by Vivien Vale
Since before Amelia was born.
Since that one fateful night after he saved me, and I wanted him more than anything—anyone else—in the world.
I’ve never wanted to be that close to another man. But standing here beneath this muscled stranger, I feel a familiar feeling of comfort, of safety.
As the rocks finally stop, and everything goes quiet, I dare to turn around and look into the eyes of the man who has saved us.
I feel my jaw drop open, and my heart leaps into my mouth. It stops for a moment, and then begins to beat furiously, pounding loud enough I swear that he must be able to hear it. He’s always noticed the little things about me.
Boone Masters.
In the flesh.
I’d be lying if I said that he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him in college. He has changed: he’s taller (if that was possible), he’s more muscled, and the beard is a nice touch.
But there’s also something dark about him—in those smoldering eyes, he keeps it hidden, but he’s carrying more than just the weight of these rocks on his shoulders right now.
So, in some ways, I guess he hasn’t changed at all.
What’s he doing here?
I thought that out in the mountains, I’d be miles and miles away from everybody. This place was meant to be remote and isolated, a secluded natural paradise that was untouched by human hands. A place perfect for falling in love with nature, for photography and creating art with my daughter.
I wasn’t supposed to find him out here.
I wasn’t really supposed to find him ever again.
Not because I didn’t want to.
I’d been imagining this moment at least once a day for the last five years—playing every scenario out in my head, trying to guess what we’d say to each other. This is not what I had ever expected at all.
I told myself that I would never see Boone again and that I had to make my peace with it.
It hurt, and I had never really lost those emotions that I felt for him, but I wasn’t given any other choice.
I never expected to see Boone Masters again because my parents didn’t believe that I was safe with him.
My father believed that if we continued to be friends, Boone’s father would use me to get me to manipulate my father. And obviously, my father couldn’t have me being a liability.
All because they were business rivals, and because clearly money was more important to the two of them than knowing that their children were happy.
It broke my heart to lie to Boone back then. Being unable to tell him the real reason I transferred colleges made me feel like I was committing the ultimate betrayal.
I had to let Boone believe that I wanted to leave him behind after he saved my life.
Now he’s here in front of me, and all those emotions that I thought I’d buried come flooding back to the surface.
To make matters worse, I then had his daughter. My beautiful Amelia—the only part of Boone that I was allowed to keep and treasure.
I keep holding her in my arms, between us. My heart is still racing in my chest—my baby, our baby, is unconscious, and it looks as though her leg could be broken. Boone is so close to his daughter, and he doesn’t even know.
Because I couldn’t tell him then.
And now doesn’t feel like a good time either.
“Boone…” I whisper breathlessly.
He’s staring at me, still holding his arms above his head to shield us better from the rocks, but his eyes have never strayed from my face. He knows who I am; he’s recognized me, too. Boone remembers me, he remembers our night together.
He remembers what I did to him.
But I can’t decipher his reaction.
He watches me with those dark eyes, and it feels like he’s staring deep into my soul. But Boone isn’t sharing anything about how he feels with me—there’s nothing to read in his face. His entire body is too focused on protecting me and Amelia for it to reveal anything about him.
“Boone, what are you doing here?” I ask.
There’s no point asking me why I’m here—the camera around my neck is self-explanatory. Boone knew from our college days that I always wanted to be a photographer and that I loved capturing natural beauty.
Boone grunts in response, trying to shift the rocks from his back in a way that it won’t crush us all flat. He’s too busy to really talk to me right now, I understand that.
But I also wouldn’t blame Boone if he never wanted to speak to me again.
Being so close to him sets my skin alight. Everything in my body yearns to throw myself into his arms, to touch him.
A boulder shifts overhead, and I let out a small scream, lifting my hand up to protect Amelia in case it falls. But Boone is already there, his biceps flexing as he strains to keep us both safe.
My fingers brush against his wrist and forearm, tracing along the veins of his arm as I lower my hand back down to my daughter. His golden skin is warm beneath my touch, and I shudder at the sensation. I tear my gaze away from him, forcing my gaze away from those dark eyes into the face of my daughter.
Amelia looks so peaceful, unconscious in my arms. Her breathing is steady and calm, her chest slowly rising and falling. The sound of her breath is the only sound in the air between us.
She’s blissfully ignorant of the presence of her father—and of the emotional turmoil that her mummy is going through right now.
“Boone, I’m not sure if she can walk,” I say shakily, the reality of the situation hitting me.
Amelia is my world—my pride and joy.
She was the only thing I really had that was mine for so long. My father took Boone from me, him and the college of my dreams. The only thing he didn’t take was my photography and Amelia.
Boone grunts again, and the muscles in his shoulders ripple and tense. The rocks begin to shift overhead, cracking and scraping against each other. I shut my eyes and use my body as a shield.
I trust Boone would never let us get hurt, but sometimes accidents still happen.
