Chapter 25 Liam
Liam
It’s a twenty-minute ride on snowmobiles to the secluded cabin.
The silence between Henri and I is cut through by the whirring of the engine as we ride over the snow.
When we arrive, we find The steps to the porch are covered with snow and there’s no sign of the driveway that’s accessible during late spring and summer.
We don’t speak as we head inside, carrying in our supplies. The moment I put down my load, I flip on the lights and head to the thermostat to crank up the heat. As is, even inside, my breath is hanging in the air.
“It should be good within the next hour or so, but until then we should just keep on our coats. I can make some soup for dinner so we can have something to warm up,” I explain.
“That would be great,” Henri says, pulling her hat lower over her pink ears.
She claims one of the three bedrooms and unpacks as I turn on the stove and get to work.
The chicken noodle soup comes together quickly and I ladle out bowls for the both of us.
The cabin has internet, but the TV we have isn’t set up with streaming services, just a dusty DVD player that I put Home Alone into and press play, because I can’t handle another minute of this excruciating quiet.
Even if I try to talk to her now, I doubt she’ll listen. I just wanted to take care of her. That’s it. Especially since I was the one who put her in a precarious position to begin with.
By the time the credits roll, the heat still hasn’t kicked in, at least the house is well insulated so it’s not as cold as outside, but it’s still brutal. Yeah, the plan for a grand romantic getaway is going great. We’ll freeze to death being frustrated with each other.
“I’m going to head to bed,” Henri says, speaking for the first time since the muttered thank you she gave when I handed her the soup bowl she’s now carrying into the kitchen.
“Do you need extra blankets?” I ask.
“I found a sleeping bag in the closet. I should be good.” The message is clear: I don’t need you. Fuck off.
I wake up to my teeth clacking together. It’s a damn miracle that I could sleep at all, but after a long day, my body must have just shut down. I flex my hands to find them stiff and numb. Checking the small clock next to the bed, I find that it’s two in the morning.
Great. Still hours until the sun is up.
I toss back and forth for another few minutes before gathering my blankets and heading to the living room to build a fire.
There’s plenty of wood and there’s a chance we might need to use it all.
At this point it would be best to head back the moment it’s light out—there’s no point torturing ourselves in these conditions.
My hands are clumsy as I put the logs and kindling into position. Thank God Dad got past his aversion to commercial firestarters, otherwise I’m not sure I’d get the flames to come to life.
Once I’m sure the fire won’t choke out the moment I walk away, I go back down the hall to where Henri is sleeping. She selected the room June and Pen would share and it looks like she collected all the blankets from both beds. Only her nose pokes out but the mass of fabric shakes as she shivers.
I go to her and peel back a layer. “Henri, come on.”
“So cold,” she mutters. Her eyes crack open, but they’re gauzy with sleep.
“I know. Come here, let me get you warmed up.”
She nods slowly and tries to move but she’s trapped herself in the sleeping bag.
After her second failed attempt to locate the zipper, I free her from the sleeping bag and scoop her up.
I know the only reason she nuzzles against me and claws at my shirt is the combination of cold and sleep, but that doesn’t stop me from liking it.
In the living room, the fire is crackling and I sigh in relief as the warmth licks at my skin. I lower the bundled up Henri on the blankets and pillows I’ve arranged before joining her on the ground.
Not giving her time to protest, I wrap a blanket around her and pull her to my chest.
“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbles even as she relaxes against me.
I stroke her hair, fighting the urge to kiss the top of her head. “Then be mad at me and be warm. Be mad at me, but be safe while you do it.”
“Fine.” The word drifts out of her as her eyes flutter closed.
For the first time since we got to the damn cabin, I finally feel warm. Henri shifts in her sleep, one of her legs draping over me so she’s all but laying on me. I squeeze her tighter and it’s not lost on me that this might be the last chance I get to have her this close.
A sudden jolt of friction spurs me into consciousness, and my eyes fly open.
The fire has burned to embers, it wasn’t the smartest idea to leave it going unattended while we slept, but it was the only option we had.
Gold light streams through the window, pooling around the nest where Henri and I fell asleep.
Where she’s now rocking against my leg, whimpers escaping her as she dreams. Her hands clutch at my shirt and with each movement her thigh rubs against my dick.
“Liam,” she says, my name barely recognizable in her sleep-slurred speech.
Henri, dreaming of me? At least she doesn’t hate me in her sleep, but I don’t think I’ll earn any brownie points with awake Henri if I let this keep going.
I groan as I extricate myself from her grip, but fuck she’s holding on tight to my shirt. Maybe if I just wriggle out of it? I pull the free arm that isn’t under her out and start to shimmy out of the fabric.
Almost there. I just need to get my head through.
“Why are you stripping?” Henri asks and my head whips in her direction. Thing is, I can’t exactly see her with the face full of wool I’m stuck in.
“Because you looked comfortable,” I say.
“And that’s the universal signal for taking off your shirt?”
“It is when you have a death grip on it.” At my words, she must realize that her fingers are still digging into the fabric, so she lets go and rolls away.
Thrusting my bare arm into its sleeve, I wriggle back into the sweater. When my head pops through the top hole, I find Henri sitting a solid foot away from me.
“Sleep all right?” I ask, then, because I can’t help myself, add, “Good dreams?”
She swallows and looks at her hands as she flushes the prettiest shade of pink. “Yeah. Dreams were . . . great. Umm . . . thanks for getting me and doing this.” She waves at the fireplace.
“We can leave after breakfast. I’m not going to force you to cuddle up to me to survive another night of this.”
