Chapter 14 Kai
KAI
I wake to warmth and the smell of vanilla.
Samantha’s curled against my side, her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. Her breath is soft and even against my skin. Behind her, Dad’s arm is draped over her waist, his hand resting on my hip. Donovan’s sprawled on the other side of Dad, still dead asleep.
We’re a tangle of limbs and shared body heat.
I’ve woken up like this before. With Veronica. With others whose names I barely remember, but this feels different.
Samantha shifts in her sleep, pressing closer, and something in my chest tightens that has nothing to do with my condition.
I don’t want her to leave.
The thought hits me with unexpected force. When the snow melts and the roads clear, I don’t want her getting on a plane back to Chicago.
I want her to stay.
I’ve never wanted anyone to stay before, but watching her sleep, seeing the peaceful expression on her face, I can’t deny it.
I’m falling for her.
Maybe I already fell.
Dad stirs, his eyes opening. He sees me watching Samantha and raises an eyebrow.
I mouth, “What?”
He just smiles and closes his eyes again.
Smug bastard.
When we all finally wake up properly, the morning sun is streaming through the windows. Samantha’s the last to surface, blinking sleepily as she registers where she is and who she’s tangled up with.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning.” Her voice is rough from sleep. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.” Dad sits up, completely unbothered by his nakedness. “We should eat.”
“I need to shower first,” Samantha says, pulling the sheet up to cover herself.
“Shy now?” Donovan’s awake too, watching her with amusement. “After last night?”
She blushes, and it’s so damn cute I want to kiss her. “I’m getting dressed,” she announces, sliding out of bed with the sheet wrapped around her.
We watch her gather her scattered clothes and disappear into Dad’s bathroom. The door closes with a decisive click.
“She’s embarrassed,” I say.
“She’ll get over it.” Dad stands and stretches. “Freshen up. We’ll meet for breakfast in thirty minutes.”
I grab my clothes from the floor and head back to my room.
By the time I shower and change, the tightness in my chest has started again, a dull ache I’ve gotten good at ignoring. I pop two pills and wash them down with water from the bathroom sink.
I head to breakfast and find everyone already there. Samantha is between Dad and Donovan, looking freshly showered and slightly overwhelmed.
“Sleep well?” I ask, dropping into my chair.
“Very well.” She’s not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking us?” Donovan sounds genuinely curious.
“I don’t know. It seemed polite.”
“We’re past polite,” Dad says. “Eat your breakfast.”
She does, and I watch the dynamic settle into easy banter and casual touches. The kind of morning-after scene that suggests this is normal now.
But I catch Samantha watching all of us with an expression I can’t quite read.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when Dad and Donovan are deep in conversation about some business call.
“Nothing.”
“You’re a terrible liar. Come with me today,” I tell her. “I want to show you something.”
“Show me what?”
“You’ll see. Get your coat.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re geared up and heading toward the garage where we keep the snowmobiles.
“Have you ever ridden one of these?” I ask, pulling out helmets.
“Once. In college. I was terrible at it.”
“Perfect. I love teaching terrible students.” I hand her a helmet. “You’re riding with me.”
“Is that safe?”
“Probably not. But where’s the fun in safe?”
She laughs, and the sound makes my chest feel lighter despite the persistent ache.
I climb on first and help her settle behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist, tight and trusting.
“Hold on,” I tell her, and gun the engine.
We take off across the snow, and she shrieks in my ear before dissolving into laughter. I push the speed higher, carving through fresh powder, taking turns that make her grip me tighter.
This is what I love. The rush. The freedom. The feeling that nothing can touch me when I’m moving this fast.
And having Samantha behind me, laughing and alive, makes it even better.
We ride for an hour, exploring the trails that wind through the estate. I show her the frozen lake where we ice skate in January. The old hunting lodge that’s been abandoned for decades. The overlook where you can see three mountain ranges on clear days.
When we finally stop at a clearing with a view of the valley below, she’s breathless and grinning.
“That was incredible,” she says, pulling off her helmet. “Terrifying, but incredible.”
“Best combination.” I dismount and help her down. “Come on. There’s a spot over here.” I lead her to a fallen log that’s been there for years. We brush off the snow and sit, looking out at the white expanse below.
“It’s beautiful,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.” But I’m looking at her, not the view.
We sit in silence, watching the snow fall in the distance.
“Can I ask you something?” she says eventually.
“Sure.”
“Do you ever want more than this? More than the reckless lifestyle and the adrenaline?”
The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…do you ever think about settling down? Finding something permanent?”
I want to make a joke, keep things light like I always do. But something about the way she’s looking at me makes me want to be honest.
“I used to think I didn’t,” I admit.
“And now?”
“Now I’m not so sure.” I meet her eyes. “Maybe permanent doesn’t have to be boring. Maybe it’s just about finding the right person to be permanent with.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she leans against my shoulder, and we sit there watching the snow until the cold becomes too much.
The ride back is slower. More relaxed. She’s comfortable behind me now, not holding on quite so tight.
When we reach the garage, she’s smiling. “Thank you for that,” she says. “I needed it.”
“Anytime.” I help her out of her gear.
I watch her walk back toward the house, and that tightness in my chest returns with a vengeance.
Back in my room, I head straight for the hidden cabinet. My hands shake slightly as I open the false panel and pull out the prescription bottle. Two pills. No, three. The tightness is worse than usual.
I swallow them dry and sit on the edge of my bed, waiting for the medication to kick in.
The pain doesn’t ease. If anything, it intensifies.
Sharp now. Radiating from my chest down my left arm.
Not good.
I lie back and focus on breathing. Slow. Even.
In through my nose, out through my mouth.
The episode passes after a few minutes, but it leaves me shaky and cold with sweat.
The smart move would be telling the estate doctor I’ve been hiding this condition for months, but doing that means admitting I’m weak, that I can’t handle the work Dad needs me to do, that I’m not as invincible as everyone thinks I am.
I’ll be fine. The medication will handle it. I just need to be more careful about taking it on schedule.
I stand and hide the bottle again, making sure the panel is secure.
Nobody needs to know.