"Okay." She yawns, finally sounding tired again. "Thanks for talking to me. For letting me get to know you a little."
"Didn't really have a choice. You're persistent."
"I prefer determined." Her hand squeezes my arm gently, then withdraws. "Goodnight, Rhett."
"Goodnight."
Chapter 7 - Autumn
“Goodnight.”
I don't close my eyes. Don't settle into sleep even though my body is exhausted and my mind should be quiet. Instead, I stare at the dark ceiling and think about the man lying six inches away from me.
He was military. Special operations. Something went wrong and people died and he's been punishing himself ever since. Living alone on a mountain, cutting himself off from everything and everyone, building a life that's just barely a life at all.
And he thinks it was his fault.
I want to know more. Want to understand what could drive someone to this level of isolation. What kind of wound runs so deep that five years alone in the wilderness feels like appropriate penance.
But I also heard the pain in his voice when he talked about it. The raw, bleeding edge of trauma that hasn't healed, maybe will never heal.
I should let it go. Should respect his privacy and his boundaries and the walls he's clearly built for a reason.
Except.
Except we're here, right now, in this cabin with nowhere to go and nothing to do but exist together in the darkness. And tomorrow I'll go back to town and he'll go back to his solitude and this moment, this strange, fragile thing that's formed between us, will be gone.
This is my chance. Maybe my only chance. To understand him. To see beneath the scars and the muscles and the gruff exterior to whoever he was before everything went wrong.
Because I think I want to know that person. I think that person might be worth knowing.
"Rhett?" I speak.
"I thought you were going to sleep."
"I thought so too. But I'm not tired anymore."
He grunts. Not quite agreement, not quite dismissal.
"Aren't you going to ask me anything?" I venture.
"About what?"
"About me. My life. Why I do what I do. Anything."
"No."
The blunt rejection stings more than it should. "Why not?"
"Not interested."
Ouch. Okay then. I should take the hint. Should roll over, close my eyes, end this conversation before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
But something in his voice doesn't match his words. There's a tension there, like he's forcing himself to say something he doesn't quite believe.
"You could at least pretend," I say, aiming for light but landing somewhere closer to hurt.
The silence stretches. I count my heartbeats—ten, fifteen, twenty. Then he sighs. It's a sound of resignation, of a man losing a battle with himself.
