Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FIONA
The fire pops loudly, and I jump, my knee hitting the crooked stack of books next to me, which teeter and fall into my lap.
I carefully restack them, rub my hands together, and wrap my flannel tightly around my shoulders.
I’m freezing despite my fleece-lined skinny jeans and tall patterned wool socks, which I’ve pulled up to mid-calf over my pants.
I set down the book I’ve been perusing and stare at the books I’ve gone through. They were all my dad’s, and most of them are well-loved fantasy and sci-fi novels from the seventies and eighties with dog-eared pages and colorfully illustrated covers.
It’s been almost a week since we got here. After a few days, I resigned myself to the fact that the boys weren’t going to abandon me, even after I accidentally pitted them against each other.
They’ve kind of sort of been getting along now. Despite the initial bloodshed, Brantley has insisted on helping Seb while he cooks, and I’m impressed with how tolerant Seb is with him. Sometimes, I think he even likes him. I smile thinking back to our dinner together last night.
“Pass the ketchup,” B says.
Seb’s head snaps up. “You’re not putting ketchup on salmon, Stitch. Who even put that out?” He grabs the ketchup bottle and returns it to the kitchen.
“But I’ve always eaten salmon with ketchup.”
For once, Seb seems speechless. And horrified. He sits back down and places his plate on his lap.
There’s no dining space in this little cabin, so we’ve been eating our dinners on a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace.
I wipe my mouth on a paper towel. “Maybe you could try it without ketchup tonight, B.”
He glances between us. “Yeah, I guess I can. I don’t really like fish that much.”
“Probably because you smother it in ketchup,” Seb mutters under his breath.
B glares at him and makes a big show of cutting off a piece of the pink fish and popping it into his mouth.
We watch him expectantly.
B’s eyes widen. “Holy shit, this is really good.”
Seb blushes. “Oh, yeah?”
B nods. “Yes, this is amazing. Those spices I added made it taste like this?”
Seb looks amused. “That is generally how cooking works. It’s a salmon rub from a little town north of Seattle. I always get some when I drive through.”
“I’ve never eaten anything like this,” B says, taking another large bite.
“Did your dad not cook for you, B?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “We had a personal chef after my mom died.” His voice takes on a bitter tone. “My dad always had her make plain grilled chicken and steamed vegetables because he wanted me in peak shape.”
“Salmon’s pretty healthy,” Seb says.
B shrugs. “My dad always had to be in control. He always thought he knew what was best for me.”
Seb and I exchange looks, and he scoots closer to B until their knees press together. “Thanks for helping me these last couple days. You might make a good sous-chef one day.”
B’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“With a little more practice, I don’t see why not.”
“Well, as a future sous-chef at Brothers’ Beer and Bourbon, I think the teriyaki and the salmon should definitely be on the menu.”
“I agree, Seb,” I say with a smile. “Everything has been so good.”
Seb’s lip twitches with a hint of a smile. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
I’m glad that Seb and B seem to have found something they can bond over besides me.
I’ve tried to keep flirting with the guys to a minimum, but it’s not always easy.
As much as B and I try to maintain a platonic rhythm, the undertone of attraction between us is like a fire raging beneath my skin.
And Sebastian has me swooning left and right.
He has an intrinsic need to be a caretaker—the role he took on with Marcus and Charlie, I’m sure.
He makes tea in the evenings and serves it to me in my dad’s cup, a chipped blue and gray mug that I found on our first day.
He brings in my and B’s boots every night and places them by the fire.
And yesterday he baked two sets of cookies because I like double chocolate and B likes sugar cookies.
I’ve taken to organizing the cabin as a distraction, but I’m still scared.
Detective Lin and her team haven’t found Dennis, and something in my gut tells me that he’s going to find me first. As it is, he’s always lurking in the shadows of my mind waiting for an emotional trigger.
I hate that I can still feel his presence when I close my eyes, like the ghost of rough fingers on my skin.
I don’t want to think about him, but compartmentalizing trauma is exhausting, and I’m so tired that sometimes the memories leak out like toxic waste and pollute my mind.
