Travis by Mia Sheridan

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.

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.

Easton reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing. “I’m not leaving,” he said. “You’re stuck with me for life.”

And then my little brother opened his arms and I fell forward, face-planting into his chest and grasping the fabric of his shirt in my fist, holding on to what felt solid. Easton held me as I cried, releasing some of the long-held pain and the deeply lodged fear.

Finally.