Page 8 of Soul of the Mountain
4
GABBY
Ican’t seem to do anything except sob in Sullivan’s arms. It’s humiliating, which only makes me cry harder. Surprisingly, Sullivan holds me through it all, soaking up my tears and stroking my back.
Pathetic. Overdramatic. Attention-seeker.
My great aunt’s words echo in my head, blanketing me in shame. She hated my reaction to thunder storms and let me know early on she wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior. I thought I had mostly suppressed my trauma response, but getting caught in the torrential downpour yesterday seemed to have ripped open that old wound.
Sullivan lifts his hand to cover mine, where it’s fisting his shirt. He gently brushes his thumb across my knuckles, encouraging me to loosen my grip. I can’t explain it, but I feel like if I let go, he’s going to disappear. Just like my parents.
“I’m right here,” Sullivan whispers. “I’ve got you, Gabby.”
I nod, though my head is spinning. This man keeps showing up when I’m at my weakest, yet he’s still here, trying to soothe my fears.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out through another wave of tears.
“Nothin’ to apologize for. I’ve got you,” he says again. It’s like he knows I don’t quite believe him.
My emotions gather steam and barrel through me like a train, crushing any semblance of control I thought I had. Sullivan never lets go, never wavers in his care for me. His steady breath and gentle touches ground me, bringing me back from the depths of fear.
“You okay?” he asks after long moments of pathetic hiccups and tears from me.
I nod again. This time, I find the strength to untangle myself from him and sit up a bit. Sullivan grabs a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over my shoulders. The thoughtful gesture brings more tears to my eyes.
“Can I get you some tea? Or hot chocolate?” He stands from the couch, but my hand snakes out from beneath the blanket and grabs onto his.
“Don’t leave me,” I choke out. It’s absolutely pitiful that I need him this much, but my fear outweighs my embarrassment at the moment.
A bright light flashes outside, illuminating everything in the room for a fraction of a second. Thunder cracks the sky in two, releasing an angry and brutal burst of rain. Water pings off the windows and roof, the sound sending me into a spiral once again.
Sullivan settles back down on the couch and pulls me into his arms without a second thought. He tucks me into his side and shields me from the storm outside, as well as the tidal wave of emotions inside.
“Whenever I was afraid of storms growing up, my grandpa always reminded me that good things can come from storms if we know where to look,” Sullivan says softly. His warm, rich tone pours over me and soothes something deep inside. “He liked totell me the story of how he met my gran. Would you like to hear it?”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, I nod and give Sullivan a small, meager smile. That's all I can do at the moment. His dark, kind eyes find mine, and I feel safer than I have in a long damn time. Maybe ever.
“In the sixties, my grandpa was a traveling salesman. One day, he got stuck in an unexpected snowstorm on his way out of Hope Mountain,” Sullivan starts.
I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes while he combs his fingers through my hair. I’ve never been treated with this much care, this kind of tender attention and understanding. Can he really be this kind? This genuine? Even after the way I’ve treated him?
“My gran and her family owned a farm on the outskirts of town. Grandpa was near their property when the snow picked up, and he decided to hunker down in one of the barns for the night. My grandma found him the next morning when she came to check on the cattle. Her family welcomed him, made him breakfast, and offered a shower and a place to stay until it was safe to hit the road again. My grandpa didn’t trust them at first. He thought they were too kind, too good to be true. Especially my grandma. She didn’t want anything from him, just to take care of him.”
I get that, I think to myself.People who are too kind always have an agenda.
“That’s exactly what my grandpa said, too,” Sullivan tells me.
Shit, I didn’t realize I’d said anything out loud. He chuckles and starts massaging my neck. God, it feels way too good.
“Something about my gran stuck with him, though. He kept finding excuses to come back to Hope Mountain, and each time, he stopped by the farm. He had a hard life and fought for everyopportunity he had, and couldn’t trust a good thing even when it was staring him in the face and offering him a warm meal.”
“What changed?”
Sullivan cups the side of my face and tilts my head up so we’re eye to eye. Does he know I’m hanging on his every word? Does he know he has more power over me than I’d like to admit? This man could crush me. Or maybe… he could heal me.
“He realized he liked who he was when he was around my grandma and her family. He didn’t feel like he had to be on the defensive all the time. My grandpa didn’t know how lonely he was until someone showed him kindness and offered him a place at the table without expecting anything in return.”
“Why does it feel like we’re not talking about your grandpa anymore?”
