Page 57 of Mountain Void

A chorus of protests sounded.

“Happy birthday, Tess,” Charlie said.

“Thank you for coming,” Tess said warmly. “And remember, you two, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t narrow things down much,” Damien muttered.

They made their way out through the house, stopping to say goodbye to Hugo, Jo, and the kids.

The air outside felt quiet.

“I like her,” Charlie said quietly. “I like all your friends.”

Lorenz glanced at her. “They like you too.” His arm slipped around her shoulders, as if it’d always meant to be there.

Lorenz

Lorenz tightened his grip slightly around Charlie’s hand as they walked.

She didn’t pull away.

He wanted this. More than he’d ever wanted anything before.

She’d chosen him once, and he’d disappointed her in the worst possible way.

He wanted to show her he was no longer that man. He wanted to show her that he could be trusted with her heart.

If she could forgive him.

Charlie slowed, then stopped at the footbridge above Floria. Beneath them, the dark stream rushed by.

She rested a palm on the wooden railing, leaning forward slightly, her other hand still in his.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. Her eyes were bright and luminous in the soft light from the streetlamp.

“I was thinking about us,” he said. “I seem to be doing a lot of that.”

It was as good a starting point as any. He couldn’t continue ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room. Too often, in their past together, he’d chosen silence. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake now.

They were going to have to talk at some point—really talk to each other. And if that made her run … maybe that was for the better. Regardless of how much it hurt.

“What about us?” she asked, her voice hesitant this time.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. His jaw tightened, but he pushed the next words through. “But I don’t want to lose this again.”

Her fingers tightened on the wooden railing.

“You didn’t lose me, Lorenz.”

“I messed up.”

She gave a startled laugh. “You? When?”

He pushed through the dryness in his throat. “Six—almost seven—years ago.”

This time, her fingers left his. Now, both her hands clutched the wooden railing. “We both made mistakes then.”

“No,” he said firmly. “The mistake was all mine,” he said, finally baring his soul. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could take those words back.”