Page 23 of Kissing the Wrong Mountain Man

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like, with anger, it can compel you to take action. Sadness can give you empathy and connect you to your own humanity. Happiness encourages you to live in the moment. But guilt? What does guilt do other than make you wallow and feel bad?"

He falls silent so I stare out into the valley, and when I turn back, he's breathing heavily, frowning intensely, and his eyes are swirling with emotion.

The hairs on my arm prick up. "Brock, what's wrong?"

"I…I know a thing or two about guilt." His face wears the gravity of his loss, and I justknowthis is it—the moment he'll open up to me. "There's something I need to tell you, Schapelle."

12

Brock

"Take your time," Schapelle murmurs softly, and I take a deep, fortifying breath, searching to find words I haven't uttered to a single soul. It takes a minute, maybe two, for me to get my bearings.

"We were deep in enemy territory. My best friend, Lachlan, was beside me. Met him when I joined the military. We'd been through every battle together."

I push to my feet, my throat suddenly dry.

Schapelle doesn't say anything, but a few seconds later, she's next to me, handing me my water bottle. "Here."

"Thank you." I take a few gulps, and we sit back down. I scrub a hand through my hair. "The ambush came out of nowhere. One minute, Lachlan was right beside me, cracking a lame joke as always, and the next, he was on the ground."

I'm back there again, on the hot, dusty ground. Heat builds behind my eyes, but I keep going, determined to get this out. "I dropped down and grabbed him, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. But I couldn't. It kept coming. He looked up at me as I held him. We both realized he…he wasn't going to make it."

Schapelle's hand lands on my shoulder as a tear falls down my cheek. "He bled out in my arms, and when he took his final breath, something inside me broke. Why him? He had his whole life ahead of him. He was engaged. His fiancée was pregnant. If not for a few inches, it would've been me. Itshould'vebeen me."

She rubs my back as silent tears roll down my face. I cover my nose with the back of my hand and sniff. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She wipes the tears from my eyes. "I'm so sorry that happened."

We don't say another word as we head back, but she laces her fingers in mine and doesn't let go until we reach my cabin.

"My father often says, 'You can't outrun your pain'. You can't hide from it forever, either. And that's what I've been doing. Buying this cabin, living up here, cutting myself off from the rest of the world, except for the occasional family member dropping in."

We've just had dinner at the breakfast bar since the dining nook looks like a tornado tore through it, with all of Schapelle's work stuff on it. I stayed mostly quiet for the rest of the day. When we got back from the hike, Schapelle checked in to make sure I was okay. I told her I needed some time, so I wrapped up the last bits on the pergola.

All afternoon, I've seen her glancing up from her work, looking at me, her expression anxious, like she's worried about me. I don't like distracting her from her work, but the fact that she cares is nice.

"People deal with trauma in their own way," she says. "At least your way was constructive. You didn't fall into addiction."

"I guess. I just feel like I'm lacking…" I blow out a breath, "purpose."

It feels silly to admit that, but it's true. As much as I've enjoyed the solitude, what good does it do anyone if I fix up my cabin or plant some veggies? I want to contribute again, be part of something bigger than my own tiny world.

Schapelle's eyes flick over to the bronze statue on the mantle.

"It belonged to Lachlan," I explain. "He taught history and loved art. His fiancée gave it to me."

"Right." She tilts her head to where I left the guitar resting against the side of the couch.

"The last time I played it was the night before he was killed," I say. "Until you brought it out."

"I see." She bites her lip, pauses. "And why are you telling me this now?"

Fair question. Deserves an honest response. And since I was about to say this before the baby interrupted with its little kick show, I'm able to articulate exactly how I feel. "Because you're intriguing and fearless and beautiful and energetic and talented, and the thing I've been trying to ignore and tell myself wasn't happening, is actually happening."

"Which is?"

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