Chapter 12 Scott
TWELVE
SCOTT
Idon’t sleep. Not really. If there were a clock in my line of sight, I would have watched the second hand tick by over the last few hours. I couldn’t close my eyes, not after everything that happened between us last night.
My arm drapes around her solid form, relieved she was finally able to fall back asleep. But my thoughts are a million miles away, dragging themselves through guilt and second-guessing what I did to her.
I should feel satisfied. At the top of my game. Instead, I feel like I crossed a neon warning line I can’t come back from. And that line wasn’t just with her. It was with myself. With her father. The man who’s been my best friend since long before she was born.
Jesus, what the fuck have I done?
I stare up at the ceiling, jaw tense. I should’ve stopped it. But I didn’t. And worse? I didn’t want to. The guilt doesn’t erase the desire. It doesn’t negate this building need to slide out from under her and rouse her back to life with my tongue buried back in her pussy.
Even now, I can taste her on my lips, hear the sounds she made, feel the way she clung to me like I was the only life raft on a sinking ship.
But then the door happened, and her screams tore through my unconscious haze. The fear in her eyes should have told me everything I needed to know. And still, I doubted her like some patronizing asshole.
She trusted me, and I turned around and threw it in her face the moment it mattered most. The stab to my chest when she pulled away put everything into perspective.
I let her down. Now, it doesn’t matter that I don’t fully comprehend what’s happening here at the cabin.
I just know Ava needs to get out of here as soon as possible.
Gently untangling myself, careful not to wake her, I slide out from under the blanket. She murmurs something and shifts deeper into the cushion, but doesn’t open her eyes.
Good. She deserves to rest. If only to keep the reality of our night at bay a little longer for both of us.
I pull on a flannel and jeans, lace up my boots, and grab my jacket off the hook by the door. Slipping outside into the cold is a shock to the system. The fire had died down overnight, but Ava’s body was more than enough to ward off the cold.
The morning light has a strange effect on our surroundings, like rose colored glasses after a night of drinking.
The woods don’t feel so haunted at dawn.
The air’s crisp, but not nearly as biting.
Pale blue pushes out the storm-gray that’s ruled the sky since the snow trapped us here.
The sky above is clear, for the first time in days.
It’s a beautiful morning, but there's still that whisper at the back of my mind warning that everything might not be as it seems. I shake it off and start toward my Jeep.
It’s half-buried where I parked behind Ava’s tiny sedan.
The snow's iced over and heavy, clinging to the undercarriage like it has no intention of letting go.
I grab a shovel from the shed and dig for hours.
Long enough that my back protests and my jacket becomes unnecessary, sweat dripping from my brow.
Eventually, when my steam is almost gone, I get to the tires.
I wrestle with the chains until my fingers are numb, looping them over and cinching them tight around the left side. These damn things are a pain in the ass, but it has to be enough. I just need to get down the long winding drive and out to the main road. The county should have it plowed by now.
If I can do that, I can get Ava out of here. The cabin might technically be safe with its thick log walls and storm windows, but her mental state is slipping. God knows she needs the peace of mind more than anything right now.
But when I step around to the other side of the car to finish the job, I see it. The front driver's side tire is fucking flat. I don’t know how I missed the comical lean before. There’s no debris around it, no visible damage, it’s just flat.
"Perfect," I mutter, stomping off to the back and yanking open the rear hatch.
The spare’s there. It’s not ideal to use one in these conditions, but it’ll work.
Swapping it out takes another twenty minutes of clearing snow I thought I could avoid, and ten to change the tire.
I finish with a grunt and wipe the sweat dripping down my temple.
The cold air burns against my damp skin.
Finally, I climb into the driver’s seat, shove the key angrily in the ignition, and turn it.
Nothing.
Trying again results in the same silence. My palm connects with the steering wheel, until the meat of it’s bruised from my frustrated assault.
Frowning out at the arctic tundra, I pop the hood and climb back out, lifting it with more force than necessary.
I blink in confusion. The spot where a battery should be is empty, with exposed cables hanging freely.
It’s gone. Not Dead. Not accidentally disconnected by the rough drive. Not even frozen over… gone.
