“I don’t know if it will snow. But where we were camping last night was at a much higher elevation and it didn’t snow there. If it rains, then we’ll huddle under the rain jackets, but until that happens it’s best if we get some sleep.”

But I can’t sleep and it’s not just that we’re lying in the open in the dark in the middle of the Southern Alps. It’s that Josh is holding me as tight as he can and I’ve never felt so safe because of it.

My chest is begging for release but I don’t know how to start or what to say.

So I find myself saying something I never thought I would.

“Josh?” I ask softly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever find yourself wanting something so badly but you don’t know what it is?”

His breath is heavy in my ear for a moment. Finally he says, “Yes. I do.”

I swallow, my throat feeling thick. “I have this . . . I don’t know what it is exactly. But I wake up and it’s there and it’s been there for a long time. It’s just this absence. It tells me that either something was there before and now it’s gone or that something should be there at this point in my life. But I don’t have it. I feel this lack. So much that it hurts. And I don’t know what it is. It just makes me sad. It makes me long and ache and I need something to fill it. It’s a constant pain and I’m so fucking tired of it.”

My voice chokes up a bit at the end and the tears that didn’t come during the sunset are coming now, slowly, cold on my cheeks. “I think I ache for things I may never have. I long for purpose, for life, and yet sometimes I think I’m too afraid to live.” I pause. “Do you ever worry that there’s something out there that you’re missing?”

“I do,” he answers quietly, pulling back the edge of my hood. His warm lips brush against the rim of my ear and I close my eyes to intensify the feeling. “The feeling that you won’t be happy until you find it.”

“Yes,” I say, relief flooding through me at the realization that he understands. “Do you know what yours is?”

He pauses. “I have an idea. It’s becoming clearer day by day.”

I suck in my breath, waiting, hoping, wishing on what he will say next. If he says it, then I’ll take the plunge.

“What is it?”

“Well, coming here has helped,” he says. “I feel like I’m actually living my life instead of just getting by. I’m doing something, being somebody. Before this . . . I was just going through the motions. Now I am the motion.”

Knowing what happened to me, I ask, “Are you afraid that when you go back home you’ll change back to the way you were?”

I can feel him smile against my neck. “No. I’m not afraid of that. The things that have happened here . . . they’re permanent.”

Permanent. I can only wish he was permanent in my life.

“You’re lucky,” I tell him.

“Why?”

“Because no matter what happens, you’ll go back a better person. I came back a worse person.”

He flinches like he’s been struck. “What?”

“It’s true,” I admit, and even though it’s painful to do, that sense of freedom teases me with each word that comes out of my mouth. “When I was traveling I became whatever I wanted, whoever I wanted. When I came back home, it was almost like it was all for nothing. I regressed—and then some. All those months of finding myself were gone in a matter of weeks. And the hollowness has only gotten worse. Sometimes I think I’m just a shell of who I used to be and I don’t think I’ll ever feel whole.”

I can’t believe I’m admitting this much. It’s not even a life or death situation, at least it doesn’t feel that way in Josh’s capable arms, but I can’t help but open up to him. He wanted to know the real me and now he’s getting every ugly bit of her. But he still has no idea of what I could be like and only a small glimpse of what I could have been.

A few seconds roll past and I wondered if I’ve stunned him. Then he shifts against me, closer, warmer.

“Gemma,” he whispers into my hair, kissing the top of my head. “You’re beautiful. And that’s all I can say—you’re beautiful inside and out, and I’m here only because of you. You’ve given me the life that I needed, just being by your side, just being there for a fucking night, let alone all these ones we’ve spent together. If you could only see how amazing you really are, you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Maybe you wouldn’t feel that ache.”

Another tear rolls down my cheek and I’m speechless at his words. They’ve built a small, flickering fire inside me and I’m torn between putting it out or adding fuel to the flames.

I don’t speak for a long time. I just let him hold me, his breath steady with the occasional cricket or buzzing insect against the white-starred sky.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “For being so nice.” To lighten the load I add, “And for making sure I don’t die.”

“Anytime,” he says. He presses his face into my neck. “And when we’re both alive at dawn, you can thank me again.”

I fall asleep when the ache subsides. I barely feel the cold.

Chapter Twelve

GEMMA

We survived the night. Even though I could only doze for a few hours here and there, the ground hard and uncomfortable even through all the foliage, we made it.