The Sky We Seek (Love and Other Dreams #2)

Chapter 2

Noah

"Come on," I admonish myself. But even though there’s nothing to be afraid of, my stomach feels like a tangled knot.

Once again, I wipe my palms on my jeans. I’ve barely released my hand from the fabric before it becomes damp again. I can’t let this little bit of sweat hold me back, so I pull down the sleeve of my performance jacket to my trembling fingers.

With the jacket sleeve acting as a barrier between my palm and the doorknob, I open the door. "Ha!" I whisper to that part of myself that’s unnecessarily acting like a scaredy-cat. Then I square my shoulders and step briskly into the open-plan office of the department.

Out of nowhere, I hear whistles. Confetti and streamers rain down on me. Among the colorful paper scraps, more and more of my colleagues come into view. Completely overwhelmed, I look at all of their faces. Some smile, some scrutinize me skeptically, and others appear nervous. Martin, for example, can barely meet my gaze.

"Welcome back." Anita throws her hands up in the air, her curls bouncing energetically.

Our boss, Peter, squeezes past the others. "Good to have you back." His expression reminds me of a contented bear. Once he reaches my side, he places his paw heavily on my shoulder, right where my scar is. I flinch involuntarily, which everyone present skillfully ignores. They even start to applaud.

They act as if they’re glad to see me. As if they welcome my return.

I would give anything for that to be true. But I know what’s going on in their minds. And I’m aware that each one of their ugly thoughts is justified.

"Is everything okay?" Peter furrows his bushy eyebrows.

I search for words but find none.

Is everything okay?

No. And it never will be again.

The knot in my stomach transforms into something that feels like an avalanche. In my distress, I avert my gaze and look out through the floor-to-ceiling glass front of the office. Just beyond the windowpanes, the mountains begin. Down here, they are still forested, but the higher I look, the more rugged and barren the landscape becomes. The layer of snow on the peak barely stands out against the gray sky.

How I long to be on the summit right now. Up there, I could breathe. Down here, in the company of my colleagues, I feel like I'm suffocating.

"Noah?" Peter touches my upper arm.

"Um..." That's all I can utter, hating myself for it. I should be much cooler because there’s no reason for anything else. At least I manage to lift the corners of my mouth.

"The surprise seems to have worked," my boss says. The colleagues laugh, feigning amusement, and someone honks a horn loudly .

That’s a lifeline I have to grab. "Definitely," I say, awkwardly running my hand through my hair, which is getting too long at the top again. A few confetti pieces float toward the floor. I watch the rainbow-colored paper scraps until they land on the worn gray laminate. Because I don’t know what else to do.

Fortunately, someone claps, breaking the loaded silence. "Who’s hungry?"

General murmurs and busyness ensue. Peter wraps his arm around my back and pulls me along with him.

"You’ve got this," he whispers as we walk. "Today, you’ll only stay for a few hours to get settled. We’ll take it step by step, okay?"

I swallow. "Don’t worry, I’m fine." I manage a dismissive gesture. For a moment, I even lift my eyelids and look into Peter’s light brown eyes. They scrutinize me, but at least there’s no pity in them. "I’m just not used to all this fuss."

"No problem. Nobody expects a speech from you." He winks at me and guides me farther into the spacious room.

Gradually, my heartbeat calms down, and my hands don’t sweat as much. Only now do I notice the scent of forest and earth, so typical of the mountain rescue station. A faint sense of belonging creeps over me. I let my gaze wander over the desks that line the walls of the open-plan office. One of them is decorated with a paper garland. We stop there.

"That’s yours," Peter says. As he removes his arm from my back, I catch a glimpse of my colleagues whispering to each other as they disappear into the break room one by one .

I nod gratefully to him. It wasn't a given for me to get this job back.

My boss clears his throat. "A few things have changed in the past months." His tone is as nonchalant as if he were talking about the weather. "Martin will bring you up to speed tomorrow so you’re prepared for your first proper workday."

Again, I nod as if I’m too dumb to say anything. This has to stop. "All right," I murmur, forcing myself to smile. Still, my pulse accelerates at the thought of being alone with Martin and his accusatory gaze tomorrow.

"But for now, let’s celebrate." He signals for me to follow him.

Lost in thought, I shuffle behind him, burying my still-fluttering hands in my pockets. Peter’s considerate treatment, the feigned friendliness of my colleagues, and this welcome celebration—I don’t deserve any of it. I would rather run away on the spot, but I have no choice.

I want my life back. And this job is part of what I can at least have. If I can’t make it now, I’ll never make it. That's what I focus on as I finally enter the break room.

The oversized wooden charcuterie and bread platter catches my eye first. Beer mugs are placed next to it, and I spot a cake box on the kitchen counter. A sign is hanging from the pendant lamp. Welcome back is written in colorful letters. Someone has also attached a picture of me to the banner. It shows me with a contented smile on my lips, my earthy brown eyes shining in competition with the sun behind me. I have a climbing rope slung over my shoulder and carabiners dangling from the loops of my bright red mountaineering jacket.

My gaze lingers on that picture. Because the man grinning at me here doesn’t have much in common with the man who stared back at me in the mirror this morning.

Only the five-day beard remains.

A firm shove from Peter brings me back to the present. He looks at me expectantly and nods toward my colleagues, standing in a semicircle around the rustic table, eagerly awaiting my reaction.

Of course, how could I forget to thank them? It’s really time for me to pull myself together. "This wasn’t necessary," I stammer clumsily. "Thank you, guys."

Applause breaks out again, and once again, it makes me more than uncomfortable. Why the hell are they applauding me? For what? I haven’t achieved anything. Quite the contrary.

Anita breaks away from the group, places a bacon sandwich on a plate, and approaches me. "To help you regain your strength," she says. Her gaze roams over me, then she lifts her eyelids and looks directly into my eyes. A sympathetic smile plays on her lips.

I quickly take the plate from her. "Thank you." I grab the bacon sandwich and take a bite even though I don’t think there’s any room for it in my stomach. "Tastes great. Did you bake the bread yourself?"

I’ve hardly finished asking the question when she enthusiastically starts talking about her recipe, and I’m just relieved that I can get away with simply nodding or grunting in agreement. Conversations start in the background. My colleagues eat and chat, and Peter fills the glasses with nonalcoholic beer .

I try to relax at least a little. Even though I can hardly believe it. It actually happened.

I’m back.