Chapter 13 Taryn
Taryn
It starts snowing as he walks away, and I look up, surprised.
Above me, the sky is slate gray, with glowing white accents lining the clouds where the sun is still trying to shine through, and I do a double take.
When did the sun disappear? Where did the clouds come from?
When I came out here, it was clear as day, and now snow is falling quickly, covering the ground in white and quickly hiding our tools.
Our tools.
Gabe.
I look up, suddenly remembering what just happened, and glare at him as he walks into the forest, the axe hanging at his side. He doesn’t look back, of course. Why would he, when he just showed me plain and simple that he didn’t want anything to do with me?
I take one step after him, then another, but pause, caught between fury, rebellion, and something I don’t want to identify. What the fuck is he thinking, sharing a moment like that with me and then walking away like it didn’t mean anything?
What was I thinking, starting the moment in the first place?
It all began so innocently. I came out here to make sure he was okay after the fight I overheard between him and Gunner and found him chopping wood.
Easy enough. I’d started to help, the way I always did when we were younger, only instead of being grateful, he’d been angry with me about something, snapping at me like a wounded dog.
And then in the midst of a scuffle over the pliers I got hurt, and the sudden coalescence of pain had been too much for me to handle.
It solidified the emotions I’ve been carrying with me for months—years—and everything suddenly felt like far too much.
Too much pain, too much fear, too much hope for me to hold in my hands anymore.
I’m up here running away from my mother and everything she represents, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been running from her for years. The last four years, for certain.
And the four years before that, when I was here on the mountain with the Hawkes.
And the four years before that, I’m sure, though I was a child then and didn’t think of things that way.
Still, I’m up here because I’m supposed to be hiding and thinking.
Figuring out what I’m going to do about my mother and Johnny and how I’m going to stay away from them until I turn twenty-one and can legally keep them out of my life.
And instead I’m standing in a meadow with the snow falling around me, wet and flustered because Gabe is giving me whiplash.
I don’t know what to think of him—or the fact that when he offered himself to me just now, I took him with both hands and didn’t look back.
The tears, though... Those were unintentional.
So was the way I reacted to him when he wrapped his arms around me.
But he’d felt so safe, so warm and solid, that my body had decided I could finally let down my guard. I’d done just that and then looked up at him to see if he was feeling what I was feeling.
And he’d turned and left.
So evidently not.
“Stupid,” I mutter to myself. I turn and start to gather up the tools, not wanting them to get ruined. Gabe might have left them here but that doesn’t mean they can just lay out, especially now that it’s snowing. They should be in the shelter of the garage.
And if Gabe isn’t going to take care of them, then I fucking will.
Because unlike some people, I don’t walk away from the things that are important to me.
I stop at that thought and try to collect myself, though, because I have to be careful.
I’m going crazy with Gunner and Gabe and their inability to deal with their feelings or even communicate, but I need to hold out a bit longer.
I can’t afford for them to send me home.
I have to get my own emotions under control before that happens.
I take a deep breath and slip my mask back on, then turn for the house. Neither of them can know what’s going on or why I’m actually here, because they might do something we’ll all regret. I need to keep my secrets from the men I once swore I’d never keep secrets from.
And that’s all there is to it.
* * *
When I get back to the house, I find it deserted. Gunner was in the kitchen when I came out here but has disappeared, and Gabe is nowhere to be found. I search the entire house, just to make sure, but don’t find any sign of him.
Until I get to the great room, where I find one noble fir tossed on the floor in front of the fire.
The tree is huge, at least 15 feet tall, and has been thrown to the floor carelessly, as if it doesn’t matter.
Boxes of Christmas decorations sit around it like some sort of strange welcoming committee made up of people who forgot to get dressed.
They have the outfits in their backpacks but never put them on, and now that there’s a tree in their midst, they’re not sure what to do.
And despite myself, I smile at the imagery.
Because Christmas is my favorite time of year, and it’s been irking me that this house isn’t decorated yet.
I don’t know who brought the decorations in, but as long as they’re here, I’m going to make use of them.
