Chapter 29
Ella
I’m jolted awake as the car turns up a dirt road, and I blink, rubbing my eyes.
For a good twenty seconds, I’m convinced Gable is driving me into the woods to kill me, but I’m so hungry I’d either welcome death or kill and eat him.
But the trees part, and settled in a clearing is an enormous cabin.
It’s all windows and wood, a huge, sloped roof over two stories.
I’d imagined a shack in a forest with just enough heat and food to survive, but this is incredible.
Maybe it does have a hot tub, after all.
I look at Gable. “This is where we’re staying?” He’s about to respond, definitely sarcastically, and I slap my hand over his mouth. “Actually, don’t bother answering; I’m too hungry for sass.”
We’ve been on the road for hours, taking detours and stopping occasionally after getting gas, trying to throw the scent off any other potential followers, so it’s night now.
The surrounding trees shroud us in darkness, but the lights in the cabin are aglow.
We stop, and I step out, the gravel path crunching beneath my sneakers.
The sounds of rivers and singing birds echo from the line of trees that wrap around the property.
Rich smells of clean air, soil and pine fill my nose, and I inhale deeply.
Motor hops out, heading for the front door.
“You’ve stayed here before?” I ask.
“Asher and I had someone buy it for us under their name a few years ago. It’s where we came when we needed a break, but a friend has been living here and keeping an eye on it.” He pauses, looking up at the building, and I can’t read his expression. “The last time I was here was with him.”
Gable can annoy the crap out of me, and then there are moments like this where we share pain, and I feel more connected to him than I do to anyone.
If he were anyone else, I’d hold his hand or say something reassuring, but he’d probably hate it or call me creepily sentimental.
The moments we shared his first night back won’t be a regular thing, I know that, so I tuck them away and resign myself to not opening up to Gable Flynn again.
Instead, I say nothing and grab my purse.
A porch wraps around the property and echoes underfoot as we walk up the steps.
Once inside, I admire the home. Ahead is a living area with a deep, overstuffed couch across from a stone chimney.
The entire back wall is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, a large chair set before it, and I wonder if Asher ever sat in that chair.
A wide hallway to the right looks like it leads to a kitchen, and to the left are stairs.
None of the furniture matches, and the flooring is a mixture of wood that I can’t identify.
Everything feels rustic, worn in, homely. I can imagine Asher here.
I can’t imagine Gable here at all.
“Your room is up the stairs, last on the left,” he says. “My room is on the right. The other room is Asher’s.”
“Okay.” I head up the stairs. The hallway is large, and I glance at the first room on my left, but resist going in. I’m not ready to see that, not yet.
My room is large with a double bed, dresser, television, a wood stove in the corner, and a small en suite—thank God. There is no way I’m sharing a bathroom with Gable for four weeks.
I called my dad when we’d stopped for gas, but he’s already texted me three times since, so I go back downstairs and call him again.
In the time it’s taken me to explore my room, decide I don’t have the patience to get my suitcase, and return downstairs, Gable has lit the fire, but is nowhere to be seen.
My dad answers after two rings. “Hey, baby. You good?”
“Yep. All good here. Motor is good, too.”
The dog is sitting in front of the fire, tongue out.
“Your service doesn’t sound great.”
It isn’t. It’s spotty as hell, but it’ll have to do.
“I think it’ll just be where I’m standing,” I say, turning to the sound of footsteps and watching Gable walk down the stairs. “I better go, Dad, I just wanted to check in.”
“Okay.” He sighs. “Just keep in touch, okay?”
“I will. I promise.”
I stare at the phone as the line disconnects and try to calm the guilt. I’m doing this for a reason. I’m doing it for Asher.
“There’s food in the fridge,” Gable says. “Do not eat the Oreos.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re mine.”
“Are they double stuffed?”
“Do not touch them!”