Chapter 3
Stone
“Logan, have you seen the keys to snowmobile four?” I ask my coworker.
“Not that I recall, but feel free to check my pockets,” he says with a grin.
I’m amazed every day that Logan shows up to work with all his teeth. At some point, he’s going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and catch a fist in the mouth.
Probably mine.
“I’m not in the mood today, Logan. Do you have them or not?” I grumble.
“Not in the mood today would imply you might be in the mood a different day,” he says hopefully. “Is that true?”
I rue the day I matched with who I thought was a stranger on a gay hookup app.
Sex has never been high on my priority list, but it wasn’t until recently that I started feeling like maybe that’s not normal.
The thoughts were starting to consume me, and after listening to stories of Logan’s hookups four days out of the week, I began to wonder if maybe, after all this time, I’ve been wrong about what I like.
In an effort to do a little research, I made a profile and started talking to a man I thought was named Ken.
Turns out his name was Ken…Kenneth Logan Kirkland.
A.k.a. my helicopter pilot.
The asshole has a picture of his abs as his profile icon, so I couldn’t tell it was him.
And despite my profile picture bearing my face, he didn’t say jack shit.
When we met up, I immediately shot him down, but he hasn’t been able to let it go.
The worst part is, I haven’t gotten up the nerve to try again, and I’m just as fucking confused and frustrated as ever.
“Fuck off, Logan,” I grumble.
Not only was I late to work this morning, but it’s November fifteenth.
Hanlon is arriving today, and my mood has worsened every day since he and I talked on the phone.
People often say my name is a direct reflection of my personality. Hard as stone, unyielding, cool, unemotional.
I think I’m just good at keeping the bullshit from showing on my face, because inside, I’m a fucking mess. Logan’s antics are pissing me off more than usual lately, and his come-ons have ratcheted up a level.
I don’t know how to handle it.
Probably because I want to figure this out. I want to want to get laid. I want to like sex. I just don’t want to do it with him…or anyone else, it seems.
Dropping his voice, he says, “I keep trying to tell you, Stone, I’ll happily fuck off, on, sideways, top, bottom…just tell me what you want.”
I can’t…because I don’t fucking know, I think to myself.
Before I have the chance to lose my ever-loving shit on Logan, Jeremy walks in the door to my office, tossing a set of keys at me.
“Here you go, boss. I think these are yours. I grabbed the wrong ones by accident. Wondered why Shelby wouldn’t start.” Shelby is snowmobile two. All my guys have their preferences on vehicles.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and just so you know, I think the new kid just arrived. There’s a young guy out front; looks like he’s either going to bolt or throw up.”
My palms start sweating because I know Hanlon’s probably expecting someone other than me to walk through this door, and maybe someone else should, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pass him off.
Hanlon has been my responsibility since I was ten years old, and as much as I hate it, I’m not willing to change it. Especially not out here in this vast wilderness. Our parents would kill me.
“Thanks, Jeremy.”
“Oooh, I want to take a look,” Logan says, following me out of my small office.
“Behave,” I growl, as he rushes ahead of me to look out the window.
Peering through the blinds, my annoyance triples when Logan says, “Oh, shit. This guy’s hot as fuck. God, I love a nerd in glasses.”
Unfortunately, I need Logan. We only have two chopper pilots, and Logan is the best. It’s the only reason I haven’t sent him packing yet. Though hitting on Hanlon makes me the closest I’ve ever been.
Through gritted teeth, I issue a warning. “Keep it in your pants, Kirkland.”
“Why? It’s not like you’re gonna do anything with that, and he’s way too pretty to let go to waste.”
I want to yell, ‘He’s not even gay, you dimwit,’ but I keep the thought to myself. I’ll have to trust Hanlon to set the record straight when the time comes.
Grabbing my heavy red patrol jacket, I slip it on and push my way through the door into the blistering cold as I grind my teeth into dust.
“If you’re planning on standing out here all day, you’re going to need a heavier jacket,” I say to his back.
Slowly, Hanlon turns to face me. And fuck. My little stepbrother grew up.
My eyes widen in surprise at the changes, but I quickly school my features because, of course, I don’t care that he finally has glasses and a haircut that match the year we live in. Or that he’s now taller than me. Not by much, but I have to raise my eyes to meet his.
