25
GOLDIE
I make my phone calls. Unsurprisingly, the sheriff’s office inspires me with no confidence. I got all the references I needed for the insurance company, who told me they’d send an assessor by the end of the week. I can’t believe that it is going to take so long to get them to look at the damage. At this rate, it'll be weeks before I see any money and maybe months before I can get the store repaired and get back to business. My savings are there for a rainy day, but they won’t last long. I remember what Evan said, how they’ll pay my bills while I’m here. It was a sweet offer, but I don’t feel comfortable taking their money. Relying on them will only feed into their sense of entitlement about my place here. To maintain my independence, I’ll have to find another way to keep my head above water.
I call my mom, not actually wanting to speak to her but knowing if I don’t, she’ll hound me with messages and moan when we finally make contact. It’s draining and annoying and, not for the first time, I consider how little I get from our relationship, and how much she always takes.
“Goldie. I thought you’d forgotten about us,” is the first thing she says.
I can’t win with her. “No, Mom. I’ve just been busy.”
“Tinkering with locks?” She sighs theatrically, magnifying my deep sadness without even knowing it. When am I going to get to tinker with locks again?
“It’s called working,” I say, unable to keep the snark from my voice, even though I know it’ll only make it worse.
“Well, if you found a husband, you wouldn’t need to work.”
Evan told me they’d take care of me, and a petulant part of me wishes I could just tell her I’ve found three men. Seeing her expression would be the highlight of my life.
“I like working,” I reiterate for the thousandth time.
“Well, your dad has been making a big mess. He’s taken up a hobby and swamped my dining table with his stupid model-making.” She rambles on for at least ten minutes about how terrible her life is and how selfish my dad is for wanting to have an interest. I hold the phone away from my head, finding her voice grating and her constant reveling in victimhood like nails on a chalkboard. She asks me nothing about my life, and I don’t share. What would be the point?
I gaze around at the unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house. My life has been upturned, and I don’t feel I can tell the person who is supposed to love me the most.
For a moment, I drift back into her bear dream world again, shutting out the drone of her moaning. I remember the softness of her voice when she used to tell me the story, and I wonder why she could be like that for a few minutes but transformed into this other cold, awful person for the rest of the time.
I’d usually wait for her to finish rambling, but today, I have no patience. I interrupt her flow. “I have to go, Mom. Something’s come up.”
“What? What’s more important than talking to your mother?”
“Have a good week,” I tell her brightly and hang up. My hands are trembling as I lower the phone to the comforter.
I’m starting to get hungry, but no one has come up to offer me food.
Maybe Hunter’s preventing them from bringing me anything. God, I could just slap that man. Maybe he’d have grown up better if his momma had scolded some of his arrogance. I guess he was too alpha for that.
I crack open the door just a little. The house is silent—totally silent. I tiptoe out of the door and into the hallway, craning to listen. The floorboards creek beneath my feet, and I brace, waiting for footsteps, but none come. Curious, I make my way downstairs. Maybe I can raid the fridge and return to my room without being spotted.
At the bottom of the stairs, I come face to face with the front door. The basket next to it is overflowing with men’s clothes, and three sets of shoes rest on the mat. I glance around, finding the space empty and still silent. “Hello,” I call out, waiting for a response.
Nothing.
I stand frozen, unsure of what to do next. Have they left me alone in the house? I haven’t had time to prepare for this opportunity. Do I want to walk away?
I like Robert and Evan, and I love how they treat me. There’s more kindness and compassion in this house than I’ve ever experienced from men, and enough epic-level sex to render me horizontal for life. If things were different, I’d be in deep enough to stay. Leaving now will feel a lot like betrayal.
But there is a whole barrel of challenges, too. This bear situation is beyond weird, and Hunter’s attitude stinks. I’m seriously worried about his intentions, even though his brothers are so adamant that he’s not getting near me unless I want him to.
And that’s never going to happen. Hunter's arrogance is such a turnoff that it’d make me rage to have him anywhere near me.
None of this has any hope of being anything more than a temporary patch to my otherwise lonely existence, fulfilling my sexual fantasies but not my life goals.
They’re so certain I’m their destiny, but that’s not something I believe. Destiny is an abstract thing that only exists in people’s minds to make them feel better about their choices and the paths they choose. Our lives are just a random sequence of events that lead us into people’s lives and out of them. These men don’t need to fulfill their fate; the sooner they realize it, the better. They’ve been shackled to a dream that isn’t real for too long.
