10. Ivy
Chapter 10
Ivy
T he wind howls like a banshee outside, battering the cabin walls, rattling the windows like it's trying to get in. It’s been like this for hours and it doesn’t seem like it’s letting up any time soon.
It’s not dumping a lot of snow—thank fuck—but the wind is strong and the trees are bending ominously.
The clock on the nightstand reads just past midnight when the lights stutter and die. Darkness swallows the room, only sporadic bursts of white-hot light slicing through the night.
Have you ever seen snow lightning? It is wild. And scary as fuck. It’s eerie, unnatural—like a storm caught between two seasons, unsure whether to whisper or roar.
A low rumble follows, rolling through the mountains like some sleeping giant shifting in its slumber. The wind howls against the cabin walls, and I swear the temperature drops another ten degrees.
"Damn. “I pull the blankets tighter around me, but it does nothing to stop the chill creeping up my spine. A moment later, the low hum of the generator kicks in, a comforting sound until I realize the cold is still biting at my bones. With the power out, the heat's gone AWOL too.
Hank had explained the wood-burning stove to me a couple of days ago because it made zero sense to me. Without power, the blowers are off, so the heat won’t distribute as evenly. Which means I’m fucked in the furthest room from the heat source.
I burrow deeper under the covers, cocooning myself in blankets, but it barely helps. The chill seeps in, creeping along my skin like icy fingers. I curl tighter, trying to convince myself that I can wait it out, that sleep will claim me before the cold does. But it’s useless.
A knock at my bedroom door makes me jump.
"Ivy?" Hank's voice is rough through the wood, barely needing to rise over the storm. "I won’t be able to check everything until morning. You'll freeze in there. Sleep in the living room."
He’s right. I hate that he’s right. I hate even more that I actually consider being stubborn for the sake of it. But my toes are already numb, and my pride isn’t worth freezing to death over.
I pull my robe tight around me and shuffle over to the door, opening it to see Hank's imposing figure, a shadow against the flickering light from the main room.
"Fireplace is still going," he says, words clipped, as if he’s afraid to say more than necessary. “Plenty of wood.”
"Thanks." My teeth chatter, making me sound like a kid.
"Come on." He turns without waiting for a response, confident I'll follow.
I do. After grabbing all three blankets from my bed and pulling on the thick wool socks that Wyatt offered me last night.
The closer we get to the living room, the better I feel. Comfort. Warmth. Survival. It beckons me closer.
"Better?" Hank asks, watching me with those deep-set eyes that seem to see everything.
"Much." I nestle into the couch, grateful. The fire crackles, a counterpoint to the storm's fury. It's cozy here, safe. And Hank, he's part of that feeling, too. Gruff, maybe, but reliable. Always showing up when needed.
"Get some sleep," he murmurs before disappearing back into the darkness of the hallway.
"Night," I call softly after him, but he's already gone.
The fire casts the main room in a soft, flickering glow, shadows dancing along the walls. I set up my nest on the couch, pulling the blankets around me and stretching out. It’s better—still cold, but not bone-deep like before.
I curl closer to the fire, and its warmth licks against my skin. A log pops, sending sparks dancing upward like tiny fireflies. The storm rages outside, but it's the silence from Hank's room that presses down on me, heavy and unsettling.
"Room for two more?" Wyatt's voice breaks the quiet. I glance up to see him and Holt, shadows in the dim light, their figures relaxed and sure. They don't wait for an answer; they just make space for themselves, one on either side of me. A human blanket, all muscle and heat.
"Hey there, CG," Holt teases with a grin that's all charm. "Need someone to melt the chill?"
"Maybe." My voice is more playful than I intended. But it feels good—natural. His laugh rolls through the room, warm and inviting.
Wyatt stretches out, his arm brushing mine, a lazy touch that sends a jolt through me. He catches my eye and winks. It's hard to think straight with him so close.
"Can't sleep, huh?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
"Who'd want to sleep at a time like this?" Wyatt murmurs, the edges of his words soft, teasing.
"Sleep is overrated anyway," Holt adds, leaning back on an elbow, his gaze fixed on me like I'm the only thing he sees.
The generator hums somewhere in the background, but it's the conversation that fills the space between us. Flirtatious quips. Laughter. The occasional brush of skin on skin that sets my nerves alight.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and sink deeper into the couch cushions, surrounded by the scent of pine and men. Why fight this pull? Why deny myself? It's just a few days, just a little fun.
"Stop thinking so loud," Wyatt whispers, his lips barely grazing my ear.
