Page 102 of Out of the Cold

Chapter Nineteen

She was leaving tomorrow.

He hadn’t been literally marking an “X” on a calendar for every day that passed since Lucy had told him she was going, but that’s what he saw in his head. A big X crossing off another day in a string of days he was missing with her.

His love for her was matched only by the certainty that he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

He also couldn’t see a future beyond her leaving. That was the scariest part of all. As tired as he was getting of the four walls of his cabin, returning to Sacramento didn’t feel possible anymore.

And sometime between now and tomorrow, he had to say goodbye.

He was feeling too much, and the impulse to drink himself numb was strong. But he couldn’t say goodbye like that. Lucy deserved better.

He had to get out of his head, and there was only one way to do that. He put on his winter layers and boots and headed out.

The hill behind his cabin wasn’t safe with today’s conditions, so he was forced to head down the driveway toward the other trails.

He glanced toward her car as he passed, then stopped cold. It was full of boxes. He hadn’t even seen her bring them out. If he had, he’d have come out to help her, however much it would have pained him.

She must have done it while he was in town this morning, probably to avoid that very thing.

He forced himself to keep moving. Crossing the street, he headed along the path Lucy had taken every day all winter long. Would he have the heart to go down it when she was gone?

Lately everywhere he looked, memories of Lucy followed him.

His breath came faster as he warmed up. The smell of new snow, cedar, and pine sang to him as he moved deeper into the forest—but underneath it all was the knowledge that he’d lost Lucy.

No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t lost her. He’d left her.

“It’s your fault I’m here in the first place,” he said out loud.

Maybe he was going crazy, or maybe this was what you did when you were in your place of worship and desperate. Except he wasn’t talking to God. He was talking to Ricky.

“I’d still be in Sacramento, having a normal life. Now look at me. I left the woman I love because I’m terrified of losing her. How does that make any sense?”

The Ricky in his head looked solemn. Eighteen was old enough to recognize when you’d made a mess. But that wasn’t good enough.

“What were you thinking? I told you never to go out in conditions like that. There was a whole mountain for you to ski down right outside the hotel door, but you had to go into the backcountry.” He was yelling now, tears warm on his face as he crashed his way through the forest. “Do you know what it was like waiting for them to find you? What it was like calling your mother and telling her you were dead?”

He bent over, panting, though he’d only gone a couple of miles. His chest ached like he’d been carved out and left hollow—like he’d never be whole again.

“You were just a dumb kid, and now that’s all you’ll ever be.”

Silence rang around him. Even the crows had gone quiet.

He moved to straighten up, and the pain in his back was so sharp he couldn’t breathe. His muscles seized, driving him to his knees. He tried to relax, tried to slow his breathing, but as soon as he tried to move, the pain knifed through him.

He eased himself down until he was lying flat on his back and staring at the sky through the trees.

Understanding came slowly, like morning light through the forest canopy. He’d been too swamped with guilt to realize how angry he was at Ricky. Not just angry, but furious at him for getting himself killed when he knew better.

And he’d taken it out on Lucy.

Lucy, who more than anyone in the world would have understood, if he’d only known how to tell her.

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