I am glad to see he’s put on some mass. He was always so fucking thin the wind could blow him over. If he’s determined to be out here, and he truly wants to work in this environment, he’s going to need the extra pounds to help keep him warm.
“I was told all my gear would be provided,” Hanlon says, matching my hostile tone, and I can’t help but notice he’s grown into that voice of his.
I don’t have long to think on it though, because although he’s trying to hide it, I can see him shaking, and immediately, I know his muscles have to be getting tight.
They always do when he’s cold or nervous, and right now he’s probably both.
When he was little, it used to take him hours to be able to move normally again after playing in the snow.
“Right. Follow me.” I cut the verbal sparring short to get him inside. The fact that he would stand out here to prove some point by making me come to him pisses me off. This is the shit that used to make me so angry.
Guess it still does.
Heading back inside the warm office building, I hear him trailing behind me. My gloveless fingers are already hurting from the cold, even though my hands are shoved into my pockets, and I know his joints probably ache like hell.
“Where are you staying?” I ask just to make small talk. This is awkward enough without the silence closing in around us, and I know Logan is listening to every word.
“I’m sharing one of the employee apartments with two hospitality interns.”
The employee apartments are terrible. I lived in one for three years when I first got out here.
I could offer him my guest room, but my house is my sanctuary.
Land out here is much cheaper than back on the East Coast, and when that beauty became available, I spent every dime I had on the down payment.
I’ve made a lot of stupid decisions in life, but my house is probably the smartest one I’ve ever made.
I open my mouth to invite him and quickly close it again. Making friends with the other interns will be good for him, I decide at the last second.
“Okay,” I say stupidly. “What size do you wear?” I ask next, moving to the gear closet in my office.
As the lead of the avalanche division, I’m responsible for the students, the equipment checks, and the blasting schedule.
My team, including myself, is responsible for monitoring snowpack conditions, performing rescue operations both on the resort and in the backcountry when needed, and, of course, my favorite…
dropping charges out of helicopters to trigger avalanches.
“Probably a medium?” he phrases it like a question; the confidence I heard on the phone replaced by his usual uncertainty.
It annoys me that he’s falling back into this pattern with me, even if I recognize that I’m the cause.
I open the closet, and then the drawers, pulling out our standard issue AVALANCHE PATROL hoodie, SKI PATROL jacket, black Gore-Tex snow pants, and a pair of goggles.
“Do you have Gore-Tex boots?” I ask, handing him his new ensemble.
He points to his feet.
He’s wearing hiking boots, for fuck’s sake.
“Han,” I start, his nickname just slipping out, “those will never do. You’ll have to have your fucking toes amputated by Thursday.” Okay, so he’s not the only one falling back into old habits. I place a stack of papers in front of him. “Read these and sign at the bottom.”
“The packing list wasn’t that specific. It just said sturdy boots,” he argues, picking up the pen.
“You’re studying avalanches in MONTANA!” I yell, throwing my arms out to the side.
My anger is making my core temperature rise, and I shed my jacket as I pace around the small space.
“If your feet get wet, your day is done, Hanlon. You can’t just push through everything out of sheer determination to prove that your diagnosis doesn’t limit you!
” I yell, admittedly too loudly, considering Logan probably has his ear pressed against my office door.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Hanlon says calmly. “Can you please just put me with someone else? I’d like to actually enjoy my time out here.”
“And what? Have you put him and yourself at risk because you’re too fucking stubborn to admit when you need a break?
What happens when you push yourself to exhaustion on this mountain and succumb to the cold?
Do you think anyone else is going to know to massage your feet and ankles and work their way up in order to get your muscles firing again?
Do you honestly think you’d tell them if you knew that’s what you needed? ” I argue.
“I’m not a fucking kid anymore, Stone. I can manage myself just fine.”
“Clearly,” I snap, waving my hand toward his hand where it rests on the desk. He stood outside without gloves on for God knows how long, and now he’s having trouble holding the pen tightly enough to sign his fucking name.
He scribbles an X on the line, knowing it technically suffices even though we both know that’s not his signature.
“What’s next, Boss?” he says through gritted teeth, trying my patience, which is already nonexistent.
“We’re going shopping.”