Chapter 3
ESTE
Iwake with a start to the rumbly whooshing sound of an engine. Except… no, that’s not it. It’s cracklier, deeper. And when I open my eyes, I’m in a dark room. The realization that I’m nowhere near an airplane calms me, but the sound doesn’t stop. If anything, it builds like thunder.
The headboard is against the window, so I sit up and pull back the curtain, but it’s too dark to see anything. And then it stops, and the only thing I can hear is my own breath and the same howling wind I fell asleep to.
I try to settle, but I toss and turn. The fact I managed to fall asleep once in a new place was a miracle. The chances of it happening again now that I’m awake are slim to none.
My phone says it’s two in the morning. At least I managed a few hours.
I turn on the bedside lamp and grab my Kindle, but it’s colder than it was before I got in bed.
Nico mentioned there were extra blankets in the closet, but the thought of curling up in front of the fire on the couch with a cup of tea is calling me.
If I have to be awake, I might as well be comfortable.
The floor is cold beneath my feet as I slip out of my bed.
I move quickly across the room and rummage around my unpacked suitcase for some cozy socks, hopping precariously to put them on, as if it’s somehow faster than sitting down.
Once my feet are at less of a risk of frostbite, I grab my favorite baggy pink sweater from the top of my bag, tug it over my head, and tuck Amelia Bearhart and my Kindle in the crook of my arm as I head down the hall.
Nico’s cabin is gorgeous. My dad mentioned he built this place himself, so I’m not surprised how well put together it is.
The walls upstairs are lighter than they are downstairs.
I don’t know much about wood, but downstairs is rich and warm, and up here is airier.
The handrail for the stairs is one long branch, sanded and sealed, but it still has its natural grain and knots.
Nico has done an amazing job of bringing the outside in and somehow making it feel like a cozy sanctuary.
My footsteps are soft on the stairs, and I can hear the crackle of the fire and quiet classical music playing as I tiptoe down. Maybe Nico fell asleep down here.
But the second I step into the living room, the floor creaks beneath me. A growl sounds, and when I turn into the living room, I find Nico sitting on the couch with two bear-like dogs. One of them is lying across his feet. The other is alert, teeth bared as he stands between Nico and me.
“Down, Grey,” Nico says, and the dog looks back at him with a whine.
“I’m sorry.” I keep my voice low, trying not to scare them. “I thought you’d be in bed. Something woke me, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I figured I’d come down and read. I can go back—”
“It’s okay. There’s plenty of space. Come meet the boys.”
Both dogs eye me warily as I approach, but Nico strokes them, like he’s telling them it’s okay.
“This is Earl,” he says, nodding to a tan dog with black patches over his face and back. He turns to the other dog, the one who growled at me, and runs his fingers through his shaggy gray coat. “And this is Grey.” Earl and Grey. Of course.
“Hi. I’m Este,” I tell them, offering my hand for Grey to sniff. I don’t have much experience with dogs, but I know they love to sniff.
He extends his neck, and I watch his nose work a mile a minute.
“Sorry about this. They don’t really like anyone except for…” Nico trails off as Grey nuzzles his nose against my hand. As if he were waiting for a sign, Earl trots up beside his brother to greet me, and I kneel so I can scratch their heads. “Me. And apparently you. Huh,” Nico finishes.
I laugh as Grey tickles my face with his ears, and when I look up, Nico is watching us with a concerned expression.
“I like them, too,” I tell him, in case he’s worried I won’t like them being so close or licking my face. Granted, I could do without the licking, but they’re dogs. It’s what they do.
“I’ll make us some tea,” he says, before disappearing somewhere behind us.
With difficulty, I untangle myself from the dogs and manage to sit down on the couch.
I usually use Amelia Bearhart to prop up my Kindle, but Earl immediately knocks her from my lap so that he can place his head there.
I pick her up and sit her on the coffee table, wondering if Earl would mind me using his head as a Kindle stand.
When Nico comes back, two steaming mugs in hand, Grey is snuggled into my side, staring up at me with his tail wagging, and Earl is lying across my feet.
“I see how it is,” Nico mutters, setting down the cups and sitting on Grey’s other side. “I guess I didn’t need to worry about them.”
He lifts a blanket from the back of the couch and passes it to me. I cover myself, and Grey gives me a look that clearly says, “what about me?” until I toss it over his back. Nico huffs a laugh.
Nico has a paperback on his lap, and I know more than most people how fucking annoying it is when someone interrupts my reading time.
“I’m sorry for intruding, I—”
“Este.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop apologizing.” His voice has a firm, but not unkind, commanding tone.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it since I arrived.
He doesn’t try to soften it or dance around what he wants like some people do.
Or, if he is trying, he’s not very good at it.
I wonder if it’s the result of not having many people to talk to. Regardless, I think I like it.
I’m used to people walking on eggshells.
Especially since the crash. Everything is on my terms—what do I want, when do I want it, how exactly do I want it.
I’m lucky as hell to have people who care about me so much that they want me to feel comfortable, but I’m exhausted from having to constantly make decisions for myself.
It’s not much, Nico telling me to drink a Gatorade or stop apologizing, but it’s refreshing to switch off and just do it.
“Did you hear that sound earlier? The rumbling?” I ask.
“Yeah. Avalanche.” My face must show how alarmed I feel because he quickly follows it up. “They’re normal at this time of year. As it gets warmer, the snowpack gets weaker. It can’t handle the weight of the wet snow falling on top of it, and today’s snow was heavy.”