"Wasn't aware I was," I whisper back, meeting his gaze, daring him to make a move.
"Your eyes give you away," Holt chimes in, propping his chin on his hand as he studies me, a smile playing on his lips.
I chuckle, shaking my head at their antics. This is ridiculous. Delightful, but ridiculous.
A log crackles in the fireplace, sending sparks dancing. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and glance toward Hank's closed door. It might as well be a mile away with all the tension it holds.
"Chilly, huh?" Wyatt says, his voice low, almost a purr. He reaches out, his fingers grazing my arm under the blanket, sending a shiver up my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
"Could say that," I reply, trying not to betray the warmth flooding through me at his touch.
Holt shifts closer, his shoulder bumping mine. "We're good company, at least." His grin is infectious, but there's an edge to it, like he knows exactly what kind of game we're playing here.
And why the hell not?
I’ve spent years playing the perfect part, letting cameras dictate my every move, smiling when I wanted to scream. My family called it an opportunity. I called it a prison. And Caleb? He was supposed to be the one real thing in my life, the one person who saw me instead of the brand.
How stupid am I?
I had really believed he was going to propose at midnight on New Year’s Eve. It would have been so romantic, just the way I always dreamed it would be. The party, the music, the confetti in the air, and the promise of a new year with him by my side—every year with him by my side. I thought it was going to be my moment. Our moment.
But the clock was ticking down, and Caleb was nowhere to be found. So, I went looking. I thought maybe he was just taking longer than planned, caught up in the crowd. But the longer I searched, the more I felt the knot in my stomach tighten.
I finally found him, all right.
With his pants down and his dick buried in one of the production interns. The camera crew was right there, ready as usual to capture every moment.
I wasn’t just heartbroken; I was humiliated. And the world wasn’t about to let me forget it.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t breathe under the weight of everyone’s judgment, couldn’t stand the fake sympathy from people who didn’t know the first thing about me. So, I did the only thing I could think of—I ran.
I didn't run to the mountains looking for salvation. I ran because I had nowhere else to go.
Now, nestled between two men who make me feel something real for the first time in years, I realize I'm tired of being careful. I've done the faithful thing. The loyal thing. Now it's time for something a little reckless.
"Guess we're all feeling the cold tonight," I say, forcing a lightness into my tone that contrasts with the quickening beat of my heart.
"Body heat's underrated," Wyatt counters, his eyes locked on mine. There's a challenge there, a silent question lingering in the air between us.
I lean back, considering the two men flanking me. Holt's energy is like a live wire, buzzing with anticipation. Wyatt's presence is a steady thrum, promising something deeper, more intense.
"Never been much of a sharer," I admit, testing the waters, watching their reactions closely.
"First time for everything," Holt murmurs, his hand finding a spot on the small of my back.
"Besides," Wyatt adds, his fingers tracing a line up my forearm, "some things are better when they're...appreciated by more people."
"Appreciated," I repeat, the word rolling off my tongue with more ease than I expected.
"Adored," Holt corrects with a wink.
"Revered," Wyatt offers, a lopsided smirk on his face.
"Sounds like worship to me," I tease, the weight of past hurts lifting in the warmth of their playful banter. At least for tonight.
I grab the bottle of whiskey from the coffee table, feeling the weight of it in my hand. "How about a game to warm us up?" I suggest, tilting my head toward Holt and Wyatt, who are already too close for comfort—or maybe not close enough.
"Truth or dare?" Holt asks, his eyebrows dancing with mischief.
"Let's skip the truth part," I say, thinking about Caleb and all the truths he never cared to share. I like these guys, but I don’t know them well enough to share any of my truths with them. "Dare only."
"Adventurous," Wyatt comments, his voice a low rumble that makes me shiver despite the cold.
"Let's lay down some rules, though." I unscrew the cap, the smell of alcohol sharp and promising. "Nothing illegal, obviously."
"Damn, there goes my plan to start an underground moonshine empire," Holt quips, lounging back against the cushions.
"And no guy-on-guy action," Wyatt adds firmly. He fixes Holt with a glare that could cut steel.
"Hey, I'm all for pushing boundaries, but I know when to keep it to myself," Holt says, winking so brazenly it should be illegal all by itself.
"Lastly," Wyatt continues, "we can tease Hank only so much. He looks like he might actually go grizzly on us if we push him too far."
"Agreed. Hank's scary when he's broody.”
"All right then," Holt says and I feel the beginnings of a wild night tugging at the edges of my sanity. "Who's first?"