Chapter 12 #2
I jerk awake. My face is wet with tears. I haven’t dreamed about Aiden in a while, and it makes my heart hurt. I wipe away the moisture on my cheeks and squint at the light coming through the window.
I was right—the cabin is frigidly cold this morning.
My ears and nose are practically numb. The warm body snuggled up to my side does seem to help, though.
Bastian is curled in a ball, his forehead resting against my bare bicep.
His shoulders rise and fall with his gentle breaths, and he looks young and vulnerable.
Suddenly, my phone blasts Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy.”
“Must be seven,” I mutter while I fumble toward the nightstand. Not only is the music loud, but every high note she hits makes my phone vibrate against the old wood. My hand bumps the fucking thing as I reach for it, and it clatters to the floor.
Sebastian groans. “What. The. Fuck.”
“Dammit.” I reach down, barely grasping the phone with my fingertips. I turn it off, right myself, and roll over to look at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that’s my alarm.”
“You wake up every morning to Mariah Carey?” He rubs his eyes and glares at the window. “And why is it so fucking bri—”
I hear something outside and slam my hand over his mouth. “Shhh, do you hear that?”
Bastian pushes my wrist away roughly but cocks his ear to the side. “It sounds like…chopping wood?”
I jump out of bed and walk to the window, peering outside. Fiona is dressed in snow boots and a heavy, oversized flannel. And she’s chopping wood like a sexy lumberjack.
“Holy shit.” I cover my mouth with my hand to hold in laughter.
“What is it?” Bastian asks, and I scoot aside as he crowds me to look out the small window. “What the…”
We watch as she sets up a large log and swings with practiced precision, splitting off part of the stump.
“Why is that so hot?” I mutter.
Bastian leans closer to the glass, his eyes fixed on Fi. “Where on earth did she learn to do that?”
She swings again, her snow-sprinkled hair swaying dramatically with the movement.
I glance over at Bastian, suddenly fully aware that I’m in my underwear and he is half naked. My eyes travel the length of his body, and I’m surprised at how muscular he actually is. He’s lean but still toned and cut in all the right places—the ones I can see anyway.
My throat feels dry and I back up a bit. “It is balls cold in here.” I walk to the bed to put on my rumpled clothing. My stomach feels a little queasy, and I swallow. “So, if we’re stuck here a while, we probably need to figure out a few things.”
Bastian faces me. “Like what?”
I sit on the bed and watch as he pulls on his gray Henley and a pair of dark jeans.
“I have a couple of extra shirts in my truck,” I tell him, “but I might need to borrow some clothing or something. I didn’t really pack for this, you know?” I realize my hands are shaking, and I clutch the quilt, but Bastian catches the movement.
“Are you okay? You look kind of green.”
“I just…haven’t had a drink since the night before last.”
Sebastian gives me a measured look. “I wish I could say I sympathize.”
Anger sparks in my chest. “Are you going to hold this over my head forever? It was one fuckup.”
Bastian raises his eyebrows. “One fuckup? You’ve been fucking up since you showed up six months ago, bumming around my pub like you’re a character from Cheers. You can do better, Brantley. I’ve seen it.”
His words are heavy in the air, and I feel like I’m choking.
My stomach lurches and sweat erupts on my forehead.
I put a hand to my mouth, trying to decide if I need to make a run for the bathroom, but the feeling passes.
I wipe my face with my sleeve and look up at Bastian. “I’m trying to make it right.”
“Whatever,” he mutters and turns away.
We make our way down the ladder and pull on our boots and coats and step out onto the front porch, walking around the side where we can still hear the clack of the ax.
In the daylight, the forest is a wild scene straight out of Narnia—as if the White Witch herself frosted the emerald pine trees in snow. There’s even a tall, old-fashioned streetlamp in the middle of the yard, though it’s so rusty, I doubt it still works.
There’s already tons of firewood lying around, but I notice that the protective roof above the stacks has collapsed, allowing nature to claim the piles, which are now rotting and covered in moss and lichen.
Fi is dragging a large log from the lean-to shed. She grunts as she pulls and rolls the thing, her boots slipping and sliding in the snow. She hauls it up onto the rooted stump and pauses to wipe her forehead.
“Do you need some help?” Sebastian asks.
Fi looks up at us. Her pale cheeks are rosy from exertion, and she smiles warmly, her green eyes bouncing between us. “No, I’m good.”
Fuck, she’s pretty.
I glance at Bastian. He seems equally taken as he watches her, his mouth twitching at the corners.
