Page 5 of Chasing the Wild
The view was stunning. Endless mountains rolling away in shades of green and gray and blue, crowned with the first hints of autumn color. The sky was unmarred by any sign of human civilization.
"This is why I do this," Sam said quietly. "Not the corporate retreats or the team-building exercises. This."
I looked at him instead of the view, studying his profile. The hard line of his jaw. The way his eyes softened as he looked at the mountains. The peace that seemed to settle over him out here in a way I'd never seen someone peaceful in a courtroom or conference room.
"Why do you do the corporate retreats if you hate them?" I asked.
His mouth quirked. "Who says I hate them?"
"The way you look at us like we're hopeless tourists playing dress-up in your world."
He turned to face me fully, and I was suddenly very aware that we were alone. Away from the group. Just the two of us on this rocky outcrop with nothing but wilderness and sky.
"Is that what you think?" he asked. "That I see you as hopeless?"
"Don't you?"
"No." He took a step closer, and I felt my pulse spike. "I think you've been drowning for a long time, and you're so good at treading water that nobody's noticed you're going under."
The words nearly knocked the breath out of me, and my vision swam with sudden tears. How did he see that when I'd spent years perfecting the illusion that I had everything under control?
"I'm fine," I said automatically. The lie I'd been telling myself and everyone else for months. Maybe years.
"Bullshit." Sam's voice was gentle but implacable. "You're not fine. You're running on fumes and willpower. Sooner or later that's going to run out."
"Why do you care?" The question came out sharper than I intended.
"Because I've been where you are," he said simply. "Different circumstances, same drowning feeling. And I know what it's like to keep going because you don't know how to stop. Because stopping feels like admitting defeat."
I stared at him, this mountain of a man who looked like nothing could touch him, and tried to imagine him drowning in anything.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I learned that running toward danger was easier than facing the things that scared me," he said. "That adrenaline was a good substitute for actually feeling anything. That I could control the risks I took even if I couldn't control anything else."
There was a story there. A deep one. But before I could ask, he continued.
"You do the same thing, don't you? Just with different tools. You control your schedule, your appearance, your performance. You manage every variable you can because it makes you feel like you're not drowning."
"Stop," I said, my voice cracking. "You don't know me."
"Don't I?" He took another step closer, and now we were almost touching. "You're smart as hell. I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you probably got into law school on scholarships because you came from nothing and needed to prove you deserved to be there. You work twice as hard as everyone else because you're terrified someone's going to figure out you don’t belong."
Tears were streaming down my face now, and I couldn't stop them. Couldn't stop the way my chest was heaving with suppressed sobs. Couldn't stop the feeling that this stranger had just reached inside me and pulled out every fear I'd been carrying alone.
“But that’s not true,” he said.
"How..." I couldn't finish the question.
"Because I see you," Sam said softly. "Really see you. Not the performance. Not the armor. You."
And then his hand came up to cup my face, his thumb wiping away tears with a gentleness that threatened to shatter me.
"You don't have to be strong alone. Not up here. Not with me."
I should have stepped back. Should have thanked him politely and returned to the professional distance that kept me safe. I should have done anything except lean into his touch like a flower turning toward the sun. But I was so tired. So tired of holding it together. So tired of being perfect. So tired of pretending I wasn't barely surviving.
"I don't know how to not be alone."