I appreciate the explanation—I’ve always liked understanding how things work—but it does nothing to reassure me. “Are we safe here? Should we leave?”
“We’ll be fine. We’re not in a direct avalanche path, and the cabin is fully reinforced.”
“Okay.” My voice is shakier than I’d like it to be, and Nico hears it.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Este. I promise.”
I like how he says my name, like he’s breathing out the second syllable. It washes over me, soft and soothing. I barely know him, but somehow, I believe that I’m perfectly safe right here with him. And the cabin does seem sturdy.
“Did the avalanche wake you, too?” I ask. Grey whines as I move to reach for my tea.
“I hadn’t gone to sleep yet. I’m not a great sleeper,” he says.
“Me either.”
“Because of your nightmares?”
I nod, gripping my cup tight. “Yeah. You?”
He’s quiet for a moment before answering. “Same.” It looks like he has to force the word out—like he’s admitting something he’s embarrassed of.
I let myself take in the details of his face. His gray eyes are dark and shadowy, and he has purple, bruise-like smudges in the corners below them. He has a neat, full beard and dark brown hair that’s long and messy on top, in a way that looks deliberate but I’m sure is just its natural state.
The gray Henley he’s wearing is unbuttoned, and I can see a smattering of dark chest hair and what looks like the edge of a scar or a tattoo.
The man is built. Catching me earlier was probably nothing—I suppose he does haul wood around for a living.
His arms are thick, his muscles visible through the thin fabric, and his whole frame is broad.
Guys my dads’ age don’t usually catch my attention, but damn. Nico is hot.
And I’m very clearly checking him out. Shit.
I drag my gaze up his chest at a snail’s pace, hoping like hell he isn’t watching me check him out. Alas. I meet his eye, ignore his slightly raised brow, and swallow.
My tongue darts out to lick my lower lip, and I have to be imagining the way his pupils track the movement, the way he swallows.
I clear my throat. “You know that TV show Black Mirror?”
He blinks at the random subject change. “Kind of.”
“There’s an episode where a woman wakes up with amnesia and has to fight for her life while all these people watch her, except she doesn’t know it’s all fake.
I won’t spoil why, but when she gets to the end of the ‘scenario,’ they wipe her memory, and it all starts again.
I had a nightmare kind of like that last week.
” I don’t know why I’m telling him this.
Maybe I don’t want him to feel alone in his nightmares, or maybe I just want to get it off my chest, and something about Nico’s steady presence makes it easy to talk.
He leans forward slightly. “What happened?”
I draw in a breath, tasting the woody, smoky air.
“I was in an escape room. There was a bunch of other people there, but I had no idea who they were or why any of us were there. And it seemed to be only me who could answer the puzzles. Except, they were impossible puzzles. None of them made sense. Every time I got one wrong, it went dark, and when the lights came up, one of the other people was gone. It was like someone was picking them off one by one until I was the only one left, and then the wall disappeared, and there was an audience watching me—a bunch of people I know, and all the people from the room—laughing at me. The door opened, so I ran out, but I ended up right back in the room, with no memory of before. And it happened over and over again.”
I woke up to my neighbor banging on our shared wall, shouting at me to stop screaming.
There’s an understanding in Nico’s eyes. “What do you think it means?”
“Probably that I should avoid escape rooms. Clearly, I’m not cut out for them,” I joke, and I don’t have to force it. I feel lighter than I did a few minutes ago.
A gasp of surprised laughter falls from Nico’s mouth, and, for a moment, he looks lighter, too.
He shakes his head, a smile that almost reaches his eyes on his lips.
He toys with his fingers for a second, like he’s thinking something over.
“It was my mom’s birthday a few weeks ago.
Birthdays are… I don’t like them. But I always make sure to send her something and call.
I had a dream that I slept in and forgot, except I was still living in California.
I rushed out the door to the mall we used to go to when we were kids to try and find her a last-minute present.
It was one of those dreams that lulls you into a false sense of monotony, you know?
I was just wandering around the mall. I bought her a necklace and a bouquet of poppies.
But she hates poppies. They grew wild in our yard growing up, and Geor—my sister loved them.
But my mom always called them weeds. When I went over to the house to give them to her, my dad was there, and my sisters.
Both of them.” His voice cracks, and I have a sudden urge to reach for him. An urge I thankfully keep at bay.
“I watched them through the window for a while, laughing at our old kitchen table. When I tried to get in, the door was locked, and I didn’t have my keys.
I always used to forget my keys. I got the spare under the plant pot, and let myself in, and…
none of them recognized me. They acted like I was breaking in.
My dad threatened to call the cops until I left, confused.
I sat there for hours watching them through the window, just being a family.
It felt like hours, anyway—I fell asleep at my workbench for twenty minutes. ”
With what little I know about Nico, the meaning seems pretty obvious. But he asked me, so I repeat the question: “What do you think it means?”
His smile is pained. “I know what it means.”
I have no answer for that. There’s nothing either of us can do to ease the pain of our darkest nights, but I feel better getting it out. And I swear there are fewer shadows on Nico’s face.
“You know, poppies are my favorite flowers. They symbolize hope,” I tell him, if only to pick out something nice from his nightmare.
“Yeah?” he asks, the tiniest bit of light coming back into his eyes. I nod, and he sits back, humming. “I don’t think I have a favorite flower. But I guess hope sounds pretty nice.”
We fall into silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. We’re both clearly a little fucked up, and there’s a strange familiarity that stretches between us. Like recognizing like.