“Don’t be afraid, Margot,” Boone says in my ear. His voice is low and serious, almost gravelly. But hearing it sets my mind at ease—I’ve waited nearly five years to hear him speak. “I’ll keep you safe.”
I lift my head up again to look at him. As the boulders shift overhead, the light begins to pour in to our little hidey-hole, revealing details about Boone that I hadn’t notice in the low light before.
The t-shirt he’s wearing is too tight for him and clings to his skin as I begin to notice the sheen of sweat. The effort he must have exerted to save Amelia becomes more obvious the longer I look at him. But still, it seems like he could have held those rocks up for hours if Amelia hadn’t been in trouble.
Boone carves a path out of the rocks. I watch as each muscle in his upper body stretches and flexes as he tosses the boulders from above us. They tumble down the pile and out of sight.
The fresh mountain air fills my lungs, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
He works in silence. Saying nothing and barely looking at me as he tosses rocks from above and around us. Clearing a space so that we can escape.
Once we’ve stepped out of the rockslide, I look around. The road is entirely blocked, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, a long way from the path.
If I were alone, I would try to climb over the boulders and head back to the path and ultimately back to my car. But Amelia won’t be going anywhere.
Boone can see this.
In the daylight, the damage to her leg is clear to see.
“I live nearby. Follow me,” Boone says plainly, beginning to walk further from the rock pile. His strides almost encompass two of my steps, and he moves quickly.
I’ve waited so long to see Boone again, and I’d have given anything to see him again, to feel his touch on my skin, to hear his voice say my name. If I go with him down this road—to his house—I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.
But I d
on’t have a choice.
Boone
At first, I thought she was going to argue with me, the way she folded her arms across her chest and set her lips into a pencil thin line.
But then she didn’t, and now I’m carrying this limp little bundle in my arms. My eyes rake over her body, her face, her hair.
I can’t believe it.
My insides feel as if someone’s squeezing them, intent on ridding me of my life’s juices. Margot doesn’t need to say anything. It doesn’t take Albert Einstein to work out who’s the father of this little girl.
I can’t pinpoint exactly why I know. I just fucking do. Maybe it’s the facial features, or her hair, or a combination of things.
But I fucking know I’m her father.
It’s a lot to take in. Saving the life of the woman I love—together with that of her little girl—and then find out she’s my daughter.
Fuck.
If I could, I’d run my hand through my thick dark hair. My hands are a little busy right now, though.
Margot walks in silence next to me. Now that we’ve crossed the face of the mountain and are back on the path, it’s become a little easier. Our feet are on firm ground, and there’s no risk of slipping or tripping.
Before, on the steep slope, she hovered so close to me to make sure I was carrying her daughter the right way that she nearly tripped me up a couple of times. I don’t know how she fucking managed to stay on her own two feet.
Anyway, since we’re back on firm ground, she’s not hovering like a helicopter anymore. Instead, she’s walking on my left and ever so slightly behind me.
“What’s her name?” I growl.
It’s hard to keep cool, calm, and collected. Part of me wants to shout for joy, demand fucking answers, and hug this little girl and tell her I’m her dad. And then the other part wants to yell in frustration.
I mean, fuck. What a way to meet the woman you love again—and your daughter: in a fucking life and death situation.
“Amelia.”
Margot’s voice is barely audible. It’s so soft. I think she must still be in fucking shock.
It’s a lot to take in for her as well. First, she and her daughter are nearly killed; and then her rescuer turns out to be the man she abandoned all those years ago—five, to be exact.
Man. Even the fucking math adds up.
Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Questions buzz around my head like out-of-control helicopters. With so much background noise, it’s difficult to put one proper thought together.
She could have told me—no. She fucking should have told me.
I should have known.
Then what? I ask myself. How would things be different if I had known?
“She’ll be okay.”
I don’t know why I say this. Maybe it’s to reassure myself.
“Thanks,” mumbles Margot.
If I was hoping for an explanation, she’s not going to give it to me.
Without saying anything else, we keep walking, side by side. Occasionally, her arm brushes against mine, and when it does, millions of fireworks explode in my head.
For some reason, it seems to take ages to get to my cabin.
Finally, when we reach it, I feel Amelia stir in my arms.
All I want to do is hold her, stroke her face, and tell her it’ll be alright. I want to kiss her forehead and make sure she smiles. But I can’t do any of those things.
I wonder what Margot has told her about her father. Had she said I was dead? Or had she said I abandoned them?
Knowing Margot the way I do, I’d say she didn’t use either of those excuses.
But she must have told the little girl something. From what I know and what I can tell, Amelia is four.
Not that I’m on expert on kids, but I do know they’re very inquisitive and ask a million and one questions a day. At some point in time, she would have been bound to ask where her dad is.
“Mom,” she squeaks and looks around.
Her dark eyes rove over my face.
“Who are you?”
The innocence in the face tugs at my heart strings.
“Where’s Mommy?” Tears start to roll down her face. “My leg—it hurts,” she sobs.