I blink, thinking maybe I’m missing something, maybe I’m too damn tired. But no, my mind’s not fucking with me.
“What the hell…”
The dread from last night comes flooding back. Thicker than the fluid in these reservoirs. It pours down my spine and pools in my gut.
I slam the hood shut with a loud clang and storm back toward the cabin, boots crunching over the packed snow, tools forgotten in my haste.
The door creaks as I push it open harder than I mean to, sending it slamming into the coat rack.
Inside, the fire’s going again, and the warmth hits like a brick wall. So does the sound of a startled gasp.
Ava steps down the hallway, hair damp, a towel wrapped around her body. Her eyes blow wide, chest heaving slightly from the surprise. The curve of her hip peeks out from the edge of terrycloth, water still dripping down the inside of her thighs.
For a second, I forget what I was going to say. But then she stiffens. Not from the cold, but from my exasperated arrival. The memory of last night floods back into the space between us like a mirage across a desolate desert we’re both trying not to see.
“You scared me,” she says, voice clipped.
“Sorry,” I mutter, stepping out of my boots. “Didn’t mean to.”
She watches me, guarded and clutching at her towel like a shield. I hate it. There’s still a sliver of heat in her gaze, but it’s buried under something else now.
Distance, multiplied by her mistrust.
The guilt from this morning comes tumbling in because I can’t deny it anymore.
Two nights in a row, things have been happening under our noses—my skeptical nose.
It was easy to push it aside the first night.
In my haste, I thought she was still sleeping, but maybe I was too worked up from her petrified scream to see.
“I was just about to make coffee,” she says, turning away like nothing’s happened. “Want some?”
“Please.”
I shouldn’t have tried to do the same last night. Maybe then she wouldn’t have her back to me the first time we set eyes on each other in the light of day.
I need to fix this.
She hands me the warm mug, steaming from the fresh pour over, and her fingers brush mine. The air between us is still thick with everything unsaid. She’s too quiet, missing that usual spark I’m drawn to like a pathetic little moth.
I take a breath, knowing this will either calm the storm brewing between us or send it into historical makings. “Do you have your keys?”
Her brow furrows. “Why?”
I stare into the black liquid in my cup, gathering the words. “Because I was wrong… last night.”
That catches her off guard. Her eyes flick to mine, and her chest rises with the deep inhale.
“I should’ve believed you,” I continue, voice lower now. “I should’ve gotten up, checked it out, looked for prints in the snow, something. But I didn’t. And that’s on me.”
She blinks. “Why are you saying this now?”
I set my mug down on the counter with a soft clink.
“Because my Jeep had a flat tire… and the battery’s gone.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
“I need to check if your car’s battery will work with mine. If it’s still there, that is. We’ve gotta see if we can get off this mountain and back into town. Whatever’s going on out there.” I pause, jaw tightening. “We shouldn’t be here.”
Tears swell instantly in her eyes, and her voice wavers, “You believe me?”
I don’t hesitate to cross the distance between us.
I take the coffee from her shaking hands, dropping her an assuring smile, before setting it next to mine on the counter.
Dragging her against me, I wrap my arms around her like it’ll protect her from everything.
Past, present, and whatever the hell’s outside these walls, taunting us when the sun sets beyond the horizon.
“Yes,” I say against her hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t last night. I should’ve seen it in your face. Heard it in your voice. I never should’ve made you feel like you were alone in this.”
A jagged breath leaves her lips, the kind that’s half sob, half relief. Her hands rise, clutching my shirt, pulling me in tighter.
Tilting her face up, my lips brush softly against hers. But the moment she moans into it, the dam breaks. It’s a collision of guilt, need, and something deeper that I’m not ready to name yet.
She kisses me back with equal force, lips parting, tongue invading. The towel loosens beneath my grip as I slide my hands down her back. It falls away entirely, silently landing against the hardwood floor.
Her bare skin’s warm and smooth against my thawing fingertips. But the heat between us is matched by the cold dread still hanging in the air.
I kiss her like it’s the last time I’ll get to. Because part of me is starting to worry that might be on the table.