Gabe might think it’s okay to kill a tree and then toss it to the ground like it doesn’t matter, but I’m not going to let it give its life for no reason.
Getting a house dressed for Christmas is exactly the sort of thing I like to do. And it’s a way to help out around here without pissing anyone off.
A small voice reminds me that in the four years I lived here, decorating for Christmas was something we did as a family, complete with hot chocolate and cookies. A record player spinning records of Christmas music. Laughter and lights and so much love.
But that was a long time ago.
And Gunner and Gabe evidently don’t believe in that sort of thing anymore.
It’s a shame, really, because tonight is perfect for decorating.
It’s dark out but snow is falling quickly, making the night seem brighter than it would be.
A fire crackles in the fireplace and the entire room smells of Christmas.
By the time I’m done, it’ll be festive and beautiful in here.
I just wish Gunner and Gabe were going to take part in it.
I don’t spare that another thought, as it’s too depressing.
Instead, I move toward the tree and start figuring out how I’m going to do this.
The thing is practically twice my height and more than three times my width, but I’m sure I can handle it.
I rifle through the boxes until I find the Christmas tree stand, then attach it to the bottom of the trunk.
A twist of the screws and the thing is fixed firmly to the bottom of the tree, and I stand back, grinning. Perfect.
Now to get the tree standing the way it’s meant to.
I walk back and forth once, then twice, trying to find the best way to do this, but the thing is massive.
I’m going to have to just grab it and yank it up.
Or maybe push. That sounds safer. I kneel down, grasp the back of the tree, and start to push, working hard to get it up high enough to get all four legs of the stand on the ground, but the floor is slicker than I expected, the tree heavier, and within moments I’m losing purchase, my sock-clad feet slipping across the wood of the floor.
I scrabble and try to correct myself, but that just makes it worse, and suddenly the weight of the tree is too much and I’m falling to my knees, the tree coming down hard after me.
Before it can hit me, though, hands grab it and stand it upright, and I can hear someone laughing softly. I look up to see Gabe holding a hand out to me, his face twisted with a wry grin.
“Getting crushed by a Christmas tree isn’t how I saw you going out. Is it that bad up here?”
I take his hand, but drop it the moment I’m on my feet again. I don’t trust him to play nice yet. “It hasn’t exactly been the warmest welcome,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
The grin drops off his face. “I know. But I just saved you from being crushed by a tree. Surely that counts for something.”
There’s a slight question at the end of the statement, like he’s not sure of his welcome, either, and the anger I’ve been feeling since he walked away from me in the clearing, the confusion I’ve felt since I arrived, disappears again.
The boy I loved is still in there somewhere. He’s just got him hidden under layers of protection.
And I understand exactly how that feels, because I’ve spent the last four years doing the same thing.
I grin. “It counts for something. But you’ve still got work to do if you want to win my heart.”
He clutches at his chest like I’ve just shot him. “More work? Fine. I’m at your service. What else must I do to win your love, Little Bird?”
The nickname catches me by surprise and I’m momentarily speechless, forgetting what I’d planned for my request. Gabe watches me, brows lifted in question, and when he finally reaches out and pokes me in the shoulder, I jerk and come back online.
“Right. More work. Let’s start with unpacking these boxes. I need to know what we have if I’m going to plan how we’re going to use it.”
Gabe gives me a mock salute, saying something about his captain, and we get to work.
After the awkward situation in the meadow, I would have thought we’d have trouble getting used to each other again, but it happens faster than a blink.
Gabe unloads the boxes while I walk around the room making mental plans, and before I know it we’re spreading the decorations across the floor and deciding where we’re going to put everything.
The tree stands to the side of the fireplace, where Gabe says it’s always stood, and we have strings of lights and tinsel for that, plus colorful bulbs and handmade decorations.
There’s holly and bows, bells and pinecones, and a set of nutcrackers that range from large to small.
Stuffed snowmen and Santa Claus figures, runners done in golds and greens and reds, and even a life-sized reindeer.