“I’m right here, sweetie,” Margot reassures her and takes her hand. “You’ll be fine. You’re a brave little fairy warrior remember?”
“Nearly home,” I grumble and glance at Margot.
Margot is holding onto Amelia’s hand. The little girl’s gone quiet again. Looks like mom’s magic touch did the trick.
More and more questions tumble into my head.
Finally, my cabin comes into sight.
“That’s where I live,” I say. My words are directed at Amelia.
Neither Margot nor Amelia say anything.
Whimpering can be heard from Amelia, and I put that down to pain.
As soon as we get inside, I gently lower the little girl onto my lounge.
“Ouch!” she cries. Her arms reach for her mother. “Mom, mom!” she wails and sobs into her mother’s chest. “It really hurts. My leg really, really hurts.”
I look at Margot. She’s stroking the hair of her daughter, whispering soothing, sweet nothings into her ear.
The tense figure relaxes a bit. Her face is buried in the chest of her mother.
“I’m going to take a look at this injured leg.” I’m speaking loud enough for Amelia to hear me. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
“Shouldn’t we get help?” Margot sounds tense, and her eyes look at me in a strange kind of way. I can’t quite make out what she’s trying to convey.
“Better I do it here and now. Too far to go,” I grumble.
With a deep inhale, I let my fingers gently glide over the injured leg. There’s a gash, some scrapes, and a break. I know I’ll be able to look after it.
“I—” Margot starts and stops.
“I’ll be back,” I say firmly, not taking the bait of further discussion on the matter. “Make sure you keep her very quiet,” I add before I leave the room.
The words seem superfluous. Where’s she going to go? But we say silly things in stressful situations.
“Where are you going?”
I may be imagining this, but Margot’s voice seems to carry panic in it.
“Just to get some things to put on the leg.”
Her eyes follow every move I make. It’s tempting to remind her she left me and not the other way round. Of course, this is not the time and place.
Amelia needs both of us right now to focus on her. She’s not seriously injured, but the leg is bad enough that I need to make sure I give it my full and undivided attention.
Gently and carefully, I apply a splint and bandage to the injury. I keep my eyes on the little girl clinging to her mother.
It seems unfair that she’s only got eyes for her mum. She shouldn’t be ignoring me like this.
It takes all my self-control to quash the little boy in me who wants to throw a tantrum and complain to his own mother. It’s silly, I know. The poor little girl has no idea she’s with her mother and father right now.
“You’re a very brave little girl,” I tell Amelia and pat her on the shoulder.
Her eyes peer at me from under mom’s arms. She’s wrapped into her mother so tight, I can barely work out where she starts and Margot ends.
If only I could wrap my arms around both of them and tell them it’s going to be okay. Chances are Amelia would get even more frightened, and Margot might react badly, too.
“Can I get you something?” I’m looking at Amelia, but the question is really directed at her mother.
Margot shakes her head.
“No,” she whispers. “I’m fine. Are you sure she’s okay? Shouldn’t I try and take her into town to get her proper medical treatment?”
I suppress a laugh. It always amazes me how much faith people have in the medical profession, more so than any other type of profession.
“She’s fine,” I reassure Margot. “I’ve done everything a doctor would do. The leg is splinted, and we won’t let her weight bear on it. I’ll disinfect some of the cuts and get ice for those bigger bruises.”
When I return, they’re in exactly the same position as when I left them.
“Here, you hold this here,” I hand Margot a packet of frozen peas.
Amelia flinches slightly as her mother holds the cold packet onto her leg, where multiple bruises and swelling can be seen.
“Now, what about you?” I ask quietly.
Margot doesn’t look at me. She’s only got eyes for one person.
“I’m fine,” she mumbles.
I examine her best as I can from where I am. It appears as though she’s telling the truth. I can see some cuts, abrasions, and bruising, but nothing serious enough to warrant my attention right now.
Silence descends on the room.
Amelia is sobbing into her mother’s arms, and her mother is simply stroking her hair making a shhh kind of sound into her ear.
Suddenly, I feel like an intruder, the third wheel on the wagon. I shouldn’t be here. What the fuck am I doing in the same room as these two?
Without another word, I practically flee.
I’m breathing hard and fast. I make it into the kitchen where I bend over the sink, half-feeling as if I might throw up.
What was she doing here? Why had she picked this spot to come to? What if I hadn’t come along when I had?
Those and about a hundred other questions are bouncing around my head. I don’t have fucking answers to any of them. Each question leads to another question and another.
I hit my forehead against the hard, wooden bench, as if knocking sense into myself.
Margot.
Who would have thought I’d see her again, after all these years?
Beautiful, gorgeous, and sexy Margot.
I close my eyes and see her before me. Thinking of her has a fire burn brightly inside of me.
I want her. I need her.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and make my way to the shower. I’ll need to take a long, cold shower to get myself back under control.
And when I come out again, I’ll…
I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.
One thing is for sure: I’ll need to get my shit together before I face Margot and Amelia again.