Fuck, he’s pretty, too.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask, nodding at the ax.
“Yes,” Bastian agrees. “You’re alarmingly good.”
“I took a lumberjack course the summer before I started at Whitmore,” she says with a shrug. “Got a certificate and everything.”
Bastian and I glance at each other. “That’s a…choice,” I say.
Fi gives us a sad smile. “I needed to get away from home and get out some aggression.” She steadies the log on the stump and picks up the ax. Taking a deft swing, she splits off a chunk. Two more times, and the wood is cut into manageable pieces.
“This must be what women and gay men felt when they watched Chris Evans rip a log in half,” I mutter.
Fi gives me a smirk. “Do you guys want to help me carry this pile inside?”
We nod, and each grab an armful of firewood. The rich cedar aroma floods my senses as I carry it back to the cabin and set it next to the fireplace on the black iron rack.
After a couple trips, we have a decent pile in the living room, and I throw myself onto the couch. I know it’s probably alcohol withdrawal that’s dragging me down, but I hate that a few trips carrying firewood has me feeling weak. I take a deep breath, fingering the outline of my inhaler.
Fi walks to the kitchen, washes her hands, and turns to us, leaning back against the counter. “How did you boys sleep?” she asks, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
Bastian’s look darkens, but he crosses his arms over his chest resolutely. “Tolerable.”
She turns to me and frowns. “Are you okay, B?”
The room feels a little off-kilter, and my stomach starts churning again. “I, uh…shit.”
I stand and stagger to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I heave my guts out. I flush, place my clammy forehead against the edge of the seat, and groan quietly.
The door is still open, and I can hear Fi ask, “Is he sick?”
“He told me he hasn’t had any alcohol since the night before last.”
Light footsteps sound, and then the sink runs. I squint my eyes open in time to watch Fi kneel beside me and gently press a wet cloth to my face.
“Hey,” she says softly. I look away, feeling suddenly ashamed. She went through this with her mom. She shouldn’t have to take care of me too. I’m such a piece of shit. “Are you okay?”
I lick my dry lips and give her a small smile. “Peachy.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you going to do that again?”
“Puke?” I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Maybe later.”
She huffs a laugh. “You’re ridiculous. Come back out into the living room. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
I climb to my feet, still feeling shaky, and hobble to the couch to sit down.
Bastian is sitting on the other sofa, fiddling with his phone. He glances up. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I croak.
Fi takes a glass from the kitchen cabinet and fills it from the tap. Then, she walks over and hands it to me. I nod my thanks.
She sits beside me and puts a hand on my wrist. “What can I do to help, B?”
“I have no idea.” I swallow. “I just need a distraction. Tell me something funny.”
Fi looks thoughtful and then her eyes brighten. “Do you want to know how I stopped Dennis that day in the alley?”
Bastian places his phone on the couch. He gives her a questioning look.
“I didn’t just stab him in the cheek with my keys.” She pauses with a wide, proud grin. “I kneed him in the dick.”
I snort a laugh. “You kneed him in the dick? Impressive.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not completely helpless, you know.” Her smile is impish, and butterflies burst in my stomach. Despite the residual nausea, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this normal. Maybe better than normal.
Fi’s long hair falls in an auburn wave over her forehead, and I push it behind her ear. She flinches back slightly and my hand drops.
I sigh. “I have never, for a moment, considered you helpless, Fiona Flowers.”
She tilts her head at me. “What?”
“Do you remember the night we met?”
She grins, a dimple popping in her left cheek. “You mean Lincoln’s first Halloween party?” I nod. “Of course I remember. We were dressed in the same costume.”
Seb looks between us. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What was the costume?”
Fi’s grin widens as she looks at him. “Princess Leia’s gold bikini.”
Seven years ago, Whitmore University
I sip beer from my orange Solo cup, spilling a drop down my bare chest. I frown and wipe away the sticky liquid, thankful it didn’t stain the shiny gold bra.
It’s not mine—a girl from my English class let me borrow it.
The underwire digs obnoxiously into my ribs just below my pecs, and I’m starting to understand why girls complain so much.
I reach down, shuffling the damn thing around.
“What’s wrong with your tits, Michaels?”
“Ha ha, very funny, Trey,” I tell him. He gives me a shit-eating grin as his eyes graze my body. “I’m not your fuckboy eye candy. You’re making me uncomfortable.”
Trey winks and walks away, snickering. The more I’m treated like a woman, the more empathy I feel.