Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
india
My truck makes a sound like a dying moose three miles outside of town.
I'm on my way back from the Farmer’s Market where I sell eggs every Saturday.
For a small town, Iron Peak locals love to shop locally and I’m grateful for it.
This is my livelihood, I raise chickens and sell their eggs.
It’s a huge undertaking but it’s well worth it.
I stopped off at the Ridge once the Market was closed, where Ma insisted I take home an entire container of leftover pot roast despite my protests.
The container sits on the passenger seat, still warm, smelling like comfort food and home which is making my stomach growl.
The truck makes the noise again, but it’s louder this time.
"No," I tell it. "Don't do this to me. Not today." It’s Saturday and it’s almost seven in the evening, it’s getting darker as each minute passes. The last thing I need is to be stranded on the side of the road.
It does it anyway. The engine coughs, sputters, and dies. I manage to coast onto the shoulder before it gives up completely.
I sit there for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, staring at the dashboard like maybe if I glare hard enough the truck will start working again out of sheer shame.
It doesn't.
"Perfect," I mutter.
I try the ignition. Nothing. Not even a click.
I grab my phone. No service. Because of course there's no service. I'm in the dead zone between town and the turnoff to the ridge, where the mountains block the signal and cell phones go to die.
I could walk back to town. It's only three miles. But it's cold, I'm wearing the wrong shoes for hiking, and the pot roast will freeze.
I glance at the food container. Ma will actually kill me if I let her pot roast freeze.
I'm debating my options when I hear an engine approaching from behind.
I check the rearview mirror. A truck. Dark blue. Coming up fast.
It slows as it gets closer, pulling up behind me.
My stomach drops.
I know that truck.
The driver's side door opens, and Cage Brody steps out.
Of course it's him.
He's wearing the same canvas jacket from the bar, his dark hair is slightly disheveled. He looks at my truck, then at me through the windshield.
I roll down my window.
"Problem?" he asks.
His voice is deep, rough around the edges. It’s not unfriendly, but not warm either. Neutral.
"My truck died."
"I can see that."
"So you stopped to state the obvious?"
His mouth twitches. It's not quite a smile, but it's close. "I stopped to see if you need help."
"Oh." I feel my face heat. "Right. Yes. Help would be good."
He walks around to the front of my truck. "Pop the hood."
I pull the release, and he lifts the hood, disappearing behind it.
I sit there feeling useless while he pokes around in the engine. I should get out. Help somehow. But I don't know anything about engines and standing in the cold watching him work seems worse than sitting in the truck.
After a minute, he reappears at my window.
"When's the last time you changed your battery?"
"My battery?"
"The thing that makes your truck start."
"I know what a battery is."
"Then when did you change it?"
I have no idea. "I don't know. It came with the truck?"
He stares at me. "How long have you had this truck?"
"Four years."
"And you've never changed the battery."
"Is that bad?"
"It's dead. That's bad."
"Can you fix it?"
"Not here. You need a new battery."
"Where do I get one of those?"
"Rosie's garage. Assuming she has one in stock."
I glance at my phone. Still no service. "I can't call her."
"I know." He looks down the road toward town, then back at me. "I'll drive you."
"You don't have to do that."
"You have another option?"
I don't. "No."
"Then let's go."
He walks back to his truck without waiting for a response.
I grab my purse and Ma's pot roast and lock my truck. When I climb into the passenger seat of his truck, the first thing I notice is how clean it is. I don't know why that surprises me, but it does.
No fast food wrappers. No empty coffee cups. Just a neatly folded tarp in the back seat and a tool bag on the floor.
Cage gets in and starts the engine without saying anything.
We drive in silence for a minute.
I should say something. Thank you, maybe. Or make small talk. But my brain has gone blank, and all I can think about is how much space he takes up. How his hands look on the steering wheel. How he smells like wood smoke and cold air.
"You can put that in the back if you want," he says, nodding at the container in my lap.
"It's pot roast. Ma gave it to me."
"I know. That's why I'm telling you to put it in the back. If you drop it, she'll blame me."
I almost laugh. "How would she know?"
"She knows everything."
He's not wrong.
I set the container carefully on the floor between my feet instead. "I'll hold onto it."
"Suit yourself."
More silence.
I sneak a glance at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes on the road. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Thanks for stopping," I say finally. "You didn't have to."
"Couldn't leave you on the side of the road."
