Chapter 3 Jackie
Jackie
The cabin looked like something off a magazine cover—vaulted ceilings, warm wood beams, massive windows overlooking the snow-drenched trees. Everything smelled like cedar and something sweet, like someone had lit a fancy candle before we arrived.
Hana led me down the hallway like she owned the place, beaming. “This is your room,” she said, throwing open a door with a dramatic sweep of her arm. “King bed, forest view, a bathtub bigger than our SUVs parked in the front.”
I stepped inside and took the room in—soft gray bedding, rustic furniture, a huge window framing the trees like a painting. “This is insane. You really know how to pick them.”
“Jack does. He has a thing for snowy getaways that make you feel like you’ve lost all communication with the world,” she joked.
“Love that for him.”
“You’ll love it more after you see the bathroom,” she said, already moving again. “It’s like a spa. Rainfall shower, those super plush robes. And the tub! We have one just like it in our room. I may never put clothes back on.”
“Please warn me before that happens.”
She glanced over her shoulder with a teasing smirk. “No promises.”
I laughed, following her into the bathroom as she flicked on the light.
She wasn’t kidding. The bathroom was gorgeous—clean, sleek, soft lighting and cream tile, with a massive walk-in shower, said bathtub, and towels folded like hotel origami. There was even a window above the tub that looked out onto the snowy sky.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said.
“I know,” she said, standing beside me. “I’m tempted to just live here and ghost everyone.”
“Yeah, right. You’d panic the second your Wi-Fi cut out and you couldn’t pull up your outline or watch ten hours of cat videos.”
She gasped mockingly. “How dare you know me.”
“I know you because we trauma-bonded in the worst way imaginable and now we’re basically sisters,” I responded with a smile.
“True. The deepest friendships are forged in blood,” she quipped back.
“And phone calls where we both cry but say it’s allergies.”
She snorts. “What if I am crying and it’s also allergies?”
We stood there for a moment in the quiet, all smiles, surrounded by the soft light, and something about the way she looked at me shifted. Still playful, still Hana. But different, somehow.
“I didn’t realize how much I missed you until just now,” she said, grinning with that crooked smile of hers.
I smiled back, but something about the way she said it caught me off guard. It wasn’t dramatic or sentimental—it was just honest and simple.
“I know,” I murmured. “Same.”
We stood there for a second as we faced each other, the sound of distant voices filling the quiet between us.
There were years behind that silence—years of FaceTime calls, long texts, hard conversations, and shared weight we didn’t always know how to express. Being in the same room again after months apart made something inside me click into place, like I hadn’t realized a part of me was missing until now.
“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” she said.
I nodded. “Me too.”
She looked like she wanted to say something else but just gave me a small, warm smile and nodded toward the hallway. “Come on. Jack’s probably trying to make Elliott drink something that tastes like gasoline.”
I laughed, following her out. “Sounds about right.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
But still, something felt a little fuller in my chest, like I’d remembered how to breathe a little deeper, just by being near her again.
* * *
The living room was warm, lit mostly by the fire and a single lamp near the couch. Jack and Elliott had taken over the plush armchairs, a half-finished bottle of whiskey on the coffee table between them. There were snacks, blankets, and music playing through a speaker tucked on a shelf.
Hana and I had curled up together on the couch—me cross-legged, her tucked under a blanket with her legs pulled up. She handed me a mug of tea as she scooted beside me, her wine glass noticeably absent.
Jack gave her a look. “You done already, love?”
“I’m good,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t need it.”
Jack only nodded, and Elliott looked over at me, giving me a small, knowing smile.
I used to drink too much—we both knew it. Things got worse after Michael.
I still drank sometimes, to Elliott’s quiet dismay, but it wasn’t a crisis anymore.
Jack topped off his own glass, then offered the bottle to Elliott, who leaned forward to pour.
“Cheers to surviving the snow,” Jack said, lifting his glass.
“To overpriced cabins and heated floors,” Elliott added.
“To friends not seen nearly enough,” Hana said, clinking her mug against mine.
We all drank—two of us whiskey, two of us tea—and we all talked amongst ourselves. Jack was telling a story about a gig in Berlin—how the power went out mid-song and the crowd kept singing anyway, phones lit like a sea of stars. I wasn’t really listening to the details. Mostly, I was watching him.
He had an easy charisma and charm—casual, confident, just a little too good-looking for his own good. Wavy, dirty blonde hair that didn’t need any help, blue eyes that always looked like he was up to no good, full lips and disarming dimples.
And then there was the accent—smooth, low, English. What was it about accents that made us American women swoon? He called Hana sweetheart, and love, sometimes in the same sentence.
