Page 47 of Falling For Alaska

“Thanks,” she says, letting out a soft whimper of satisfaction as she hands me the bottle. Our hands brush. A second stretches between us as we both realize we’re going to drink from the same bottle and neither of us minds. I take a few sips and put it back in my backpack. My hand reaches for her cheek, cupping it, watching her melt into my touch like a cat in the sun. I’d like very much to steal a kiss from her.

“Then what is it?” I ask softly. “I wan-wanted to-to please you. I’m not sure-”

“I love it. The hike, the date, everything.”

“But something’s bothering you. You’ve been loo-looking far away, like someone’s waiting for you at th-the end of the trail.” Her pupils widen, like a deer caught in headlights. “I’m a cop,” I say simply. A cop observes, studies, anticipates. That’s my job.

“I…I’m afraid of something, but it’s silly.” She shakes her head, running both palms down her face. Calming mechanism. I saw that in PTSD training. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her do that.

“I won’t judge. I p-p-promise,” I assure her, my voice calm. She hesitates.

“Is there… Is there ice up there?” Her voice falters, her teeth catching her lower lip. My thumb brushes over it, stilling the motion.

“Don’t think there is.” I frown. “Nah. Last time I came there was n-no ice to be found.” Is it some kind of trigger?

“I…I don’t like ice.”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Right. We’ll be c-ca-careful to avoid it then.”

“No, Jack.” Her hand rests on my chest, and my heart pumps hard under the fabric.

“I can’t touch ice. It’s… I can’t.” I’m guessing the incident that happened to her was connected to that, and it became a trigger. That’s my guess. But is it the truth? Plenty of questions bubble in me, but I wait. I know my girl needs time to confide. She’s not an open book. At least not to everyone. That, I get, because I’m the same. She sighs, and I almost see liquid courage fill her dilated pupils as she speaks softly.

“What happened to me, what I did…” She shows me the stitches on her fingers. “I tried crushing ice with my fists.” I keep my mouth shut. Listening. She tried breaking ice with her fists. No wonder she had that many stitches. My chest tightens thinking about Alaska desperately trying to break the ice. I wish I could’ve held her in my arms then. Or crushed the ice myself so she didn’t have to.

“I…” Tears well in her eyes. “Ice reminds me of it now,” she murmurs, her gaze locked on mine like she’s revealing her worst-kept secret. “If I touch it, I…I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know what will happen.” A thick tear falls on her cheek and rests on her delicate jawline. I wipe it with my thumb and move closer to her, wrapping my arms around her until she’s fully held. Her head rests in the crook of my neck as I drop a kiss on her hair. Alaska’s scent is like apple pie, fall, and Christmas movies all mixed together.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, not pushing for more and giving her the space she needs. My heart pounds so hard under my vest, I know she feels it, considering how close we are, but I don’t care. I want her to know that she’s the reason it’s beating like this. I clench my jaw, looking at the trail ahead. Which way should I take? The city and the promotion? Or stay in Lakeside and face whatever demons are burning Alaska from the inside out? She fidgets in my arms…and then relaxes completely. I hold her tight, like she’d disappear if I let go.

She cries in my arms for an hour.

Alaska

“Oh my god,” I gasp, the view expanding before me. I’ve never mounted this trail, and my family always kept our hikes easy so we could stop in the mountains to have lunch. I’ve never come this far up, this close to the clouds. Jack’s hand laces with mine. “Beautiful,” I say, endless trees and lakes far behind Lakeside crowding the view.

“Yeah, beautiful,” he repeats, never taking his eyes off me. I blush, his thumb drawing circles on my hand. I’ve never liked anyone giving attention to my hands since the accident. But with Jack, it’s different. He has a way of making it all go away, of worshipping them. I never intended to open up about what happened six years ago, and still, I felt safe enough to do so. My instincts were right when he just listened and took me in his arms, letting me cry for a long time without telling me what was on his mind. All I saw in response was a wince when I told him why I had my scars, as if it physically hurt him to hear my story.

“H-hungry?” he asks, his gaze fixed on me, pupils dilated. My heart skips a beat, and more butterflies churn in my belly.

“Ravenous,” I say softly.

He smiles, biting his lower lip, and I have to look away. Jack’s… Jack’s igniting something in me I thought only existed in books.

“Here, sit,” he says after laying down a burgundy checkered plaid. I smile. He thought about bringing this here, for us. I sit and place my backpack behind me, watching him open his. He’s wearing a black long-sleeved T-shirt underneath, muscles pushing against the fabric, leaving little to the imagination. There’s sandwiches, water bottles, chips, and a box of chocolate.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

He takes a plastic tupperware and opens it. “Fruits,” he says with an apologetic look. “I’m not a good c-cook, uh, so yeah, thought you might l-like it.” I smile wide, fully aware I must look like a strange girl after crying for an hour, hiking with sweat all over my face, and now beaming at him with a ponytail that’s probably far from perfect. But it doesn’t really matter. Because Jack looks at me like I’m the only person he wants to be with.

“Thank you so much. I can’t believe⁠—”

“It’s no-nothing, really. I wish I could’ve done more, but I s-s-suck at those things.” My mind takes the comment and runs with it, picturing me cooking for him in the future. I shove those images away for now.

“It’s perfect,” I assure him. “Perfect.” He grins, then comes to sit next to me, handing me a sandwich. I open it and dig in, just like him.