt, the never-ending trying that didn’t seem to amount to much. Maybe I’d thought if I could have just saved her it all would have been worthwhile. But I couldn’t. Perhaps nobody could have. And I had to start accepting that and letting myself off the hook if I was ever going to be truly happy. If I was ever going to stop running.

“I’m afraid,” I admitted. “Anyone I hoped would love me left. Eventually, they always did.”

So how did I start trusting now?

Maybe by believing in myself.

By trusting a man I believed might be trustworthy.