Chapter 6 Scott
SIX
SCOTT
“There. You should be set for now. It’s gonna throb like a bitch, but that’s nothing another glass of whiskey won’t fix.”
Ava doesn’t jump at the offer as I expect. Instead, her gaze slides past me, unfocused. She’s staring over my shoulder, out the covered window behind me, eyes narrowed like she’s trying to make something out in the distance.
I follow her gaze, half-turning, but her hand lashes out, catching my arm in a tight grip. Her fingernails dig in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped moons.
“Don’t,” she whispers, voice pleading.
“What’s going on, Ava?”
“I… I think…” She shakes her head, eyes refocusing on mine, like she’s cleared the cobwebs free. “I think the blood loss and alcohol are getting to my head. I should lie down. You good to clean up?”
That’s not what she was going to say. I know it. But I let it go. It’s late, and she’s had a long few hours.
“Yeah. I got it from here. You go lie down. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She releases her grip, slowly. Her fingers trail off my arm, and the warmth of her touch lingers longer than it should.
The lust that had settled into a low simmer while I was wrapping her hand flares again for a beat.
It’s enough to have my imagination running wild with scenes of her claws down my back, her legs wrapped around me, her tight wet—
Fuck. Stop it, Scott.
Not Ava. Especially, not now when we’re stranded up here, just the two of us, no one around for miles. No one to catch me if I just—
It’s too easy to slip into the fantasies. Too tempting to draw them into reality.
Her bedroom door shuts softly behind her, and the sound snaps me out of it. I drag a hand over my face and move to clean up. The bloody gauze and torn bandages litter the kitchen counter. The dishes from my half-eaten dinner are still waiting at the table for my return.
By the time I finish, her door’s ajar again.
I pause in the hallway and glance through the narrow opening.
Just enough to check on her. The room beyond it is dark, but shadows cast from the fire and dance along the pine walls in long, crooked shapes.
She’s curled up under the quilt, back to the door.
Her shoulders rise and fall with each stable breath.
I turn away and head to my own room. The wood stove hasn’t been lit, but it’s late, and morning will come too soon.
The icy air causes my breath to cloud faintly, but I strip off my clothes and crawl into bed, ignoring the shiver the cold sheets send down my spine.
The old mattress sags, groaning under me as the well-worn springs protest against my weight.
I grab the book I’ve been picking at all week. A horror about a couple on their honeymoon, set in the Appalachian mountains. I try to lose myself in it, but the words swim across the page as my mind drifts back to the sleeping girl in the room down the hall.
Something about Ava was off earlier. She’s been stiff and uncomfortable since dinner, but it was more than that. It was almost as if she didn’t want me to see something outside.
For a moment, I think I hear footsteps crunching along the exterior of the cabin on the other side of my window, but it fades, or maybe it’s just my mind working to add another problem to the puzzle.
Then again, it could have been a brave animal out for the night, looking for their next meal.
Nothing sinister at all, I tell myself that and try to refocus on the page for the third time.
A blood-curdling scream tears through the cabin. Raw fear bleeds through the crevices of the wall separating us.
Ava.
The book drops from my hands as I bolt upright.
“Ava!” I’m already moving, feet pounding against the hardwood floor, the hallway elongating in my panic.
I shove her door open, imagining the worst.
She’s thrashing in the bed, tangled in her quilt, sweat slicking her skin. Her eyes are wide open, but they look hollow and dead. Those pouty lips part in a silent gasp before another cry rips free.
I rush to her side, gripping her shoulders. “Ava! Hey—hey, you’re okay. Look at me, I think you’re dreaming.”
Her eyes blink, and she jerks upright, gasping like she’s drowning. For a second, she looks straight through me, chest heaving, eyes wide and full of fear.
“I saw it,” she breathes. “Outside. Watching me.”
My stomach knots. “It was just a dream.”
She nods, but it's shaky, like she’s trying to convince herself. “I was in bed… just like this. And I knew it was out there. Every hair on my body stood straight up. It was right up against the window. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. Staring in. Watching. Waiting.”
I glance toward the window. The curtain’s still drawn, but the cold burrowing through the glass seeps into the room, regardless of the crackling fire in the stove.
“There’s nothing out there,” I say, though my voice doesn’t carry the conviction I want it to.
Ava wraps her arms around herself, like she’s trying to hold her body still from shaking. “It just needed me to see it,” she murmurs, drawing back into the trance-like state I found her in.
I rest my hand on Ava’s shoulder and give her a comforting squeeze before moving toward the window.
I’m careful not to let the floorboards creak too loudly and advertise my approach.
The curtains are made from the same gauzy fabric as the ones in the living room.
I draw it aside and press my face close to the glass, blocking out the reflection from the room behind me.
Nothing. Just a whole lot of black on the back side of the cabin.
But it’s the kind of black that isn’t empty, more like it’s shrouding something in wait.
The snow reflects nothing, even though I know the clouds have cleared and the moon is damn near full.
I should be able to see the trees out in the distance, steadily swaying in the wind.
But they don’t. I strain, scanning the tree line, looking for a shape she might’ve imagined.
Anything tall or off-kilter, an unnerving shadow playing tricks on tired eyes.
Still nothing.
I force my breath out slowly and let the curtain fall back into place.
“There’s nothing out there,” I say again, a little steadier this time, now that I’ve confirmed. I turn back to her. “You had to be dreaming, Ava. That’s all. Just a bad one, not surprising after the night you’ve had.”
Her eyes are still wide, but some of the panic ebbs at my justifications. Her posture loosens as she sinks back against the pillows, relaxing her rigid form for the first time since I stepped foot in here. Her chest rises and falls in the same rhythm as mine, like she’s trying to match our breaths.
“You’re right,” she murmurs. “It just felt so… real. Like it was standing right at the glass, calling to me somehow. Like if I looked, it’d be there, waiting for me to let it in.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, the mattress giving beneath my weight. “Dreams can get weird like that out here, when you’re isolated with no communication to the outside world. You mix it with blood loss and whiskey, it’s no surprise your brain starts throwing wild shit at you. ”
A corner of her mouth twitches at my less-than-eloquent explanation.
She’s quiet for a long moment. The only sound between us is our now synchronized breathing and the dull tick of the stove pipe cooling as her fire dies down. That’s my cue to go.
Then she says it, soft and hesitant, “Would you stay… with me tonight?”
My breath hitches, my eyes casting down at my almost naked body. In all my haste to see what was going on, I didn’t bother pulling clothes back on.
I glance at her, unsure if making her comfortable is worth climbing into bed—in my boxers—with my best friend’s daughter. But she’s not flirting. There’s no lust in her expression. No devious plan hiding behind shining eyes. She looks vulnerable and way too fucking young.
My judgment takes a backseat, and I nod. “Yeah. I can stay.”
She scoots to one side of the bed, giving me space.
I look for an extra blanket, but there isn’t one, so I ease in beside her.
I’m careful to leave a well of space between us and not to crowd her, even though my hardening cock has other ideas.
We lie in the dark. The blankets rustle as she settles in.
I readjust, turning my back to her, doing my damndest not to make this more awkward than it already is.
“Hey, Scott,” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I stare at the dresser. Tiny, messy paintings detail the drawers from a very different season of her life. The world seems to fall away as her breathing becomes white noise, dragging me with it.
The last thought that filters through my mind is that maybe Ava didn’t imagine it after all. Maybe something was watching. Perhaps it still is.