My eyes move to the list on the coffee table, and I pick up the pencil and add a note about organizing the bookshelf.
The door opens and the guys walk in, stomping the snow from their boots.
“I told you not to carry him all the way over here. You made him mad,” Seb says grumpily while taking off his coat and hanging it up.
B stands in the doorway looking pitifully at his glove, which is missing the tip on his pointer finger.
“What’s going on? I ask, my eyes bouncing between them. “Who’s mad?”
“Captain Jack,” Brantley says matter-of-factly, pulling off the glove and studying his finger.
“The pirate?”
“The rooster,” Seb corrects me with an eye roll.
“You named him Captain Jack?”
“He did.” Seb huffs, taking B’s hand to examine it. “It’s just a little scratch, Stitch.”
B’s worried expression seems to relax a little.
There’s that caretaker instinct again. My stomach flutters, watching them hold hands. What the heck is wrong with me?
Clearly, I’ve been hanging around Charlie and her two boyfriends for too long.
“What happened?” I push myself up and walk toward them. “I thought you guys were just clearing out the firepit.”
“Yeah, we did that,” Seb says. “But then Stitch wanted to show me the rooster.”
B looks at me. “I couldn’t leave him again, Fi! He seemed so sad.”
“He’s here?” I narrow my eyes. “You can’t bring him inside. I don’t care what they did on Friends, keeping a bird in the house is unsanitary.”
“Not in here,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “But I thought we could let him stay in the woodshed now that we’ve taken out a bunch of the wood.”
Seb rolls his eyes. “He’s talking about it like we didn’t already do just that.”
“So you guys were outside so long because…”
“We were moving a chicken,” Seb confirms with a grimace.
“And B’s finger?”
“Captain didn’t like being carried that far, I guess,” B says, a blush creeping up his neck. “He pecked a hole in my glove.”
I take the first-aid kit off the shelf and hand it to B. He opens it and pulls out some ointment and a Band-Aid. “That’s the second finger I’ve almost lost,” he grumbles.
“The firepit is ready if you guys want to try to do hot dogs tonight,” Seb says, watching B struggle to pull apart the Band-Aid wrapper. Finally, he gets impatient and snatches it from him, tears it open, and hands it back.
“Thanks,” Brantley mutters.
I smirk. “Aren’t plain old hot dogs a little pedestrian for your taste, Seb?”
“I thought we’d add cream cheese and grilled onions, and make them Seattle-style.”
Brantley looks up at him, horrified. “You want to do what to my wiener?”
“I’m going to need a drink soon,” Sebastian growls. “Otherwise, I won’t last another week.”
B and I look at each other.
“You bought alcohol?” Brantley asks. “And you didn’t tell us?”
“I was saving it.” He shrugs. “Plus, I didn’t know if it was a good idea what with…you know.”
“With my alcohol problem?” B asks. “I know I made some poor choices lately, but I’m dealing with it, remember?
Yes, I’ve been hitting it hard for six months, but I’m clean-ish now.
” Seb raises a questioning eyebrow, and B sighs.
“Don’t judge me for hitting rock bottom.
I’m climbing my way back out.” He fingers a pink scar on his palm that I didn’t notice before.
I frown at B.
“I won’t get drunk,” he says earnestly. “And I won’t let it control me.”
I think he can see the uncertainty in my eyes. My mom never kept her promises, especially when it came to her addiction.
B reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, then he looks down shyly. “Besides, I’ve been texting with my sponsor, especially after my withdrawals. I promise I’ll reach out to him if I start feeling like I need more than one or two drinks.”
I swallow and nod, cautiously trusting him. “So whatcha got and where did you hide it?” I ask Seb curiously, changing the subject.
Seb gives us a long look before he walks outside to B’s truck.
When he returns, he’s holding a large bottle of what looks like top-shelf vodka in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.
“There’s also a case of Rainier hidden in the back of the pantry.
” He sets down the bottles and holds up his hands.
“And before you say anything, that’s all they had at the little redneck grocery store. It was that or Bud Light.”
“Nice,” I say. “Let the party begin.”