Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Max
Narrator: What a knight in shining armor, a true hero some might say.
If I could, I’d have stripped him down to just a pair of jeans and a reindeer hat, letting you watch in slow motion as he trekked across the snow, his nipples hardening, his muscles flexing, turning into our very own Jack Frost and making that snow his bitch.
But of course, we must be realistic here. Instead, he was a knight in shining snowsuit . . . and a reindeer hat.
But now that he’s back and trying to warm up, do you think we should have them get naked for body heat?
Ehh . . . I think I might edge you a little bit more.
Fuck, it’s cold.
I shakily place two coffee cups on the counter and wait for the kettle to heat up.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long. This isn’t my first time losing electricity out here, so we have stocked up on items that can utilize batteries or don’t suck too much power from the Yetis. This teakettle is one of those.
The water starts to boil, so I pull it off the warmer and pour it into the mugs. Then I dunk two peppermint tea bags into the water and carefully carry them to the living room, where Betty is still a lump on the chair.
She seems to have a little bit of color in her face now, but when I first set her in front of the fire, I swear she was ghostly white. Freaked me the fuck out.
I set the mugs on the hearth next to her fucking tarantula—that fucking thing was a surprise. “Can you sit up a little more and stick your hands out? It will really help to drink something hot.”
She shifts, but it’s slow, and when she sticks her hands out, I test them. Still cold. Christ. How long was she in there without any heat?
I gently hand her the mug and then notice how hard it is for her to hold it, so I wrap my hands around hers, helping her.
Her eyes meet mine, and I say, “Go ahead. I’ll help.”
We bring the cup to her lips, and she blows on the hot liquid a few times before taking a sip.
“That’s it. Take another one for me.”
She sips, and then I take a sip too, letting the hot liquid pool in my stomach, instantly defrosting me. We spend the next few minutes sipping the cup together until it’s gone. Then I pick up my mug and do the same thing, wanting to warm her up as quickly as I can.
When that mug is done, I bring my hand to her cheek and feel that there’s some warmth spreading through her body now.
“I’m going to change out of these clothes and wash up a bit. Do you need anything?”
“N-no,” she says, her voice still weak.
“Okay.” Unsure of what else to say, I grab my phone from the coffee table behind her and head upstairs, where I don’t plan on being very long because it’s cold. I have to get out of these clothes.
When I get up to my room, I close the door, dial Cole’s number, and put it on speaker as I take some baby wipes that we keep for instances just like this and start stripping down to clean up.
“Hello?” he answers.
“She was in the cottage, fucking frozen, man.”
“Are you serious?” Cole asks.
I wipe down my body, even though I took a shower before the power went out. “Yeah. No lights, no heat source, nothing. Found her in a pile of blankets, barely any life to her face.”
“Jesus fuck. Do we need to send paramedics?”
“No.” I slip on a new pair of boxer briefs and then socks. “She’s in front of the fire right now with a lot of blankets, and she just drank some tea. I had to help her, of course, but she drank it. She’s warming up, but I’m keeping an eye on her.”
“Okay, do you need us to do anything?”
“I don’t think so. Not like you can do anything anyway. It’s brutal out there.” I slip on a pair of blue-and-green-plaid flannel pants and a white long-sleeved shirt.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I sigh as I take a seat on my bed. “I went back out after I brought her to my house, because she has a tarantula.”
“What?”
“Yeah, my thoughts as well. And since the heat went out, I didn’t think it would survive, so I went back and got it.”
“I would have let the spider die,” Cole says.
“And that’s why people say I’m the nice one between the two of us.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Okay, so you’re safe then?”
“I’m good. I’ll keep an eye on her, and I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Okay, sounds good. Be safe, man.”
“You too.”
I hang up the phone and then head down the stairs with the long-sleeved shirt that pairs with my pajama set. I set it next to the fire to warm up. Then I sit across from her and take her in.
Her eyes are closed, the blankets are up to her chin, but she’s stopped shaking, and she definitely has more color in her face.
I can’t believe she thought she’d just stay there all night. The thought of it makes me physically ill, because she wouldn’t have survived.
Not a goddamn chance.
Wanting her to rest, I add another log to the fire, and then I set the bed up. It’s going to be a long night.
Betty
I can feel my toes.
My fingers.
My limbs.
Everything is . . . warm.
