Chapter 3 Ava
THREE
AVA
Scott’s rapid-fire questions pull me out of my mortifying daze, but they refocus my attention squarely on his face. His rugged, striking, haloed by a thick red beard with dashes of gray and white, I’ve never seen him wear before, face.
He’s always been the clean-cut type in his tailored suits.
The luxury sports cars only added to his pristine life, polished to perfection.
But this man standing in front of me? He looks like he belongs to this cabin now, like he’s been here all along and is just coming in after some chores out on the land.
The heavy plaid flannel and worn Carhartt jacket only cement the image.
You could tell me he was out chopping firewood with his bare hands—karate style—this morning, and I’d believe it.
“Ava,” he says again, voice laced with concern.
The way he says my name slices through my sinful thoughts. The ones admiring how unnervingly good this wild version of him looks. His tone is stern, not angry, and it’s enough to set my once frozen nerves on fire.
“Are you okay?”
“Uhh… yeah. I’m fine. I’m sorry about earlier. I must’ve passed out. The whiskey kinda hit harder than I expected.”
His eyebrow rises. That slight arch of skepticism needles me. I hadn’t even considered hiding the drinking. What does it matter? Time passes differently when you’re isolated, and the dark won’t stop creeping in. A couple more days up here alone, and I’d stop caring about a lot worse.
“It was cold,” I say, my voice thinner than I want it to be. “And my nerves were fried.”
“Where is everyone? Your dad said it’d be the whole family this week.”
“That was the plan, but I think something’s wrong.
” My words stumble over each other, heart kicking up again.
“Mom tried to call earlier, but you know how reception is up here. Then the storm rolled in and knocked out the power. I… I didn’t want to go outside.
And there was this pounding on the door.
So I stayed in with a stiff drink and curled up by the fire.
Then I had this dream, no, it must have been a nightmare.
And then you were knocking on the door, just like before, and I thought maybe it…
Well, it woke me up and scared the shit out of me. ”
His hand twitches like he wants to reach for me, but doesn’t. “Whoa, okay. Slow down. I’m here now. You’re safe.”
I drag in a breath like it’s the first in minutes. My lungs sting, probably because it’s at least close to that. I nod, grasping at his words like they’re some rope I can use to pull myself out of the depths of my deep-seated panic.
“First things first,” he says. “Get that fire going again. It shouldn’t be too hard. The embers are still glowing strongly. I’ll head out back and check the generator. Have you eaten?”
I point to the nearly empty mug on the side table, trying to force a quippy response through my still-frayed nerves. “Does a liquid dinner count?”
His gaze locks on mine, cold and unblinking. “Absolutely not, Ava.”
When I roll my eyes in defiance, expecting him to ease up, his expression shifts to something darker. His irises deepen, absorbing the little light like a dense forest at dusk.
I shift my weight, trying to shake the boring pressure of his gaze, but it clings to me like cheap perfume. Only when he finally glances past me toward the fireplace does the tension dissolve.
“You handle the fire. I’ll be right back.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing back through the front door and out into the storm without another word.
I don’t know how long I was asleep earlier.
It felt like hours, trapped in a false reality with what I could only assume was a faceless stranger, and with no way to escape.
Snippets try to slither back in, icy fingers wrapping around my ribs, desperate to regain a foothold in this world.
I shake my head violently and head for the fireplace, thankful to have a task to distract me.
The fire’s burned down again, but the coals’ glow beneath the ash is still hot enough to catch new logs without starting over with the kindling.
At this rate, we’ll need to haul more logs in early tomorrow morning.
At least I won’t be the one who has to do it.
The mountain man out back can be in charge of outside duties until the rest of my family arrives.
Moments later, the house hums back to life. The kitchen radio sputters, then resumes playing an old scratchy tune. I flinch at the sudden sound. It’s piercing in the almost silent room.
Light shines throughout the living areas, and it feels too bright after being deprived of its luminosity for so many hours.
I move through the cabin, flipping off any unnecessary electricity, wary of burning through the fuel we have on hand.
I have no idea how much gas Dad left in the shed, and the two canisters I hauled up won’t last long.
A glacial wind blows through the kitchen, skating across any exposed skin it can find, raising goosebumps to the surface. The front door slams right behind it, and heavy boots clatter by the front door.
I appreciate his forethought to not track in any more snow to melt across the wood floors.
“You got it working!”
“Yeah,” he says, brushing the stubborn snow from his shoulders. “Shed’s running low, but I brought some with me.”
“I’ve got a stash too. It’s still in my car.”
“Good. We’ll sort it out in the morning. Let’s get you fed. It’s already midnight.”
I blink at him, then glance toward the oven clock. It flashes uselessly from the reset. The battery-operated wall clock ticks reliably above the pantry. Midnight.
Shit, I was out for nearly four hours.
My stomach growls, a traitorous groan that draws Scott’s attention.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
His voice is stern again. There’s something about it, an edge I can’t quite name that my pussy has taken a liking to.
I try to brush it off, because, what the fuck, Ava?
This is Scott, your dad’s oldest friend.
The man who’s been around since before you were born.
But even the internal scolding isn’t working.
“On my way up. I hit a drive-thru in Bryton.”
He mutters something under his breath, voice too low to catch, but I know a reprimand by tone alone. A water bottle clunks on the kitchen counter in front of me. His gaze roots me in place. It doesn’t move until it’s lifted to my lips and I drain half its contents.
I hate water, always have. It’s bland and brings me absolutely zero joy to consume. So, I typically don’t. But I get the feeling that if I refuse to drink this, he’ll see it as some personal betrayal.
I sit down on one of the stools we tuck beneath the counter and watch him stalk through the kitchen, flinging open cabinets as if they’ve personally offended him.
With all his theatrics filling the small space and providing a distraction, the unsettled feeling from before lifts.
“This is all garbage,” he grumbles. “You brought nothing but sugar and empty carbs.”
“That’s what I was assigned, okay?” I shoot back, annoyed. “Not my fault that the rest of the food never showed up.”
He lets out a huff, leaning into the fridge door again, looking deep into the nearly empty vessel, before slamming it shut. “Man, to be twenty again and live off candy and caffeine with no consequences.”
That grin should be illegal. It’s too playful, too easy. Something I’ve never seen from him. He was always so rigid and boring before.
It feels entirely out of place for a night like this.
“I guess it’s a good thing I brought some stuff with a little more substance. Hopefully, your dad doesn’t mind giving up his half. Give me a sec. I’ve got a cooler in the Jeep,” he says, already turning toward the front door.
I watch him go, like a lovesick schoolgirl. He moves with the confidence of someone who owns the world. Those long strides make his dark jeans stretch over solid thighs, and his broad shoulders fill every inch of space.
Something in me coils again. I need to knock it away like an incessant gnat buzzing about.
This isn’t the man I’ve known since childhood.
That man used to answer emails during dinner and wear designer shoes to weekend barbecues.
This one… this one looks like he’d dig a grave for me with his bare hands if he had to and make sure no one ever found it.
And somehow, that thought doesn’t scare me as much as it should.
It terrifies me in all the wrong ways.