Page 94 of Return to Us
“Only when safety is involved.” He gives me a wink.
I roll my eyes at the playful banter we tend to have. Grayson brings out the carefree side of me, and I love every second of it.
He rows a few more times, and then I see the dock on the other side. “I’ll tie us off and then get you girls out.”
Melia and I sit patiently as Grayson handles it. Then he reaches down, hoisting Melia out in one pull. “Go over and wait by the big tree,” he tells her.
She rushes off and then he helps me out. His strong arms wrap around my waist, steadying me because it still feels as if I’m rocking.
“You feel good here,” Grayson says with a slight tremble in his voice.
“What do you mean?”
“This place, it’s more than just this.”
I look around, trying to understand his words. “I don’t . . .”
His lips are flat except for the slight curve at the ends. “I want to show you something.” Gray steps back, stretching his hand out. “Will you come with me?”
If he only knew just how much he’d already shown me. He’s reminded me that his love is beautiful and I want nothing more than to live in it.
Leaving him, it would be . . . stupid.
How have I let this happen? How did I fail to guard myself, even when I kept saying I was going to?
Instead of saying no or asking to leave, I take his outstretched hand and let him guide the way.
We climb, Melia running beside us, holding my other hand. We go up a set of old stairs made of wood that look like they’ve been here since the mountain formed. And then, there’s a clearing.
How I didn’t see it from the other side of the lake, I don’t know. But a very old, very sturdy-looking home sits here.
Instinctively, I walk toward it, almost as though it calls to me.
“Grayson,” I say, my breath leaving my lungs in a gush. “It’s incredible.”
“It needs a ton of work.”
“But the bones are good, right?”
He nods. “It’s structurally sound.”
I think about the house he built on our mountain. “Why didn’t you fix this house?”
Grayson looks at Melia and smiles. “This isn’t where I want to live.”
“No?”
He lifts up his daughter, holding her tight. “It’s where I plan to work.”
* * *
It’s dark, everything feels as if it’s on the periphery and the fog is thick. I can see it, but I can’t touch it.
The sounds are the same. The scraping, the bending of metal. The crunches and banging as we hit the ground, but it fades as the dream wears on.
I fight against the memories, and they start to dissipate slowly. It’s as though the plane isn’t hitting the ground, but hovering. I work harder to shove the dream back.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
