Chapter 2
Marco
Jesus Fucking Christ.
I’d worn my parka, my thick winter boots, wool socks, thermal underwear beneath my jeans, a turtleneck, a cable-knit wool sweater, and insulated mittens.
And of course, I was still freezing my ass off.
Perhaps my balls as well.
My dad and his husband would be laughing their asses off at me. My stepfather. Who also happened to be my best friend. Yeah, life was weird that way.
I was incredibly happy for them. They’d tied the knot the second Saturday in October—coinciding with Canadian Thanksgiving. Because, of course, they were thankful to have reconnected, fallen in love, and were now able to share their lives together.
You’re not jealous. Just because you don’t have anyone, doesn’t mean you’re jealous. You have your studies. That should be enough.
Right. Like doing important climate research would warm me on a cold winter’s night.
I followed the well-worn path between the lake and the cabin.
I’d been making this trek twice a day for six weeks now.
My sensors were picking up some interesting readings about the ice density on the frozen lake.
Well, the lake that was normally frozen this time of year.
The ice was slow in coming, and I was trying to figure out if this was simply because of the late arrival of the cold weather or if another factor lay beneath the odd readings.
I hauled my butt up the wooden stairs.
Only then did I turn to check out the driveway.
Well, shit. This is going to be interesting.
Along with the beat-up pickup truck I’d borrowed from a friend—because there wasn’t a charging station for thirty miles, so bringing my electric car up here would’ve been just plain stupid—was a high-end SUV.
I racked my brains. Mr. Parsons had said he wasn’t planning to use the cabin until January.
He wanted the ice safely thick enough to go ice fishing on.
With the way things were going this winter—unless we had a massive freezing spell—he wasn’t going to be able to.
It was one thing to check a sensor on the partially frozen lake.
It was something completely different to put a wooden shelter up there, to plop one’s ass down after drilling a hole, and attempt to catch fish.
So why had Mr. Parsons come?
I couldn’t figure a single reason.
And given how hard the snow now fell, neither one of us was likely to get out anytime soon.
Ah well, I’ve had weirder things happen. Like finding my best friend in my dad’s bed after they’d, uh, done the nasty. I’d laughed. So had Troy. Well, after a fashion. My dad had come home with takeout food, and we’d had an amazing Christmas. God, was that almost a year ago? Time’s flown.
I opened the front door, relieved to find it still unlocked.
A guy popped off the couch.
Oh shit.
Not Mr. Parsons. Nope. That guy was fifty-something, short, balding, gray hair, brown eyes, and a little round around the middle.
This guy was tall, lanky, about my age, with blond hair and piercing-blue eyes. He scowled. “Who the hell are you?”
I removed my gloves, dropped them on the bench by the door, and started to remove my outerwear.
The cabin was much hotter than I’d left it, and I didn’t want to overheat.
“Uh, well…” I brushed the snow off my coat, unzipped it, removed it, then hung it on a peg on the wall—clearly put there for this exact purpose.
I eyed the leather jacket. Then noted the running shoes by the door.
“Please tell me you didn’t wear sneakers and a flimsy leather jacket up here. ”
He jutted his chin. “What if I did? What’s it to you?”
“Well, if your SUV gets stuck in a snowbank as you drive away from here, you might just freeze to death.”
He scowled. “I’m not leaving. You’re the one who’s trespassing. I should call the cops.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know very few trespassers who have keys.” I dug them out of my pocket and hung them on a smaller peg. I never went out without them—even if I was the only one around and the odds of someone locking the door were almost nonexistent.
“You seem surprised to see me. Did you not see my truck in the driveway?”
He frowned. “Uh…no.” He continued to frown.
Given the way this guy was looking at me, I hadn’t been wrong to hedge my bets. “Who are you?”
Again with the chin jut. “Kellen Parsons.”
I racked my brain. “I assume you’re related to Mike Parsons.”
“His son.”
“And he neglected to mention he’d lent me his cabin for the months of November and December?”
He bit his lower lip. “He might not know where I am.”
I blinked. “You drove six hours north of Vancouver without proper outerwear and no one knew where you were going? Do you need to check in with someone?”
“Lori knows where I am.”
“Uh…who’s Lori?”
“My dad’s vice-president.”
“Okay.” I plopped down onto the bench so I could untie the laces on my winter boots. Jesus…he’s just got those flimsy running shoes? He’s got seriously questionable judgement. “Have you called Lori?”
“I sent her a text.”
I’d give Mr. Parsons props—he’d managed to convince one of the biggest telecommunications businesses in Canada to install a wireless tower nearby.
The thing also ensured that a large part of the main road into town had cell service.
That had apparently saved a couple of lives.
People stuck on the side of the road who might’ve had to wait hours—if not days—for help.
Almost no one came out this way. “Did she respond?”
“Yep. So if things go sideways, she can always tell my dad.”
“Your dad won’t worry?” I pulled my boots off, eyed the near stranger, and decided to leave my jeans on for now. I rose.
“Worry is relative. Will he notice I’m gone? Probably not.”
The bleakness of his tone had me paying attention. “Okay, well, that sucks.”
“Do you have family who would miss you? If something bad happened to you?”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to me—I’m prepared. But yes, if I didn’t check in every two weeks, both my PhD supervisor and my father would worry. Well, and my stepfather.”
He blinked. “Your dad’s gay?”
“Bi, if you must know. After my mom died, he sort of shut down. Who knew when he finally met someone that it would be a man? And my best friend to boot.” I padded into the kitchen.
“Can you repeat that?” Disbelief laced his tone.
I put water in the kettle, plugged it in, and set about pulling down a mug as well the hot-chocolate powder out of the cupboard. “You heard me. My best friend married my father. They make a cute couple, so it’s not really that weird.”
“Nope. Gotta disagree—that’s all kinds of weird.”
I shrugged. “To each their own. They are the two people I care for most in the world, and I wanted them to be happy. So yeah, it works.” I turned to face him, leaning back against the counter.
“If you’re leaving, you'd better go now. As it is, that snow’s falling pretty heavy.
Another hour or two, and you’ll be stuck here. Possibly for days.”
“Me? I’m not going anywhere. This is my cabin.”
“Uh, yeah, no. Your dad lent it to me. I have the paperwork to prove it. So you can just mosey on out of here.”
“I’m not moseying on out of anywhere. This is my family’s cabin. I have a right to be here.”
“You do realize there’s only one bed.”
He blinked.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Your father usually comes up here by himself—to get away from the rat race. There’s a couch, which might’ve been where you slept before.”
“I don’t…” He pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose. “I’m remembering a tent. I thought it was so cool that my dad and I each had our own tents. I was sort of worried about bears…” He gazed upward. “It’s fuzzy.”
“Well, bears are hibernating, so you’re good to take off.” I gazed out at the heavy snow and the darkening skies. “Now rather than later.”
The kettle whistled. I flipped the switch off, then poured enough to fill the mug. I added some chocolate powder and started stirring.
A moment later, we were plunged into virtual darkness.