Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~7 min read
Chapter 27: Space
Jackson
That night, after we’ve retrieved her belongings from the ranger station, after Mike has helped us haul everything back to the cabin with a knowing grin, after we’ve unpacked and reorganized and made space for her in every corner of this place, we’re lying in bed together, and I can’t stop looking at her.
She’s here.
She’s really, truly here.
Not visiting. Not temporarily staying. Living here. With me.
“I can hear you thinking,” she murmurs, her eyes still closed. “Your brain is very loud.”
“Sorry.” I pull her closer. “Still processing the fact that you’re actually here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“New York. In your apartment that you gave up. Working at the law firm where you were on track for partnership. Living the life you spent ten years building.”
She opens her eyes and looks at me, and there’s no regret in her gaze. “That wasn’t living. That was just existing. This—” she gestures around the cabin “—this is living.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” I warn. “Winter is coming. Real winter. The kind where we’re snowed in for weeks at a time, where the temperature doesn’t get above zero for months, where leaving the cabin means risking frostbite.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to get bored. Lonely. You’re going to miss coffee shops and restaurants and being able to see other people whenever you want.”
“Maybe,” she concedes. “But I’ll also have you. And Bear. And silence. And peace. And a life that actually means something to me.”
“I love you too,” I say suddenly, and she blinks in surprise. “I know I’ve said it before, but I need you to understand—I love you so much it terrifies me. I love you in a way that makes me want to be better, braver, less broken. I love you in a way that makes me believe maybe I deserve this. Deserve you.”
“You do deserve this,” she says fiercely. “You deserve love and happiness and someone who chooses you every single day.”
“Then be terrified with me.” I cup her face. “Because I’m still scared. Still convinced that something’s going to go wrong, that you’re going to wake up one day and realize you made a mistake. I need you to be patient with that fear. With me.”
“I can be patient.” She kisses my palm. “I can be patient for as long as it takes for you to believe that I’m not going anywhere.”
“What if I’m not enough?” The question comes out smaller than I intend. “What if I can’t give you everything you need?”
“You’re everything,” she says simply. “You’re exactly what I need, Jackson. Not some perfect version of you that doesn’t exist. Not you without the PTSD or the damage or the rough edges. Just you, exactly as you are.”
I kiss her then, and it’s different from every other kiss we’ve shared. This one is a promise—a promise that I’m choosing this, choosing her, choosing us. This is me letting go of the fear and the self-protection and all the reasons I thought I couldn’t have this.
This is me choosing to be brave.
When we break apart, we’re both breathless.
“Stay,” I whisper, even though she’s already said she will. “Please stay. Not just tonight or this week or until it gets hard. Stay. Build this life with me. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
“Forever,” she whispers back. “I’ll stay forever, Jackson. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
“I don’t want to try.” I pull her against me, wrapping around her like I can keep her safe from everything that might try to take her away. “I never want to try. You’re mine now. You came back, and that means you’re stuck with me.”
“Good.” She burrows into my chest. “Because I’m very possessive. You’re mine too.”
“Yeah,” I say, and it feels like a revelation. “I am. I’m yours. Completely.”
We lie there in the darkness, wrapped around each other, and I think about how much has changed in such a short time. Two months ago, I was alone in this cabin, convinced that solitude was the only way I could survive, that isolation was the only peace I’d ever know.
And then Sloane stumbled into my life, half-frozen and stubborn and completely unprepared for the wilderness.
And she changed everything.
“Are you happy?” she asks quietly. “Really happy? Not just resigned or accepting but actually happy that I’m here?”
“Happier than I’ve been in five years,” I admit. “Maybe happier than I’ve ever been. Which is terrifying because I know how fast happiness can be taken away.”
“Then we’ll hold onto it together.” Her hand finds mine in the darkness. “When the PTSD is bad, I’ll be here. When I miss civilization, you’ll be here. When we fight—because we will fight—we’ll work through it. Together.”
“Together.” I test the word again, and it still feels foreign but also right. “I like the sound of that.”
“You better. Because you’re stuck with it.” She yawns. “Stuck with me.”
“Best thing I’ve ever been stuck with.”
She falls asleep in my arms, her breathing evening out, her body relaxing completely against mine. And I lie there, still awake, just feeling the weight of her, the warmth, the absolute rightness of having her here.
Bear is curled up at the foot of the bed, his tail thumping occasionally in his sleep, probably dreaming about Sloane being back where she belongs.
My pack.
That’s what we are now. Not just me and Bear existing in isolation, but the three of us building something together.
A family.
The thought should terrify me—after losing everyone I ever considered family—but instead it just feels… hopeful.
Like maybe I get a second chance at this. At belonging to something bigger than just myself and my survival.
“I’ll be worthy of this,” I whisper to her sleeping form. “I’ll be worthy of you. I’ll spend every day trying to be the man you see when you look at me.”
She shifts in her sleep, pressing closer, and I take it as agreement.
This is real.
This is happening.
Sloane Whitmore quit her job, gave up her apartment, and moved across the country to live in a cabin with me. She chose this life. She chose me.
And for the first time since she walked through that door this morning, I let myself fully believe it.
Let myself trust that this isn’t temporary, isn’t a dream, isn’t going to be ripped away.
This is my life now.
Our life.
And it’s more than I ever thought I deserved, but I’m going to fight like hell to keep it.
To keep her.
To build this future we’re choosing together.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the darkness. “Thank you for being brave enough for both of us. Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for loving me anyway.”
Outside, the wind whispers through the pines, and for the first time in years, it doesn’t sound lonely.
It sounds like home.
And I fall asleep with her in my arms, more at peace than I’ve been since before Afghanistan, and dream of a future that doesn’t scare me.
A future with her in it.
Forever.
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