Page 69 of River & Rue

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I remember that night.” It was the first time I’d seen him in months and the last time I saw him before we nearly lost him to his addiction.

“After dinner, Granny gave me a message. Most of it was about me and Eva, but she said something about you too.”

My knees issue a warning, and I lean harder against the tree. “What did she say?”

“That you’d face your own kind of darkness someday and when that happened, you’d need me. I think that’s why I’m so attuned to you. Because I’ve been waiting.”

My sinuses burn. “Shit, Wilder. But this—I mean, compared to what you went through, this is noth⁠—”

“Don’t.” His voice is pained. “I know growing up with me for a brother wasn’t great. There were a lot of times my bullshit drowned out your voice. I’m sorry you were ever made to feel like your needs weren’t as important as mine.”

I wipe my eyes roughly. “This isn’t necessary. You’ve already made amends to me.”

“This isn’t about amends, Riv. It’s about accountability. I’m attuned to you because you weren’t heard when you should have been, and I was the reason why.” He takes another deep breath. “You asked what Granny said this morning—she had a message for you. It’s a lot, so I wrote it down. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Goosebumps erupt on my arms. I slide down the tree until my ass hits the ground, then tilt my head back. The air is still and heavy, as though the forest itself is holding its breath.

I close my eyes. “Ready.”

“There’s a reason you can’t remember her first message to you. When you were seventeen, you built an unassailable fort inside yourself. But without a door or windows to let light in, you couldn’t access her message.” He pauses. “You with me?”

A hazy memory forms in my mind. A full moon behind leafless trees, a bench on my parents’ back porch. Granny’s hand covering mine.

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “Keep going.”

“Your walls kept you safe, but they also kept Granny from receiving new messages for you. Last night’s was the first one she’s heard in sixteen years. Before I give it to you, I’m supposed to tell you how relieved and proud she is that you’ve finally opened windows.”

Foreboding claws down my spine. “Why does that not sound reassuring?”

“Because you’re an Ashburn,” he says wryly. Paper rustles faintly through the line. “Here’s where things get confusing for me, but she said you’d understand. ‘When the storm first came, your walls were much higher and thicker than expected. You felt drawn to her wildness, but you didn’t actually hear or feel her, so she couldn’t find her way in.’”

The fog in my memory vanishes. I jerk back, almost bashing my head on the tree, as Granny’s message from twenty-three years ago unspools inside me like a spiked chain.

“When you’re lost in darkness and without hope, a storm will come. If you surrender to her chaos, she’ll bring you back to colors and light. If you recognize her and dance with her wildness, you’ll keep each other safe forevermore. But heed my warning: if you reject her gift, there will be no other chance for freedom. No escape from the prison within.”

Wilder’s voice calls me back.

“The good news is since you never fully rejected the storm, you’ve remained tethered to each other. The bad news is the tether has grown frail. Time is running out.”

As much as I dread the answer, I have to ask. “When was I supposed to recognize the storm? Did Granny say?”

“She did. Seven years ago.”

The impact is physical, my body curling around a tearing pain in my chest. An animalistic groan scrapes from my throat.

Seven fucking years.

Seven years of craving something I didn’t know was right in front of me. Seven years lost because of my fear and selfishness and pride.

I’m too overwhelmed to attempt identifying the moment I missed seeing Rue for who she was. Maybe I’ll never be able to. Either way, I have to live with the knowledge that two years after meeting her, I squandered the greatest opportunity of my life.

“Almost done, Riv.”

“Finish it,” I force out.

“‘If you want to save the tether, act fast. Be the first to stand unflinching in the depths of her chaos and remind her who she’s meant to be.’” His voice falters, the final words emerging rough with emotion. “‘Use your gift before it’s too late, River. Summon the storm.’”

I laugh—a pitiful croak. “Ominous and vague as always, Granny K.”