We both throw on an extra layer before silently working together in the kitchen, the air fills with the crackling of the thick slabs of bacon on the cast iron and the burble of coffee.
As I’m dumping frozen hashbrowns in the pan, Henri jerks upright from where she’s seated on a stool at the breakfast bar.
“Did you hear that?” she asks.
“What?”
“Listen.”
I do and there it is. A low rumble and hum that resonates through the entire cabin. Putting down the mug she’s been using to warm her hands, Henri gets up and darts to one of the floor vents, putting her hand over it.
“We have heat!” And she does an honest to God fist pump as an expression of pure glee brightens her face.
With a whoop she rushes at me. I barely register what she’s doing to have enough time to put my spatula to the side before she pulls me into a hug.
“I promise to never fantasize about any time period without modern amenities ever again.”
“Noted.” Do I hug her back? Or if I stand here like a scarecrow and hope she will forget she’s upset and keep holding on.
The oil in the pan pops and Henri looks up at me before stepping away, crossing her arms as if it’s an active effort to keep them from me. “Sorry.”
“All good. I bet the inventor of modern heating would appreciate your enthusiasm. So, what are you thinking?”
“You still have a ski competition to train for.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. You could come, or there’s some stuff to do around here? Pen and June leave their old skates here so you could skate on the pond out back, or there’s a solid stack of movies. My only request is that you don’t watch Home Alone 2 without me.”
“I’d never.”
I help Henri find the old skates before heading out to the mountain.
The cabin is at the base and without a lift, I have to climb uphill.
The skins attached to the base of my skis allow me to propel myself up without sliding backward, and it’s far better than hiking up the way Dad used to make us for training.
At the top, I look down and visualize the turns I’ll have to make since there are no gates set up. But even a decade later the route is seared into my mind. With a fortifying breath, I push myself down the untouched snow.
It feels like flying, gliding on an endless cloud as powder kicks up around me.
I shift my weight into the first turn, and shit.
I know how it’s supposed to feel. I know what my body is supposed to do, well I knew what it was supposed to feel like when I was sixteen and my body hadn’t finished growing.
“Fuck!” I yell loud enough that birds burst up into the sky as I pull to a jerky stop.
A familiar irritation crawls against my skin.
This is why I quit in the first place, because I’d beat myself up for every small thing and I hated it.
I hated competing and feeling like even though I was surrounded by people I had so much in common with, I couldn’t trust them.
Hated that winning became more important than joy.
“All you need to do is get to the bottom in one piece.” Henri’s voice breaks through the fog of the past.
“Let this be fun,” I tell myself. I have all this fresh powder. A run all to myself.
No one is watching. No one is rooting for or against me.
Fun.
And for the next two hours, that’s what I let it be.
This mountain is where I grew up. It’s a part of me and I make peace with it, reclaiming a joy that has been missing for years as I cut a path around imaginary poles.
Slowly, my body listens as I speed down, faster than the wind, feeling in total command.
This doesn’t have to be for anyone else but myself.
By the time I unclip myself from my skis, I’m absolutely beat. I’m guaranteed to be sore as hell tomorrow, but I’m also excited to do this all again.
I kick snow off my boots and unzip my jacket as I head inside, a wild smile on my face.
“Henri,” I call out, excited to tell her how right she was. I bet she’ll listen to that. “What are you feeling for lunch?”
But there’s no response. I guess she’s still out ice skating.
It’s not like there’s much else to do here.
As I head toward the back door, I find the red hat I got her resting on the bench that also conceals a storage area.
I grab it and my old skates, shaking my head. She’d freeze to death without me.
There’s been a light snowfall but I follow the trail she’s cut through the snow to the circle of ancient trees that wrap around the small lake. I pause and listen, expecting to hear the scraping of skates on the ice, but nothing. She could be just sitting to the side resting.
“Liam, please tell me that’s you!” she attempts to yell, her voice hoarse and quivering in terror.
I drop everything and run the rest of the way, crossing the treeline to find her, legs wobbling, standing maybe ten feet from the edge. Under her, there’s a white fissure in the ice. When her wide, fright-filled eyes find me, she moves and the ice cracks.
No. No. No. This can’t be real.
“Henri, just stop and listen to me.” I hold my arms out the way I would if I were to encounter a frightened animal.
“My legs. They’re going to give out. I’ve been stuck like this for half an hour. I called for you and you weren’t there.” Her chin wobbles.
“I’m here now. It’s going to be fine.” It’s hard to stay calm even as my heart thunders.
Stupid. I was so stupid not to check and see she knew what to look for on the ice.
I should have come to check it. I shouldn’t have let her come out alone.
“Do what I do.” I crouch down and slip onto my stomach at the edge, dispersing my weight as much as possible.
After a second of hesitation she starts to do the same.
A crack sounds and she flinches. “Just like that. Keep going.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it gusts out of me the moment she’s on her stomach.
Not safe yet, but one step closer to being so.
“Now, slide toward me.” I start to scoot forward, so my torso is on the ice and my lower half is firmly on the ground.
I want to go further, but adding more weight on the ice would just increase the risk of us both being pulled under.
Inch by torturous inch she comes closer, pausing each time the ice creaks and groans under her.
“So close. Just another foot and I can pull you the rest of the way. You’re so brave.
” I don’t stop talking, urging her to me and trying to distract her and myself from the fact that the ice is thinnest here at the edge.
Behind her the fissures have spiderwebbed and it’s an effort to keep my gaze from wandering.
So close.
Come on, Henri. Keep moving.
I’ll do anything if she can just get back to me.
Three inches. Two. One.
A splitting crack rips through the air. Ice severs.
I lunge.
“Henri!”