like you. Someone that doesn’t just sit back and complain about the pain in his life, but instead actively does something about it.”
Ran shrugs noncommittally. “I don’t know. I just like to create new memories to replace the bad, I guess.”
We drive for about a half an hour more. The snowfall is heavier and faster than earlier, and Ran says we should be fine to make it up the hill without chains because apparently the Ranger has four-wheel drive. About ten minutes ago, Ran jumped out of the truck when he realized his duffle bag was still in the bed, and it is now propped up between us, soaking wet and dampening the cold air in the cab. I’d offered his jacket back, but Ran turned me down, just like I knew he would. But watching him shiver in his driver’s seat is becoming unbearable, and the guilty comfort I have being snuggled in the passenger side can’t be enjoyed when I see how cold he really is.
Lifting his bag and dropping it onto the floor, I flip up the center armrest and slide into its place, latching my seatbelt across my lap. Ran draws his head back when he senses my movement. “What are you doing?”
“I’m feeling guilty.”
“About what?”
“Being warm while you’re obviously freezing.” I press into him, collect all the boldness I can muster, and fit my head onto his shoulder, wrapping my hands around his bare arm, rubbing them up and down to bring some semblance of heat to it.
“If you’re trying to get me all hot and bothered, Maggie, it’s working.” He smiles and presses his lips to my forehead.
“Ran?” I ask, still trailing my hands up and down the length of his bicep. He reaches over and drops his hand just above my knee, leaving it there. “Would it be weird if I said I was glad the accident happened?” His hand squeezes down lightly on my thigh. “Is it crazy to be grateful for something like that?”
“No, I get it.” The palm of his hand is hot where it rests.
“Because the accident wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gotten the call about Mikey. And it feels awful to be thankful for it because it feels like saying I’m glad he has cancer, you know?”
I close my eyes and lean my head further into the crook of his neck. I feel his pulse against my forehead and it’s a soothing, settling force. “Nothing about that is awful.” Ran tilts his head so it rests just on top of mine.
“But it feels like it should be.”
“You need to stop punishing yourself and give yourself permission to be happy. You deserve it just as much as anyone else.”
We drive through the tunnel of white, the periphery completely covered in a snowy carpet that stretches as far as I can see. Ran doesn’t feel as cold as before, and I’ve burrowed closer into his side while his right hand remains affectionately on my leg. There’s no music now—even our mariachi bands don’t come through the radio anymore—and the silence around us is the most peaceful sound I’ve heard in a long time.
“I am, Ran.” I take in a deep breath, one that fills me with not just air, but a calm I didn’t know possible.
“You are?”
I thread my fingers over his in my lap. “Happy.”
We’re both staring out the window, at the new coating of snow, and it feels like we could drive forever just like this. Because even though there’s no heater and it’s impossibly cold, even though we’re heading to a cabin full of people that feel like strangers, even though Mikey has cancer and I have scars, for the moment, all the happiness I need is right here in this truck, sitting right beside me.
“Me too, Maggie.” Ran squeezes my knee once more, and says again, his voice soft and hushed, “I’m happy too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” My eyes flash open and I see the long stretch of driveway, recently plowed, straight up ahead. My mom’s brand new Range Rover is parked just in front of the garage to the two-story, modern log cabin that sits at the crest of the small hill.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” I say, pushing the back of my hand across my eyes to drag the haze from them. I brush it over my mouth and it comes back wet. Great. I’ve been drooling. I glance down at Ran’s shoulder and it’s slick with saliva. Mortifying with a capital M.