Chapter 188 We'll win

Chapter 188 We'll win
On our third day there, I went for a walk alone because I desperately needed to clear my head. I told myself I only wanted some air, some distance, something that wasn't the walls of the cabin and the thoughts I'd been carrying around inside them.
Somehow, the walk turned into a run.
I didn't remember deciding to run. One moment I was walking, hands shoved into my pockets, and the next I was moving faster, my shoes striking the path hard enough that I could feel each impact climbing up my legs. My lungs started aching embarrassingly quickly. Exercise hadn't exactly been high on my list of priorities lately, and my body made sure to remind me of that within minutes.
I kept going anyway. For a little while, I wanted the exhaustion. I wanted my body to hurt for a reason I understood. I just needed to move fast enough that my thoughts couldn't catch up.
Eventually, even that stopped working.
I slowed to a walk, then stopped completely, folding over with my hands braced against my knees. I dragged air into my lungs, one breath after another, staring at the ground until the world stopped swimming.
That I saw a tiny shape several feet ahead of me.
At first, I assumed it was dead. It hardly moved. There were barely any feathers covering its little body, its skin looking impossibly delicate beneath the morning light. But when I crouched down, I saw the faint movement of its chest.
Alive....barely, but alive.
I reached for it carefully, scooping it into my palm and curling my fingers around it without closing them. It weighed almost nothing. A handful of warmth and bones. Its head moved weakly against my thumb.
I looked up and there was a nest in one of the trees above me. High enough that getting to it wasn't going to be easy. For one dark, fleeting second, I wondered if it was worth it. Not the bird, the effort.
I was tired. I was angry. I was so fucking sad that sometimes it felt like there was a second person living inside my chest, permanently grieving something I couldn't even name yet.
What difference would it make? I could put this thing back in its nest, and tomorrow it could fall again. Or something could get to it. Or it could simply die because nature had decided it wasn't strong enough. What was the point of fighting so hard to keep something alive when the world had so many ways of taking it anyway?
The thought disgusted me almost as soon as it formed. I was supposed to be a nice person. Ryan insisted I was. And something this helpless was supposed to trigger something instinctive in me. Something protective. Instead, I'd looked at it and thought, ‘Is this really worth the trouble?’
I stared at the tiny bird in my hand.
"Don't make me hate myself," I muttered.
Then I stood. It took longer than I wanted it to. I had to find a way up without hurting myself or the tree, climbing carefully, awkwardly, using exposed roots and the lower branches until I could reach the nest. When I finally managed to place the bird back inside, it disappeared beneath the warmth of whatever little nestlings were already there. I stayed there for a moment, making sure it was settled, then I climbed back down.
My legs were shaking by the time I reached the ground. I sat with my back against the tree and let my head fall against the rough bark. For a while, I did nothing, just breathed. The darkness I'd been carrying around inside me seemed to drain slowly, leaving something worse behind.
Emptiness.
It reminded me of that night months ago, heading to the book forum with absolutely no reason to be there, feeling emotionally and mentally exhausted enough that even wanting something seemed like too much work. I'd had no motivation, no passion and no real thirst for anything. I'd walked into that elevator feeling like there was nothing waiting for me on the other side of it.
And then...
I closed my eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. A bird flew down through the branches. It landed on the edge of the nest, tilted its head, and disappeared inside.
I watched it, then scoffed quietly. A smile pulled reluctantly at my mouth. I was glad I'd done it. I was glad the stupid little thing was back where it belonged.
I pushed myself upright and started walking back toward the cabin. I had apparently used up whatever stamina I'd been pretending to have, because running was officially off the table. On the way, I noticed small wild flowers growing beside the path. I stopped and picked a few, then a few more. I had no idea what half of them were called. I just knew they were pretty, and Ryan would like them.
The thought made something in me soften. The trees I'd run past earlier looked different now. Their branches stretched overhead in wide, tangled canopies, catching pieces of sunlight and breaking them into shifting patches across the ground.
Earlier, I'd wanted to punch one. Now I stood there looking up at it and wondered how old it was. The flowers in my hand smelled faintly of grass and something sweet. Nothing had changed, not really. My heart was breaking...but it was also still beating.
Just like that little bird's.
Just like Ryan's.
I thought about my gardener who couldn't stop listening to his heart even when every rational part of him was telling him not to. He'd spent years carrying a childhood crush around like something harmless. And then he'd found him again, at the worst possible time. Under the worst possible circumstances. And somehow, instead of walking away, he'd fallen anyway. He'd known there was a chance this would destroy him. Maybe he'd even known from the beginning. But he was still brave enough to feel it. Brave enough to chase something genuine when his life had been so empty before that he hadn't even realized how empty it was.
Maybe this was his only chance, maybe it wasn't. The story wasn't over and that mattered.
I didn't know how it ended. Nobody did. And who was I to decide that the cracks couldn't close? That broken pieces couldn't find their way back together?
They could....I had to believe that. Not because belief changed reality. But because sometimes it was the only thing standing between you and giving up before the ending arrived. By the time I reached the cabin, I was sweaty, exhausted, and carrying a handful of flowers that looked considerably more impressive in my imagination.
Ryan was curled beneath a blanket on the hammock. He had a book open in his hands, although his eyes weren't really moving across the page. He looked up when he heard me, then his gaze dropped to the flowers. His eyes were half-lidded, but his smile was immediate. He lifted one hand lazily toward me. I walked over and placed the flowers in it. He held them against his chest for a moment, looking at them with that same quiet wonder he always seemed to have whenever I gave him something. Like I'd handed him something priceless.
I crouched beside the hammock, then I reached up and cupped his cheek.
"We're going to fight this," I whispered and his eyes lifted to mine. "We're going to win."
I didn't know if I believed the second part, but I wanted to.
I probably looked insane. My hair was damp with sweat, my shirt clung to my back, and there was something frantic and desperate in my eyes that I knew I wasn't hiding very well. Ryan studied me for a long moment, then he nodded. His fingers tightened slightly around the stems.
"No regrets," he whispered.
I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. There were still possibilities I couldn't control. Possibilities I didn't want to name. Certainties that weren't certainties at all.
Saying we'll win couldn't make it true. Promises couldn't rewrite blood counts. Love couldn't negotiate with cells. Hope couldn't force the universe to be merciful.
But there were chances, small ones. Terrifying ones. And I'd decided I was going to bet everything I had on them.
Because maybe the odds were terrible. Maybe they were unfair. Maybe the universe had already started writing an ending I didn't want. But the story wasn't finished. And until it was, we were going to keep turning the pages.