THE EDGE OF THIRST
Chapter 22 : The Cabin in the Mountains
The cabin was Micah’s idea.
Not the location — that was Julian, who had spent hours scrolling through rental websites, searching for the perfect place to escape. Not the timing — that was Rebecca, who had insisted they take at least two weeks off work, “or I will physically drag you both to the airport myself.” But the idea of a cabin, nestled in the mountains, far from the city and the bar and the memories that clung to their apartment like cobwebs — that was Micah.
“I need to breathe,” Micah had said, three days after the wedding. They were lying in bed, tangled in the sheets, Oliver curled at their feet. “I need to be somewhere that doesn’t remind me of him.”
Julian had understood. The apartment was theirs now — transformed by months of shared life, shared love, shared laughter. But Marcus’s shadow still lingered in corners, in the way Micah sometimes flinched at a sudden noise, in the way he checked the locks three times before bed.
Somewhere new. Somewhere safe. Somewhere they could be just Julian and Micah, without the weight of the past pressing down on them.
So here they were — two hours north of the city, on a winding mountain road, the trees pressing close on either side. Julian drove. Micah sat in the passenger seat, his feet on the dashboard, his hand resting on Julian’s thigh.
“You’re thinking too loud again,” Micah said.
“I’m thinking about how beautiful this is.”
“The trees?”
“Everything.” Julian glanced over at him. “The trees. The mountains. The way the light filters through the branches. The way you’re looking at me right now.”
Micah’s smile was soft, private. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like I’m the only person in the world.”
“Because you are.”
Julian’s heart swelled. He pulled the car to the side of the road — a gravel pullout overlooking a valley, the mountains rising in the distance. He turned off the engine and turned to face Micah.
“I love you,” Julian said.
“I love you too.”
“I know I say it a lot.”
“Say it again.”
“I love you.”
Micah leaned over and kissed him — soft and slow and full of the kind of tenderness that still surprised Julian, even after everything. When they pulled apart, both of them were smiling.
“We’re married,” Micah said.
“We’re married.”
“We’re on our honeymoon.”
“We’re on our honeymoon.”
“This is insane.”
“This is wonderful.”
Micah laughed — a bright, joyful sound that echoed off the mountains. “I can’t believe I get to keep you.”
“You don’t have a choice. You signed a contract.”
“I signed a marriage certificate.”
“Same thing.”
Micah shook his head, but he was still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.”
Julian started the car and pulled back onto the road.
The cabin was smaller than the pictures had suggested.
But smaller, Julian realized, was better. There was a stone fireplace, a king-sized bed, a kitchen with a cast-iron skillet hanging over the stove. The windows looked out onto the forest, the trees so close that Julian could almost reach out and touch them. The air smelled like pine and woodsmoke and the particular scent of clean, cold mountains.
“There’s no Wi-Fi,” Micah said, staring at his phone.
“I know.”
“No cell service.”
“I know.”
“How are we supposed to survive?”
Julian walked over and took Micah’s phone from his hands. He set it on the counter and pulled Micah into his arms.
“We’ll figure it out,” Julian said.
“And if we get bored?”
“Then we’ll find ways to entertain ourselves.”
Micah’s eyebrows rose. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
Micah kissed him — hard and hungry and full of promise. Julian kissed him back, his hands in Micah’s hair, his body pressing close. They stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went, and for a while — for a blessed, beautiful while — there was no past, no future, no city, no bar, no memories of pain.
Just them. Just this.
Just the beginning of forever.
The first three days were bliss.
They slept late, made love in the afternoon, cooked dinner together in the tiny kitchen. They went for long walks in the forest, holding hands, not talking, just breathing. They built fires in the fireplace and sat in front of them, wrapped in blankets, reading aloud from the books they’d brought.
Julian read poetry — old stuff, the kind his grandmother had loved. Micah pretended to make fun of him, but Julian caught him wiping his eyes during the sad ones.
Micah read mysteries — the kind with dark alleys and flawed detectives and twists that Julian never saw coming. He read in a low, steady voice, doing voices for the different characters, and Julian fell asleep on his shoulder more than once.
On the fourth day, the past caught up with them.
They were hiking — a trail that wound up the mountain behind the cabin, past a waterfall and a meadow full of wildflowers. Micah was ahead of Julian, his pace quick, his breathing steady. Julian was struggling to keep up, his legs burning, his lungs aching.
“Slow down,” Julian called.
“You’re out of shape.”
“I’m a lawyer. We don’t hike.”
“You’re a consultant now. Consultants hike.”
“I’m on my honeymoon. Honeymooners don’t hike.”
Micah turned around, walking backward, his smile bright. “What do honeymooners do?”
“Lots of things. Non-strenuous things. Things that don’t require climbing a mountain.”
Micah laughed and stopped, waiting for Julian to catch up. When Julian reached him, Micah pulled him into a kiss — quick and breathless.
“You’re cute when you’re whining.”
“I’m not whining. I’m expressing concern.”
“About what?”
“About dying of a heart attack on our honeymoon.”
“You’re not going to have a heart attack.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” Micah took Julian’s hand and pulled him forward. “Now come on. The waterfall is just around the corner.”
The waterfall was beautiful.
Water cascaded down a rock face into a clear pool, the spray cool against Julian’s face. The sun filtered through the trees, casting everything in gold. Micah sat down on a flat rock and pulled Julian down beside him.
“This is nice,” Julian said.
“This is perfect.”
They sat in silence, watching the water, listening to the birds. Julian’s hand found Micah’s, their fingers intertwining.
“I’ve been thinking,” Micah said.
“About what?”
“About the future.”
Julian turned to look at him. Micah’s face was serious, his dark eyes fixed on the waterfall.
“What about the future?” Julian asked.
“I want to go back to school.”
