Chapter 6
SIX
MIGUEL
The words hang between us, fogging in the air.
The season of giving.
Caleb’s chest is heaving, breath spilling out in white clouds, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead.
He’s beautiful like this, flushed and trembling, adrenaline and endorphins chasing each other through his veins.
The world’s silent around us, except for the crackle of distant branches and our breathing.
“C’mere,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t hesitate. He stumbles in the space between us and presses his face into my chest, all that fight bleeding out at once. I wrap my arms around him, tucking his head under my chin, my gloved hand sliding up to cradle the back of his neck.
I drag my lips over the fabric of his balaclava, the scrape of my stubble catching, the heat of my breath seeping through. “You did so well, baby.” My voice is low and hoarse from the cold and the chase. “But we should get you warm before you turn into a popsicle.”
His fingers bunch in the front of my jacket, clutching hard.
I feel him shaking, not from the cold this time, not entirely, and I hold him tighter.
His breath catches, then steadies against me.
“Negative, I’m already a meat popsicle.” He lets out a shaky laugh that breaks on the last syllable.
“It’s all your fault too, making me run through a snowstorm, psycho! ”
“Mm.” I smile against his temple. “You liked it.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He huffs, soft and breathless, the sound carried away by the wind. His body sags against me, all adrenaline and exhaustion and heat. I slip my gloved hand around his wrist and tug him upright.
“Come on. The hunting cabin isn’t far.”
He stumbles a little when I pull him forward. The snow’s almost to his knees now, and he’s limping slightly. I steady him with an arm around his waist. “You hurt?”
“My knee,” he mutters, “I fell.”
Shit.
“Bad?”
“I don’t think so.” He’s panting, trying to play it off, but I can feel the tension in him, the way he’s protecting that leg. I hope it’s not something that will interfere with basketball for him.
I didn’t think about that.
Now the guilt will eat me up if he is really hurt.
“I can carry you if it hurts too bad.” I offer, but knowing how stubborn he is, the answer I get is expected.
He flips me off and keeps walking, or should I say limping.
We move together through the trees, our boots crunching, the world a muted blur of white and grey.
The cabin appears like something pulled out of a snow globe, small, square, and half-buried in drifts.
Just enough space for a bed and a stove, with a door that creaks when I push it open.
Inside smells like old pine and dust and the faint ghost of smoke.
Caleb looks around, teeth chattering behind his mask. “I should’ve kept running,” he mutters. “I would’ve won.”
I chuckle, kicking the snow from my boots. “But you stopped. Why?”
He frowns, glancing down at his knee. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t bleeding.”
That makes me grimace. “I’m sorry, baby. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t think that you’d get hurt.”
“You couldn’t predict that I would trip,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm, but the corners of his eyes crinkle when he says it. He’s trying to keep it light, even though he’s shivering hard enough to cause an earthquake.
“Still.”
I cross the small room, kneel by the old wood stove, and start stacking kindling from the box beside it. The match flares bright in the dim light, and the smell of sulfur fills the air before the fire catches. A few minutes later, the first snap of heat blooms through the space.
When I turn, Caleb’s standing in the center of the room, staring at me. His lashes are clumped with melted snow, and his cheeks are flushed red from the cold. There’s something raw about him like this—stripped down, trembling, breath fogging.
Too pretty for his own good.
“Take that off,” I say quietly, nodding toward his coat.
He hesitates, teeth catching his lower lip. “It’s cold.”
“I’ll fix that.”
I stand and walk to him, undoing the zipper myself when his fingers won’t cooperate. The coat falls heavily to the floor. Then the gloves. Then the balaclava. His hair’s damp, sticking up in all directions. I tug it gently, forcing his gaze up to mine.
“I’m—I’m cold, Miggy,” he murmurs, voice small, a whisper meant just for me.
“I’ll warm you up, baby. Don’t worry.”
The sound that leaves him isn’t quite a sigh—it’s closer to surrender. He lets me strip away his layers one by one until he’s left in just the thin base layer shirt clinging to his chest and the base pants tucked into his socks. His skin’s hot where I touch him, almost feverish from the contrast.
I shed my gloves, then my own coat, my breath fogging between us. “Bed,” I tell him, nodding toward the daybed tucked against the wall.
He climbs onto it clumsily, legs half tangled in the blanket, still shivering. I pull the covers back and gesture for him to lie down.
“What about you?” he asks, voice muffled.
“The best way to get warm,” I say, stripping down to my base layer and sliding in behind him, “is skin-to-skin contact.”
He lets out a weak laugh. “That’s actual science, huh?”
“Mm. You can look it up later.”
The bed’s small enough that we have no choice but to press together.
His back fits perfectly against my chest. I pull the covers up over us, cocooning us in a small pocket of heat.
The fire crackles. Under the covers, I pull my shirt up and then his.
Caleb’s skin is ice cold in places, burning in others.
I press my palms flat to his stomach, slow and steady, letting my warmth sink into him.
His breathing evens out a little, but the tremor in his voice gives him away.
“You trying to cop a feel, or is this all still in the name of science?”
I nudge my nose into his damp hair, my voice dropping. “Little of both.”
He laughs softly, a sound that vibrates through us. “Just don’t let me freeze to death.”
“I would never.” I shift closer until my chest is molded to his back, my legs tangled with his. The rhythm of his breathing steadies under my touch. Slowly, the shaking fades.
“Better?” I murmur against his ear.
“Yeah.” His voice is softer now, drowsy, his body finally relaxing. “Much better.”
The firelight from the stove paints a faint orange glow across his face, catching the shadows of his lashes and the curve of his mouth. My heart clenches painfully in my chest.
I shouldn’t look at him like this.
