Page 51 of Mountain Struggle

“Are you sure?” Damien asked, sounding torn.

“I won’t let him out of my sight, Damien,” John replied. “And I’ll ask Gael and Kat to escort us to yours.”

“Thank you, Dad. We’ll see you tonight, then.”

Tess twisted in her seat, hissing in pain.

“We’ll be there soon, Tess,” Damien said. His hands were white against the steering wheel.

When they got home, Tess followed Damien to the doorway but didn’t go into the main house.

“I’m going to go get changed, if that’s okay,” she said, pointing to her torn shirt.

“Of course.” His eyes were full of concern. “Do you need any help?”

Tess shook her head and walked away. She made it to her little studio, getting so far as to close the white door behind her before collapsing on the wooden floor, her back against the side of the bed.

Her hands shook and tears flowed down her cheeks. She was smart enough to recognize it for what it was, a delayed shock reaction, but that didn’t make it any easier to stop herself from shaking.

Her mind was going a hundred miles an hour—she shuddered to think Jamie could have been walking with her. Would she have had the presence of mind—and the reflexes—to shove the boy out of the way? The alternative was unthinkable.

Tess placed her head down against her knees and hugged her legs, for the longest time just sitting there, concentrating on breathing in and out.

She didn’t even hear the knock on the door, but suddenly she felt the presence of somebody else in the room.

#

Damien

Damien never panicked at work—in his fifteen-year career with the PGHM, he’d gained a reputation among his colleagues for level-headedness. It was something he worked hard at, and something he tried to teach all newcomers—you didn’t last long in the job if you weren’t able to keep your distance.

If they could only see me now.

He certainly wasn’t doing a great job at keeping his distance—he couldn’t, not when Jamie and Tess were involved.

Even though he knew she was fine, every time he blinked a movie ran in his mind of a large Porsche Cayenne mowing Tess down. In his mind, her slim body flipped onto the hood of the car, slamming onto the large windshield. It was so real he could almost hear her body breaking.

Damien clenched and unclenched his hands.

He walked through the living room and stared at Tess’s small studio in the backyard. Nothing moved behind the curtains.

She’s probably showering.

But it’s been a long time.

Before he could talk himself out of it he was out the patio doors and out on the yard, his long legs easily covering the distance between him and the studio. He knocked softly on her door and waited, counting the seconds.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

He got as far as five before he started worrying that something might be wrong.

“Tess?” he asked, knocking again—louder this time.

Where is she?

Damien didn’t hesitate to turn the door knob—it wasn’t locked. Damien pushed it open cautiously, half expecting her to throw something at him for walking into her space like this.

He had an apology ready on the tip of his tongue, but the words died as soon as he saw her sitting on the floor, her head between her knees. Great, silent sobs racked her body—it was clear she hadn’t even heard him come in.