"Why not? You don't know me."
He glances at me briefly. "I know you."
"We've never talked."
"That doesn't mean I don't know you."
There's something in his tone I can't quite read. It’s not hostile, but not friendly either. Somewhere in between.
"What do you know about me?" I ask.
"You have chickens, a fuck of a lot of them, you sell their eggs, which everyone raves are the best this town has ever seen. You're friends with Rosie and June. You moved back to Iron Peak six months ago."
I blink. "That's creepy."
"That's small town life."
"You live five miles up the ridge. How do you even know that?"
"People talk."
"You don't talk to people."
"I listen."
Fair point.
We drive past the turnoff to Creek Road, and I see my cabin in the distance. Smoke rising from the chimney, the porch light on.
"You live alone?" Cage asks.
"Yes."
"That why you have chickens?"
"I have chickens because I like fresh eggs and as you know I sell those eggs."
"And the company?"
I look at him. He's not smiling, but there's something in his voice. Amusement, maybe.
"Chickens are good company," I say. "They don't judge."
"They also don't talk back."
"Exactly."
His mouth twitches again, it’s almost a smile.
We reach town, and he pulls into Rosie's garage. The bay doors are open, and I can see her under a truck, a faint stream of Spanish curse words drifting out.
Cage parks and gets out. I follow.
"Rosie," he calls.
The cursing stops. Rosie rolls out from under the truck, grease on her face and murder in her eyes.
"What?"
"India needs a battery."
Rosie looks at me. "Your truck die?"
"On Creek Road."
"What year is it?"
I tell her. She wipes her hands on a rag and heads to the back room, still muttering in Spanish.
Cage leans against his truck, arms crossed. He's not looking at me, but I can feel his awareness. Like he's tracking me without actually watching.
"How long have you been in Iron Peak?" I ask.
"Three years."
"You like it?"
"It's quiet."
"That's not an answer."
He looks at me then. Really looks at me. His eyes are dark, unreadable. "It's enough."
"Enough for what?"
"For what I need."
"Which is?"
"Space."
The word hangs between us. Space. Distance. Another way of saying leave me alone.
Message received.
Rosie comes back with a battery. "I can install it tomorrow morning. Need a ride home?"
"I can take her," Cage says before I can answer.
Rosie looks between us, eyebrows raised. "You sure?"
"I'm going that way anyway."
He's not. His cabin is north. Mine is west. But Rosie doesn't call him on it.
"Alright then." She looks at me. "I'll have your truck back to you by noon."
"Thanks, Rosie."
"Don't thank me. Thank him for not leaving you stranded."
I follow Cage back to his truck. When we're inside, I say, "You didn't have to offer to drive me home."
"I know."
"Then why did you?"
He doesn't answer right away. He pulls out of the garage and heads toward Creek Road.
"You have Ma's pot roast," he says finally. "Can't let it go to waste."
I almost smile. "That's your reason?"
"You got a better one?"
"You could just admit you're being nice."
"I'm not nice."
"You stopped to help me. You drove me to town. You're driving me home. That's the definition of nice."
"That's the definition of practical."
"Practical."
"You needed help. I was there. That's it."
"So if it had been anyone else, you would have done the same thing?"
He hesitates. Just for a second. "Yes."
He's lying. I don't know how I know, but I do.
We turn onto Creek Road, and my cabin comes into view. He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine.
I should get out, thank him and go inside and let him leave.
But I don't move.
Neither does he.
"Why do you come to the bar?" I ask.
He looks at me, his expression unreadable. "Why do you care?"
"Curiosity."
"Curiosity's dangerous."
"So is drinking alone in the woods."
His jaw tightens. "I don't drink alone in the woods."
"No. You drink alone at the bar. Is that any different?"
"At least the bar has other people."
"You don't talk to other people."
"I don't have to. They're just there."
I study him. There's something underneath his words, something raw. "You don't want to be alone."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He looks away, his hands still on the steering wheel. "You should go inside before you freeze."
"Come in."
The words are out before I can think them through.
He turns back to me, surprise flickering across his face. "What?"
"Come inside. I'll make coffee. You can have some of Ma's pot roast as payment for helping me."
"I don't need payment."
"Then come in because it's cold and you drove out of your way to help me."
He stares at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. "That's a bad idea."
"Why?"
"Because I don't do this."
"Do what?"
"This." He gestures between us. "People. Small talk. Coffee."
