Chapter 7 - Koda
SEVEN
KODA
The sound of the shower turns me inside out.
I sit on the edge of my leather couch, every sense straining toward the hall bathroom. Meanwhile, the storm outside is relentless.
Lightning cracks the sky, illuminating the cabin for a split second before plunging it back into shadow. Then thunder booms, rattling the windows. I can't help but think that this storm matches the chaos in my head.
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.
Charlotte was supposed to be safe in her apartment, and I was supposed to be alone with my thoughts. Not drowning in the reality of her presence.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. Dana's name flashes on the screen with a text.
*Did you make it back to the cabin alive? This storm is insane.*
I type back with my thumbs, keeping it brief.
*Yeah. Had to make a pit stop first though.*
The dots appear immediately. I swear my sister never sleeps, especially when there's potential drama brewing.
*What kind of pit stop?*
I hesitate, then type: *Charlotte's car broke down at the beauty school. Had to pick her up.*
A longer pause this time. Then: *And???*
*Power's out at her apartment complex. She's staying here tonight.*
The response comes instantly.
*How convenient. Have fun, big brother. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.*
Dana sends a laughing emoji that makes me want to throw my phone into the fireplace. I set it face-down on the table instead.
The shower stops. The sudden silence is worse somehow.
I strain to hear movement behind the bathroom door, the rustle of fabric, the sound of her drying off. My imagination fills in the blanks with vivid detail.
Fuck me.
This is wrong. This is Jason's little girl.
The same kid who used to beg to go fishing with us, who cried when she caught her first trout because she didn't want to hurt it.
The same girl who brought cookies to my mother's funeral, who sent me handmade birthday cards with glitter that got all over my truck.
Only she isn't that little girl anymore.
She's a woman now, with curves and smiles that make my heart race and my hands itch to touch her.
The bathroom door opens.
I stand up too fast, like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't. My blood pounds in my ears as Charlotte steps into the hallway.
My shirt is enormous on her. It hangs off one bare shoulder, the hem grazing her thighs, sleeves bunched up at the elbows.
Her legs are pale and flawless, her toes curled against the hardwood for warmth.
The ends of her hair are still damp and coiled into soft, golden ringlets that make her look like she wandered out of a dream.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
I clear my throat and try again.
"Feel better?" I ask.
Charlotte tugs at the hem of my shirt, the gesture innocent but doing nothing to help my current state.
"Much. Thanks for the clothes."
Something primal and possessive roars inside me at the sight of her in my clothes. She belongs in them. She belongs in my cabin, in my space, in my—
I cut the thought off before it can fully form.
"You hungry?"
"Actually, I'm starving," Charlotte admits. "I was so busy with my project I forgot to eat lunch."
"I'll make us something. Pasta okay?"
"Pasta sounds great." She steps closer, hovering at the edge of the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"
"No," I say. The thought of her moving around my kitchen, bumping into me, reaching past me, it's too much. "I've got it under control. You should sit down, get warm."
She hesitates but moves to one of the barstools at the counter, perching on the edge.
I fill a pot with water, set it on the stove to boil, and try not to notice when a drop of water falls from her hair. It slides down her neck and disappears beneath the collar of my shirt.
I turn away before I can follow its path any further.
Instead, I focus on practical things. Heating a pan. Chopping vegetables. Opening cans of sauce. Simple tasks that require just enough concentration to distract me from the woman who's watching me with those blue eyes that see too much.
"Your cabin is so beautiful," Charlotte says after a while, gesturing around the space. "All of this. The stonework, the beams. You really built most of it yourself?"
I shrug.
"Most of it. Had some help with the foundation."
"Why up here, though? So far from everything?"
I debate how much to tell her. How much to reveal about the man I've become. The broken pieces I never managed to put back together.
"I like the quiet," I finally say. "After I retired, after..." After Vanessa. After the life I thought I was building crumbled to dust. "After everything fell apart, I needed space."
"It must get lonely sometimes."
I look at her then. Her face is open, curious. No judgment, just genuine interest. That's the thing about Charlotte, she's always been real. Never playing games, never hiding behind pretense.