And as I open my eyes, comfort spreading all through me, I notice that I’m no longer in the chair in front of the fire but rather on a bed in front of the fire.
I look around, confused, and that’s when I find Atlas off to the side in a chair, watching me.
“You’re awake,” he says, leaning forward by resting his forearms on his legs. “How do you feel?”
“Warm,” I answer, my voice normal now.
“Hungry?”
“Um . . . a little,” I say.
“Good. I have some soup for you. I planned to wake you up in a bit.”
He gets up from the chair and then brings a plate to the coffee table, which he’s moved to my side, and puts it down. There is a bowl with soup in it, steam coming off the top, and a piece of bread on the side.
“Let me grab you some water.”
When he heads toward the kitchen, I attempt to sit up but feel weak. Incredibly weak.
“Hold on. Let me help.” He moves in behind me and sets some water on the coffee table. He helps me lift up and then, to my surprise, takes a seat behind me, letting me use him as a backrest to lean against.
He speaks softly as he says, “Want me to help you with the spoon?”
“No . . . no, I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” I dip the spoon in the tomato soup and then blow on it a few times before bringing it to my mouth. Warm, creamy, delicious.
I lean against him, allowing him to prop me up as I devour the soup like it’s my first meal in a week. The heat of the soup warms me up even more, to a point that I’m starting to feel comfortable again, not like I have to keep shaking to get my body temperature up.
“Want me to break apart the bread for you?”
“That’s okay,” I say, feeling all kinds of awkward because . . . once again, this is not the man that Uncle Dwight told me about. I couldn’t be more confused.
He traversed through a snowstorm to help me, then went back to help my tarantula. He’s kept me warm, fed me, made sure that I had everything I needed, even helped me drink, and is now letting me use his body for my own comfort.
There has to be a mistake.
There’s no way he would do all this just to manipulate me, right?
I finish up my soup, and when I’m done, he softly asks, “Do you want to lie down?”
“Can I sit on the couch?”
“Of course.” He stands from the air mattress and, to my surprise again, bends down and hoists me into his arms as if I weigh nothing.
He carries me to the couch, blankets and all, and sits me down.
He drapes a few blankets over me and positions a pillow behind my back, propping me up. “Comfortable?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say softly, my mind running a mile a minute.
He takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch and faces me. “I, um, I set a long-sleeved shirt next to the fire to warm up if you want to wear it. Keep you warmer.”
I glance over at the plaid pajama top and find myself nodding.
I don’t know whether it’s because it’s warm or because it’s his, but I want to wear it.
He grabs it from the hearth and then helps me put it on before covering me in blankets again.
God, it feels so good, and it smells just like him.
When he takes a seat again, he stares at the fire.
“Thank you . . . for coming to check on me,” I say.
He still stares at the fire as he nods. “Of course.”
“And for bringing me here and bringing Buzz. And taking care of me. You . . . you didn’t have to—”
“I’m not that guy, Betty,” he says, startling me. He slightly turns his head so he’s looking at me. “I’m not the guy Dwight paints me as. And I know he’s done a pretty good job making me look like the bad guy, but I promise you, I’m not that man.”
The way he looks at me, like he’s pleading for me to believe him, it nearly splits me in half.
“Bringing you here, it wasn’t so I could manipulate you, so you could believe that I’m some kind of good guy when I’m not.
I brought you here because the moment I thought that you might not have a backup power source, I felt this deep-rooted panic inside me.
I tried texting, Storee tried calling, and when no one could get to you, I knew I had to go to your place.
And when I saw you in the dark, freezing, my stomach dropped.
I was . . . I was fucking terrified, Betty.
” He pushes his hand through his hair. “Seeing you, lifeless like that . . . it terrified me. And it terrified me because I care about you. Genuinely, from the bottom of my soul, I care about you. This isn’t an act.
This isn’t some revenge on Dwight. This feeling I have, in my goddamn chest, this thumping, pulsing feeling, it’s me caring for you.
” He stands from the couch. “And I can’t .
. . I can’t just get over it. It’s why I’ve tried to get close to you as you’ve tried to come up with ways to harm my farm.
It’s why I’ve spent countless hours thinking about you, why I spent a night looking for every sprig of mistletoe I could find so I could kiss you, and it’s why this morning, when I saw you walk toward me in the coffee shop, my heart skipped a beat.
I like you. It’s as simple as that. I like you. ”