Julian blinked. “School?”
“Community college. Just part-time, at first. I want to get my degree. I want to do something with my life besides pouring drinks.” Micah’s voice was quiet, almost shy. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. But I was too scared to try.”
“What changed?”
Micah looked at Julian. “You.”
Julian’s heart swelled. “Micah —”
“I know it’s going to be hard. I know it’s going to take years. I know I’m not the same as the eighteen-year-olds who are going to be in my classes. But I want to try. I want to see what I’m capable of.”
Julian pulled Micah into his arms. “I think you’re capable of anything.”
“You’re biased.”
“I’m your husband. I’m supposed to be biased.”
Micah laughed — a soft, surprised sound. “I like the sound of that.”
“Husband?”
“Husband.”
Julian kissed him — soft and slow and full of promise. When they pulled apart, Micah’s eyes were bright.
“So you’re okay with it?” Micah asked. “The school thing?”
“I’m more than okay with it. I’m proud of you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’re thinking about it. That’s the first step.”
Micah leaned his head against Julian’s shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The past caught up with them on the hike back.
They were walking through a grove of pines, the sun filtering through the needles, when Micah stopped. His face was pale, his breathing shallow.
“Micah?”
“I saw him.”
Julian’s blood went cold. “Who?”
“Marcus.” Micah’s voice was shaking. “I saw him. Behind those trees.”
Julian looked. There was nothing there — just pines and shadows and the dappled light.
“Micah, there’s no one there.”
“I saw him.”
“It was a shadow. A trick of the light.”
“I saw him.” Micah’s hands were shaking. “I saw his face. I saw his eyes. He was watching me.”
Julian pulled Micah into his arms. “You’re safe. He’s in prison. He can’t hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
Micah didn’t answer. He just held onto Julian, his face pressed against Julian’s chest, his body trembling.
“Let’s go back to the cabin,” Julian said.
“Okay.”
They walked back in silence. Julian held Micah’s hand the whole way.
That night, Micah couldn’t sleep.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his body tense. Julian lay beside him, his hand on Micah’s chest, feeling his heartbeat.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Julian asked.
“Nothing to talk about.”
“You saw Marcus.”
“I thought I saw Marcus.”
“You thought you saw Marcus.”
Micah was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled in the fireplace. The wind whispered through the trees.
“I know he’s in prison,” Micah said finally. “I know he can’t hurt me. But sometimes — sometimes my brain doesn’t believe it. Sometimes I see his face in crowds. Sometimes I hear his voice in silence. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I’m convinced that he’s standing at the foot of the bed, watching me.”
Julian’s heart ached. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m your husband. Worrying is my job.”
Micah turned his head to look at Julian. In the firelight, his eyes were dark, vulnerable.
“I’m sorry,” Micah said.
“For what?”
“For being broken.”
“You’re not broken.”
“I feel broken.”
Julian sat up and pulled Micah into his arms. “Listen to me. You are not broken. You are not damaged. You are not too much work. You are a person who survived something terrible, and you’re still here, and you’re still fighting, and that is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Micah’s breath hitched. “Julian —”
“I’m not going to let him win. Not today. Not ever. He took three years of your life. He’s not taking any more.”
Micah was crying now — silent tears sliding down his cheeks, catching the firelight. “What if I can’t let him go?”
“Then we carry him together.” Julian wiped Micah’s tears with his thumb. “We carry the memories and the fear and the nightmares. We carry them together, and we don’t let them destroy us.”
Micah closed his eyes. His body sagged against Julian’s, all the tension draining out of him.
“Together,” Micah whispered.
“Together.”
The next morning, Micah woke first.
He lay in bed, watching Julian sleep. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting Julian’s face in gold. He looked peaceful — younger than his years, softer than his edges.
Micah reached out and traced the line of Julian’s jaw.
“You’re staring,” Julian murmured, his eyes still closed.
“I’m admiring.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Julian opened his eyes. He looked at Micah — really looked at him — and smiled.
“Good morning, husband.”
“Good morning, husband.”
Micah leaned down and kissed him — soft and slow and full of promise.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Micah said.
“Don’t apologize.”
“I ruined our hike.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
“I freaked out over nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. It was trauma. And trauma doesn’t disappear just because we want it to.”
Micah was quiet for a moment. “You’re very wise for a lawyer.”
“I’m very wise for a human being.”
Micah laughed — a real laugh, bright and joyful. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now get up. You promised me pancakes.”
“I promised you pancakes?”
“At the wedding. In your vows. ‘I promise to make you pancakes every Sunday for the rest of our lives.’ “
Micah’s eyebrows rose. “I did not say that.”
“You did. It was very romantic.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“You’re going to make me pancakes.”
Micah groaned and rolled out of bed. “Fine. But only because I love you.”
“I know.”
They ate pancakes on the porch, wrapped in blankets, watching the sun rise over the mountains.
“We should do this more often,” Micah said.
“Eat pancakes?”
“Escape. Just the two of us. No phones, no work, no distractions.”
Julian nodded. “We should.”
“Let’s make a pact. Once a year, we disappear. Somewhere new. Somewhere we’ve never been.”
“You want to travel?”
“I want to be with you. In new places. Making new memories.” Micah took Julian’s hand. “I want to replace the bad memories with good ones. I want to fill my head with you.”
Julian’s heart swelled. “That’s very romantic.”
“I’m a very romantic person.”
“You’re a bartender who once tried to pay for his groceries with expired coupons.”
Micah laughed. “That was one time.”
“It was three times.”
“Three times. And I stand by my decision.”
Julian shook his head, but he was smiling. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
They sat on the porch, holding hands, watching the sun rise. And somewhere in the city — in the apartment with the books and the records and the photograph in the window — Oliver was probably hissing at the wall.
But here, in the mountains, there was only peace.