I shouldn’t want like this.
But I do.
He turns his head slightly, just enough for his lips to brush my jaw. The contact is featherlight. Barely there. But it sets everything inside me alight.
“You warm?” he whispers.
I smile into his hair, my hand still pressed to his stomach. “Not as warm as I’m gonna get you.”
Caleb shifts again, rolling just enough to meet my eyes. There’s mischief there, even through the sleepiness. “Oh, yeah? I think you’ve forgotten something.”
“What’s that?”
“No lube,” he sighs, sounding disappointed.
I trace a thumb along his jaw, my pulse thudding steadily. “I never said I was gonna fuck you here, pretty boy.”
His brows lift, breath catching. “No?”
I shake my head slowly. “I’m just building up the anticipation for later. Maybe I want you so needy for my cock that as soon as we get back to the cabin, you beg me to fuck you.”
His pupils blow wide. “You’re such a tease.”
I grin, low and dangerous. “Tell me, baby, are you gonna beg for my cock?”
He laughs, quiet and warm, pressing his forehead to mine. “Probably. You’re crazy… all of this just to tease me?”
“Maybe,” I murmur, brushing my lips against his temple. “But you’re the reason I’m crazy. You’re my insanity, pretty boy. Just lock me up and throw away the key.”
Light creeps through the cracks in the door, and he’s blinking awake.
Caleb slept for nearly two hours and now it’s getting closer to the afternoon.
It will take us longer to get back to the cabin because of his knee, so we need to get a move on.
The bruise looks better, his knee’s stiff but manageable.
I help him into his layers again, tucking my scarf around his neck.
“What about you?” He says, the words muffled.
“I’ll be fine. What I care about is you staying warm.” Placing a kiss on his nose over his balaclava.
When I open the door, the snow outside is lighter now, flakes drifting lazily and slow.
“You sure you can walk?” I ask, making sure his zipper is all the way up on his coat.
He gives me a look that’s pure stubbornness. “You think I’m gonna let you carry me all the way back?”
I smirk. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
He mutters something about me being a caveman and masculinity, but he’s grinning as we step outside. The path back isn’t too bad. Two miles, downhill most of the way. The trees glisten with a layer of ice that catches the afternoon light, turning everything into glass.
“It’s so pretty outside.”
For a while, neither of us talk. Just the sound of our boots crunching and the occasional puff of white breath between us. The quiet feels sacred after the wildness of the night before.
But it doesn’t last.
About halfway back, he slows and falls behind. I hear the shift in his steps before I turn around, his rhythm’s off.
“Hey,” I call softly. “You good?”
Caleb nods, but the grimace says otherwise. “Just… stiff. Feels like my knee’s staging a protest.”
I step closer, hands on my hips. “Come on, get on.”
His brows shoot up. “What?”
“Get on,” I repeat, turning around and bending a little. “Piggyback. You’ll make it worse if you keep limping.”
He scoffs, but it’s weak. “I can walk—”
“Not asking,” I interrupt, turning around and crouching down a bit more. “Come on, pretty boy. Before I change my mind and haul you over my shoulder… like an actual caveman.”
He groans dramatically but finally loops his arms around my neck. The second his chest presses to my back, I hook my hands under his thighs and lift. He’s lighter than I expect, all warmth and laughter against my ear.
“Damn, you really are strong,” he mutters.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say, starting forward again. “You think all the heavy lifting I do is just for show?”
“Mm, no, I think you just like showing off. ”
I huff a laugh, tightening my hold on his legs. “You complaining?”
“Nope. Not even a little.” He rests his chin on my shoulder, voice dropping low. “You smell good.”
“If you’re into that sweat and smoke scent. Sure.” I chuckle.
“More like citrus and smoke,” he whispers. “It’s perfect.”
We fall quiet again, and for a few minutes, the only sound is the steady crunch of snow beneath us and his warm breath on my neck. Every now and then, he presses a lazy fabric-covered kiss to my jaw or cheek, and it makes my insides flutter.
Butterflies, really?
Man, I’ve got it bad.
When the cabin finally comes into view, lights still twinkling in the window from the tree decorations, he squeezes me tighter.
“You can put me down now,” he murmurs. “I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Not a chance, baby.”
He laughs into my ear. “Incorrigible. ”
By the time we reach the porch, I set him down gently, keeping a steadying hand at his waist. He’s flushed and breathless but smiling wide.
“See?” I say, nudging the door open. “I got you home safe and sound.”
He limps inside, muttering, “Home, huh?” under his breath like he’s testing how the word feels.
And damn, it hits something deep in me.
Home is wherever Caleb is. It could be this little cabin in the woods, or my condo in Santa Cruz, or the home where we grew up.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Home.”
He’s still catching his breath when I hand him a glass of water and hit the bathroom.
“Don’t move too much,” I call over my shoulder as I disappear down the hall.
“Yeah, sure thing, Caveman,” he teases faintly.
I grin to myself as I duck into the bathroom, stripping down fast and rummaging through the linen closet for the little surprise I stashed.
A minute later, I step out wearing nothing but a Santa hat, some cheap red velvet trousers with suspenders, and a fake white beard that barely clings to my face.
Caleb’s halfway to sitting up when he sees me, and promptly chokes on his water.
“Jesus Christ,” he sputters, wiping his mouth. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Language,” I rumble in my best low Santa voice, hands on my hips. “You’ll end up on the naughty list.”
His laugh is instant and bright. “I think it’s too late for that.”
“Maybe.” I grin, stalking closer, voice dropping to a growl. “But the good news is…”
He swallows hard, eyes flicking down my bare tattooed chest to the trousers that leave little to the imagination.
“…looks like Santa gets to come early this year.”