I’m going to leave because it’s better for all of us. They need to find someone who wants to be impregnated with their bear cubs and live with all of them. They need to find someone who can deal with Hunter’s primitive attitude. That person just isn’t me.
And I need to get back on track and return to my quiet and predictable life.
It takes me a couple of minutes to put on my shoes and assemble my possessions before I jog down the hall. My eyes dart around, but the atmosphere in the house still feels empty and hollow. When I’m by the front door, I turn to look around one more time. A picture catches my eye. It’s of a man and a woman, dressed in nineteen-twenties style clothes. The woman is beaming and has her hand resting on her obviously pregnant belly. The man isn’t looking at the observer but is turned to gaze at his wife with a contented smile.
This doesn’t look like a photo of an unhappy woman trapped in a life she didn’t choose. It looks like a picture of two people in love. Maybe there has been love between bears and their mates before.
The front door is large and heavy, but I struggle to get it open and drop my suitcase and purse on the step outside. Pulling it closed is difficult, and I don’t have a key to lock it up. I hope nothing happens to their home while they’re gone, but it’s not my problem.
My car is still where I parked it, but it’s not until I’m at the door that I realize I gave the keys to Robert earlier, and he still hasn’t given them back.
Shit.
I’m locked out of the house and out of my car. My only escape is on foot. I can’t carry my suitcase for miles, so I leave it behind my car and start walking. Possessions aren’t important to me. My freedom is.
It’s a cool day and walking through the forest surrounding the Bjorn mansion should be pleasant. The trees are dense above me, allowing only sporadic shafts of brilliant light to illuminate the leaf-littered ground. My footsteps rustle as I stride toward the road, focusing on a point in the distance. But even as I try to stay calm, the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise. It’s normal to feel frightened in a situation like this. I'd be foolish if I didn’t have some kind of fear response. But it’s more than that. A sixth sense warns me I’m being watched. The eyes on me press like fingers into my skin.
I glance from side to side, speeding my steps. The road is uneven, but I’m wearing sneakers that cushion my feet.
A bird calls from the canopy, an eerie sound that seems to echo further than it should. I’ve never been uncomfortable outdoors. My pop used to take me hiking, and I learned to fish on those trips, too. I’ve always found that being close to nature brings me a sense of peace and tranquility, but this experience is nothing like the happy, outdoorsy weekends of my childhood. The back of my head tingles like a warning, and I turn, whipping my head back and forth, scanning the bushes closest to me.
Is there an animal out there?
The presence of bears has made me paranoid.
I shake my head and keep going. Once I’m on the main road, I can hitchhike. Truck drivers take this route through our small town and on to the city beyond. I’m sure one of them will be kind enough to bring me closer to home.
I need to get that far so I don’t run into the Bjorns on their way back.
What drove them to leave in such a rush? They didn’t even consider that I might not hang around. Or maybe they did, and they didn’t care? Perhaps they’re so confident they can find me wherever I go, they left me as a test? Maybe all of this is to find out if I’m loyal and if they can trust me to be their mate ?
I’m failing that test for sure—not that I’m untrustworthy. There’s no way that I’ll tell anyone their secret. No one would believe me, anyway. We’ve all read too many children’s books to believe that anything like it could really be true. Maybe that’s why those stories exist—to cover up the truth with a veil of the unreal.
Hiding in plain sight. It’s a tactic that seems to be working for them.
For all the strangeness of this situation, there’s no way I’d want them to be hurt. If anyone found out, they’d be locked up and tested like lab rats. The Bjorn triplets are good men, and they don’t deserve anything bad to happen to them.
The rumble of traffic ahead increases in volume. I’m almost on the home stretch, and I should feel happy and relieved. I run to get as far away from all this crazy as I can, but in my chest, my heart aches. I feel a tug inside me that shouldn’t be there—a tug to go back.
I turn, but the mansion was obscured by the trees long ago. There’s still time to change my mind. Robert’s and Evan’s arms felt so good around me. When I was with them, the empty parts of me felt fuller. I can feel that way again if I just retrace my steps, but as I’m standing filled with regret and confusion, a rustle close to me makes me jump.
A hand goes around my face.
The smell of the cloth that's held over my mouth and nose is sweet, and I’m limp before I even register what’s happening.
Like sliding into a warm bath, my consciousness eases away to blackness.