Page 35 of Love Is A Draw
She staggered to her feet. The ground felt slippery, unstable. She stumbled, catching herself against a tree before straightening again. Her legs didn’t want to move, but every nerve screamed that she couldn’t stay. The air clung to her, weighted and thick, suffocating in ways she couldn’t explain.
Victor said something behind her, but the words didn’t land. They splintered and scattered, incomprehensible, as her ears buzzed violently. She waded through the mud. Every movement a squelch.
The weight of it all pressed down on her. The cold pond. The silk canopy shrouding the water. Victor was breathing likehe’d been dragged through the depths with her. And somewhere beyond them, no sign of the pilot—lost in the wreckage, or worse, beneath it. She wanted to shake it all off, to strip the moment from her skin and leave it behind. Finally, she managed a third step, then a fourth, her pace quickening, though each movement sent shocks through her trembling legs.
Her mind clamored with noise, her breath ragged and wild as she blindly pushed her way forward, her feet squelching through the mud. She didn’t care where she was going, didn’t care that her gown dragged and tore against the ground. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning Victor out until she only heard the faint rush of blood and the jarring sound of her own gasps. She didn’t look back because she could still feel it all behind her. She had no idea how to face the pond, weight, or enormity of it all.
Her strides turned into staggered, frantic strides. The damp air licked at her cheeks, and for all its chill, it seemed like freedom. Her tears mingled with dirt, streaking her face as she pressed forward with no direction, no aim. Only the urgent, overwhelming need to move, to escape.
CHAPTER 16
The first shout jolted Victor like a crack of thunder. He turned toward the tree line, breath caught in his throat, as a group of men bounded into view. Their boots pounded against the uneven earth, sending up sprays of damp soil and breathless urgency. Relief and dread collided in his chest, tangled so tightly he could hardly draw breath.
“Over here!” the pilot called hoarsely from the pond, his drenched figure crouched in the water, his hands twisted into the torn leather of the balloon envelope. One of the men skidded to a halt at Victor’s side, his face ruddy from exertion.
“Are you injured?” the man barked, his clipped voice cutting through the chaos.
Victor opened his mouth, closed it again, then managed a rough shake of his head. Words wouldn’t come. Injured? No. Not physically. Not in a way he could point to.
Gail was running. Each hurried footstep took her farther away with a crushing, irrevocable finality he couldn’t bear.
This was his fault. That truth slammed into his chest harder than the crash itself. He’d invited her onto the balloon. He’d smiled, coaxed, and reassured her with promises of safety.He’d brought her into his world—and broken the chances of happiness.
He kissed her in the clouds.
And she had trusted him. Trusted him enough to climb aboard with neither suspicion nor hesitation. And what had he done? He’d brought her down in flames, stealing every shred of control she’d had over her life. He could have killed her. He might have been her death.
“Sir?” the man pressed.
Victor’s throat felt thick. His eyes flicked back to the pond where two men rolled up their sleeves, wading into the water with muttered curses and calls for rope. The envelope hung limp and jagged, its surface torn and useless, drifting as though it meant to haunt the entire scene. The sight of it turned Victor’s stomach, but more pressing was the small figure disappearing through the trees.
She was running away from him.
And so she should.
I need to catch up with her.
“Gail,” he rasped, but the sound was swallowed by the sharp bellow of one worker.
“Get that edge before it drags under!”
The urgent shouts of men hauling at the leather twisted around him like a noose.
Children appeared next, their laughter mismatched with the chaos, eyes wide with morbid delight. Three darted past Victor, shoes pounding the earth as one shouted, “There’s a real balloon basket in there!”
The world carried on without him—but he couldn’t. Victor clenched his jaw, blocking out all the noise, the pilot’s complaints, the water. All he could see was Gail’s retreating form, hurried and unsteady, her skirts trailing mud in her wake. He had to reach her. He had to make it right. He tore after her,faster than he thought his legs could go under the weight of his exhaustion.
By the time the trees gave way to the soft, winding road, his heart beat brutal pain in his chest. She was ahead of him, barely upright, her walk uneven, her shoulders trembling. A passerby gaped as Gail approached, the woman’s parasol slipping from her fingers.
“Where are we?” Gail croaked.
The woman blinked, her mouth parting as if she couldn’t quite muster a response. “Hampstead Ponds.”
Gail gave a half-nod and staggered past, a faint, “Thank you,” spilling from her lips.
She swayed, then froze. Her hands came up high, as though she meant to reach the heavens, then they lowered slowly over her head, folding tightly like she might hold herself together through sheer will.