"I prefer it." The words come out harsher than intended. I soften them with a half-smile. "Most people talk too much anyway."
She laughs, the sound bright against the drumming of rain on the roof.
"So I should shut up then?"
"Not you." I chuckle. "You can talk all you want."
Charlotte's smile turns softer, more thoughtful.
"Have you always lived alone?"
The question catches me off guard. My hand stills on the wooden spoon I'm using to stir the sauce.
"Not always," I say carefully. "I lived with a woman once. A few years back."
I can feel her attention sharpen, though she doesn't push. That's another thing about Charlotte, she knows when to wait.
I keep my eyes on the pan, watching the sauce bubble.
"What happened?" she asks quietly.
The words stick in my throat for a moment. I haven't talked about this with anyone except Dana and Jason. And even then, only once. But something about the storm, about the intimacy of this moment, loosens my tongue.
"She got pregnant." I swallow hard. "I was over the moon. Started planning everything, bought all the baby gear. The whole nine yards."
I pause, the old anger and hurt threatening to surface. I push it down, keep my voice level.
"But then five months in, I found out the baby wasn't mine."
The silence that follows is heavy. I risk a glance at Charlotte and find her watching me with wide eyes, her hand pressed to her chest.
"Koda," she breathes. "I'm so sorry. That's... ugh, I can't even imagine."
The sympathy in her voice is genuine, unguarded. No pity, just honest compassion. It makes my chest ache in a different way.
"It's fine," I say, forcing a casual shrug. "It’s ancient history now. She moved out, moved on. Married the guy, actually."
"That doesn't make it fine," Charlotte says softly. "That kind of betrayal... it's not something you just get over."
I turn back to the stove, adjusting the heat under the pasta water even though it doesn't need adjusting.
"You learn to live with it. People make choices. Sometimes those choices hurt like hell, but you survive them."
Another silence, but this one feels different. Understanding, maybe.
"Is that why you built this place so far from town?" Charlotte asks. "To survive it?"
I nod slowly.
"Something like that. Needed to start over somewhere no one knew the story. Somewhere I could just... be."
"Well," she says, and I hear the smile in her voice before I turn to see it, "I think you picked a pretty good spot."
I meet her eyes, and something passes between us. An acknowledgment of shared loneliness, maybe. Or just the simple comfort of being understood.
"Yeah," I say. "I did."
The timer dings, breaking the moment. I drain the pasta, grateful for something to do with my hands.
"So," Charlotte says brightly, clearly sensing my need to change the subject. "Tell me about training Ben."
I latch onto the new topic gratefully, and we slip into easier conversation. The tension eases from my shoulders as we talk about the gym, about Dana's plans for expansion, about the fighters I'm working with.
By the time I plate the pasta and carry our bowls to the small table by the window, the heaviness from my revelation has lifted. Charlotte asks about my training philosophy, and I find myself talking more than I usually do, drawn out by her genuine interest.
We eat watching lightning illuminate the mountains in brief, electric flashes.
The conversation flows naturally now—safer topics that don't require me to excavate old wounds.
But something has shifted between us. The air feels clearer somehow, like the storm outside has swept away more than just the day's heat.
When we finish eating and I take our bowls to the sink. The silence stretches between us, but it's not uncomfortable. It's charged with something I can't name and don't want to examine too closely.
She starts toward the hallway but pauses, tilting her head toward the window.
"Listen to that," she says. "That doesn't sound like rain anymore."
I cross to the window and peer out into the darkness. The porch railing is already coated in a thin sheet of ice, glittering in the outdoor light like crystal. The temperature must have dropped fast.
"It's turning to sleet," I say, watching ice pellets bounce off the glass. "Temperature's dropping."
Charlotte moves to stand beside me, close enough that I can smell the shampoo in her damp hair.
"Is that bad?"
"For the roads? Yeah." I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and I have to step back before I do something stupid. "Ice storms can shut down the mountain for days."
Her face falls.
"Days? Really? I was hoping to get back to town first thing in the morning." She wraps her arms around herself, worry creasing her forehead. "I have this big assignment due Monday. I was supposed to practice all weekend."
"What kind of assignment?"
She sighs, running a hand through her tangled hair.