"It's just coffee, Cage. Not a marriage proposal."
His mouth twitches again. Closer to a smile this time. "You always this persistent?"
"Only when someone interests me."
The words hang in the air between us.
His eyes darken. "I'm not interesting."
"Let me be the judge of that."
He should say no. I can see him thinking it. Calculating the risk. Finding all the reasons this is a bad idea.
But then he opens his door.
"One cup," he says. "Then I'm leaving."
"Deal."
I lead him inside, flipping on lights as I go. The cabin is small but warm. One main room with a kitchen, living area, and wood stove. Bedroom and bathroom off to the side.
Cage stands just inside the door, taking it in. He's doing that thing again. Scanning. Looking for exits.
"You can sit," I tell him, gesturing to the small table by the window.
He doesn't sit. He stays by the door, hands in his pockets.
I set Ma's pot roast on the counter and start the coffee maker. "You always this jumpy?"
"I'm not jumpy."
"You're standing by the door like you're planning an escape route."
"Old habit."
"Military?"
He doesn't answer.
"It's okay," I say. "You don't have to tell me."
"Then why ask?"
"Because I'm curious. And because you're the most interesting person in Iron Peak."
He snorts. "You have low standards."
"Or you have no idea how boring everyone else is."
That gets almost a smile. "You think I'm not boring?"
"I think you're a lot of things. Boring isn't one of them."
He studies me, his dark eyes intense. "You should be careful."
"Of what?"
"Me."
I pour two cups of coffee and hand him one. Our fingers brush, and I feel it like electricity. His hand jerks back slightly, and I know he felt it too.
"I'm not afraid of you," I say.
"You should be."
"Why? Are you going to hurt me?"
"No." The word comes out fast. Definitive. "But I'm not good for anyone."
"That's dramatic."
"That's honest."
I lean against the counter, cradling my coffee. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing that matters."
"It matters if it made you like this."
"Like what?"
"Alone on purpose."
He takes a drink of coffee, but doesn't answer.
"I was engaged," I say. "Two years ago. He cheated on me with my best friend. That's why I came back to Iron Peak."
Cage looks up, something shifting in his expression. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not. Not anymore." I set my cup down. "I came here because I needed space. Time to figure out who I was without him. Without anyone."
"And?"
"And I like it here. I like the quiet. I like that people don't expect things from me." I pause. "But I don't want to be alone forever."
"That's the difference between us."
"Is it? Or do you just think it is?"
He sets his cup down. "I should go."
"You just got here."
"And I said one cup. I've had it."
He's running. I can see it. Whatever this is between us, it's scaring him.
Good. It's scaring me too.
But I'm not ready to let him leave yet.
"Cage."
He stops at the door, his hand on the handle, but he doesn't turn around.
"I noticed you," I say. "At the bar, the way you looked at me."
His shoulders tense.
"I can't stop thinking about it," I continue. "About you, and I think maybe you can't either."
Silence.
Then, quietly, "You're wrong."
"Am I?"
He turns then. His eyes are dark, conflicted. "This isn't a good idea."
"Probably not."
"I'll hurt you. Not on purpose, but I will."
"Maybe. Or maybe you won't."
He crosses the room in three strides. I barely have time to register the movement before he's in front of me, so close I can feel the heat coming off his body.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he says, his voice rough.
"Then tell me."
He stares at me, and I see the war happening behind his eyes. Want and fear and something deeper. Something that looks like desperation.
"One night," he says finally. "That's all this can be."
My heart kicks against my ribs. "One night?"
"I'm not built for more. I can't give you more."
I should say no. Should tell him I don't do one night stands, that I want more than that.
But looking at him, seeing the raw honesty in his face, I know this is all he has to offer.
And right now, it's enough.
"Okay," I whisper. "One night."
His hand comes up, cupping my face. His palm is rough, calloused. His thumb brushes my cheekbone.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
He leans in slowly, giving me time to change my mind. But I don't.
When his lips touch mine, everything else falls away.
The kiss is gentle at first. Testing. But then I lean into him, my hands fisting in his jacket, and something breaks.
He kisses me harder, deeper. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head. I make a sound in the back of my throat, and he swallows it.
This is dangerous. This is stupid. This is everything I shouldn't want.
But I want it anyway.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"One night," he says again. Like he's reminding himself.
"One night," I agree.
Even though I already know one night will never be enough.