Withering Hope by Layla Hagen Read Free Book Online Page A

somewhere high above us as I help Trist shape a hollow tree into something we can use.
    “This sounds like Vivaldi’s Four Seasons ,” I say.
    Tristan’s head snaps up. “What?” he asks, confused.
    “The bird. Listen.” For a few seconds, he does. Then his lip curves into a smile. “I think you’re right. You’re an expert on Vivaldi after all.” I can tell he’s humouring me, and my cheeks fill with warmth. I often listened to Vivaldi while he was driving me around. Too often, it seems.
    “You don’t like it? Why didn’t you say something whenever I asked you to play that CD in the car? I did ask if it bothered you.”
    “It didn’t bother me at all,” he says. “And it seemed to make you happy, so why not listen to it? You always had a blissful smile when Four Seasons was playing.” Then he bites his lip, as if he said something he wasn’t supposed to. Before I get the chance to figure out what, he continues, “What do you like about that song in particular?”
    “It’s invigorating, like pure energy. I always feel full of life after listening to it.”
    He nods and then we concentrate on the piece of wood again. My eyes fall involuntarily on the engagement ring on my finger. I try very hard not to think about the wedding ring that I should now also wear. Thinking about how my wedding ring would look on me, I notice something on Tristan's ring finger for the first time. A thin line of skin is lighter than the rest, as if he'd been wearing a ring for a long time.
    The words are out of my mouth before I have time to get them through my brain filter. "You were married."
    Tristan goes rigid. He follows my gaze to his finger and answers in a measured tone, "Yes, a few years ago, before I started working for Chris."
    "What happened?"
    Still staring at his finger, he says, deception coloring his tone, "She fell out of love with me." The idea that someone hurt him revolts me. He deserves better. A bizarre wish to protect him so no one hurts him again blooms inside me. Of course, here in the rainforest, the challenge is to ensure that nothing, not no one, hurts him.
    "And in love with someone else?" When he doesn’t answer I ask, “Are you seeing someone back in L.A.?”
    “No.”
    I see a torrent of emotions in his eyes—most prominently the plea to drop the issue.
    I drop it, but this talk of falling in love with someone else tugs at a fear that has sprung up inside me since we crashed. I find myself blurting out, "If you feared you might never see the woman you love again, would you try to forget her in someone else's arms?"
    Tristan straightens up. "Chris loves you. Loneliness and pain might drive some people to do things they wouldn't otherwise do, but I doubt Chris is one of those people."
    "I wouldn't hold it against him, if he did… something," I whisper. His eyes scrutinize me with an intensity they never have before. When I can't hold his gaze anymore, I look down at my hands.
    "You wouldn't?" he asks incredulously.
    "I can't imagine how much pain he's in if he believes I’m dead. If being with someone else can lessen that pain…" I brush away a tear. "I just don't think I'll ever see him again."
    "Sure you do. Why do you keep building that fire everyday if not for hoping someone will see it and rescue us?"
    "So I don't go crazy," I admit. "I know no one will come."
    "Even if no one comes, as soon as the water subsides, we'll be able to walk away from here."
    “That will take months. And who knows if we’ll make it out of the forest alive anyway?” I shake my head, trying to forget I ever said that. I am a positive person, but apparently allowing one dark thought in opened the door to all of them, tormenting me. Tristan puts his arms around me comfortingly, and I sink into them, taking in his wonderful strength.
    Each night during this second week I try to think of anything but Chris. I forbid myself to cry. The first few days I fail. When I manage to stop crying, I forbid myself to think