I’d always noticed him. Not in a want him way, just like in a yeah, of course you’re hot way. Entirely observational. I was a people-watcher by default.
Jack looked over at me mid-sentence, something playful sparking in his eyes.
“You would’ve hated it, love. Rain, ankle-deep mud, no real bathrooms.”
I smirked. “Sounds like my nightmare.”
“Exactly.” He raised his eyebrows playfully. “You strike me as the type who needs proper floors and flushable toilets.”
“Absolutely. I came into this world with standards,” I quipped back easily.
He gave me a quick smirk and turned back to Elliott. “She’s got good taste, your one.”
Elliott raised his glass. “I’d have to agree with that,” he said, his voice already carrying that slight shift it always did when he drank, something that didn’t happen too often these days.
I felt Hana shift beside me, her thigh brushing mine under the blanket we were now sharing.
“She’s more adaptable than she lets on,” she said lightly, but there was something behind it too.
I glanced at her. She was already watching me with a small smile.
Just like that, the conversation moved on. Jack was asking Elliott about what he was listening to lately, Hana tossing in a sarcastic comment that made Jack roll his eyes playfully. But something in the room had tilted.
Not in a bad way. Not even in a weird way.
Just…something.
* * *
It was well past two before we all said goodnight.
I changed into pajamas, brushed my teeth alongside Elliott, and gave him a quick kiss before I headed into the kitchen for water.
The cabin was dark except for a small lamp glowing from the living room. I told myself I was just getting water, but I paused when I passed Hana and Jack’s door.
It wasn’t closed all the way.
At first, I didn’t realize what I was hearing. Just soft, rhythmic sounds and a faint creak. Then I heard her.
A gasp. A low moan. A sharp slap against skin. Her voice, low and rough, “Harder.”
I froze.
Something in me—curiosity, maybe, or something more primal—kept me standing there. The door was cracked just enough to see through.
Jack was behind her. Hana was on her hands and knees on the bed, her hair spilling across her face, her body trembling with each thrust. Jack was gripping her hips, his muscled, tattooed arms glistening with sweat. The room was dim, but not enough to hide how rough it was, how good it looked.
And then suddenly, Hana looked up, straight at me.
Our eyes met. She didn’t tell him to stop or to awkwardly try to hide herself. She just held my gaze while Jack kept moving behind her, fucking her like nothing had changed.
I backed away before I could think too hard. My heart raced with adrenaline, with shock…with desire.
I didn’t know what that look meant. I didn’t know what any of it meant.
I closed the door of our room behind me quietly, my heart pounding hard enough I was sure it was audible. The silence in our room was a sharp contrast to what I’d just seen—and what I couldn’t unsee.
The look in Hana’s eyes still clung to me…that steady gaze. Like she wanted me to watch.
Elliott lay on his back, his eyes closed, his hands resting behind his head. The bedside lamp was still on, and I got into bed beside him, barely breathing.
“Hi, Daddy,” I whispered, cuddling up beside him, running my hand through his chest hair.
His eyes opened quickly and he grunted, and before I knew it, his mouth was on mine. His hand moved fast, tugging at my shirt, stripping it away. My pajama shorts followed. He didn’t hesitate—he knew the difference between when I wanted softness and when I needed to be taken apart.
And tonight, I needed the latter.
He flipped me easily onto my stomach, spreading my legs apart roughly.
“You need Daddy, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said with a low moan. “Fuck me.”
He slid into me hard, one hand fisting in my hair, the other gripping my hip. The rhythm was hard, steady, and perfect. He knew how to ride the edge of pain and pleasure until I couldn’t tell the difference.
“Keep your hands where they are,” he growled. “Don’t move unless I say.”
I buried my face into the pillow as he pounded into me. My body responded beneath him, pushed right to the edge and held there.
“Who owns you, baby?” he asked roughly.
“You do, Daddy.”
“Say it again.”
“You.”
“Louder.”
“You, Daddy.”
I cried out as I came. I fisted the sheets, gasping through the pleasure, knowing I was probably loud enough for the entire west coast to hear.
He let out low grunts as he spilled himself inside of me. He slowed, and his hand slid down my back slowly.
He lay down beside me, still breathing hard, holding me close.
“You good, baby?” he asked, his voice quieter and softer now.
I nodded and smiled against his chest. “Yeah.”
But even as I melted into his warmth, into the space where I always felt safest, a feeling still twisted in my gut.
Because even with Elliott’s hands on me, his voice in my ear…
I could still feel Hana’s eyes on me.