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Annie gasped and threw her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Bree,” she said, pulling her back into the hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what to say.”
There, thought Bree, she’d done it. She said it out loud and she hadn’t fallen apart. Red rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed tight.
“Let me go get Dave, honey. He’ll want to see you. Wait, how do you know Red?”
“Kind of a long story. I’ll wait until you get Dave, and fill you both in,” Red answered for her.
“How ya doin’, Bree?” Red asked when they walked back to the truck.
“If I said I was fine, would you believe me?”
“Nah. But I wouldn’t question ya ’bout it either.”
The next morning they got out on the water early. Bree walked farther downstream than she normally would’ve when she was with Red, but today she needed time alone. She and Zack had fished this very stream. She hadn’t told Red, though. It might have made him feel bad about bringing her here.
“This is what I’m here for,” she told herself. She looked up at the sky. “I’m gonna do this, Zack.”
She closed her eyes and cast, imagining he was standing close enough to put his hands on her waist, to gently guide her as her body twisted just slightly and slowly came back around. She could feel his breath on her neck, whispering how well she did.
Right away, she felt a tug. It was almost too much. Through her tears she brought the fish in.
“Back to mama,” she said before releasing it back into the stream.
She dropped down on the rock behind her, put her head in her hands, and cried. What had she been thinking, coming here? Why had she thought it was necessary to immerse herself in her grief? Why hadn’t she just let it happen naturally?
She felt a hand resting gently on her shoulder. She knew it was Red. She didn’t need to look.
“I can’t do this.”
“Come on, then. Let’s go.”
“It’s okay, you can fish. I’ll just walk back to the truck.”
“Let’s go, Bree. We’re done for today.”
Bree let Red guide her, without an argument. He didn’t drive back into town, he went south toward the ranch instead.
“I’m sorry about the tournament, Red.”
“Now, now, none of that,” he answered. “We can fish anywhere we want. Doesn’t have to be up in Salmon.”
Red turned the truck off the road in the direction of the lake, opposite of where Bree expected him to go. She didn’t care where he was headed, though, she was just happy they weren’t in Salmon any longer.
Knowing she’d be back on the ranch felt safer. There were nights she cried herself to sleep, but she could do that in the dark by herself, with no one to witness her sadness. Out on the stream, today, felt too raw, too public, although she doubted anyone saw her, other than Red. She appreciated his comfort, even though she couldn’t bring herself to tell him so.
There was only one other person whose comfort she’d appreciated more. In the weeks after Zack’s death, it had been Jace who held her when she cried. Jace, who, at the time, she couldn’t stand.
She couldn’t understand why she’d let him. Maybe it was because he was so damn pushy he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She could still remember how it felt to have his arms wrapped around her the day she admitted for the first time that she and Zack had fought before he was deployed to Afghanistan, and that he’d left without saying goodbye.
She’d cried for what seemed like hours, that day, and Jace held her through it all. It hadn’t mattered how hard she pushed him away; he refused to let go.
What she’d give to have him here now.
Something had been eating at Jace all day. It had started the night before, when he got into bed. It was something Wyatt said about the woman who was staying on the other side of this cabin. He said she lost her husband in the war. He also said that they could hear her crying at night, when she thought no one could.
Every word he said made him think of Bree. Where was she? Was she feeling the same way? He wished, now, he’d asked his mother more about her plans. He hoped she wasn’t alone, like this woman was.
Several times last night and even today, he thought about texting her. He started to type a message to her three or four times, but never hit the send button. No matter what he wrote, it didn’t sound right.
