Chapter 22
Jake
We step inside the small cabin, our breaths coming hard and fast, my heart still racing from the mad dash. Kelly shakes out her hair, droplets scattering across the dusty wooden floor. When she stops, her hair clings to her neck and shoulders, framing her face. I swallow hard, trying not to focus on the fact that she’s standing so close.
“Good call,” she says, her voice bouncing off the bare walls. “At least we can stretch out a little.”
Water puddles around our boots. I’m aware of every movement she makes, hyper-alert to the way her soaked clothes cling to her curves, the rise and fall of her chest as she catches her breath.
“And staying here is better than being roadkill in a ditch somewhere trying to make it home in that,” I reply with a jerk of my head toward the window, trying to sound nonchalant. I slick my sodden hair back and look around.
The room is barebones, with a wooden table and two chairs to one side and a fireplace on the other. Beside the fireplace, a pile of firewood stands stacked neatly.
She shivers slightly as she wraps her arms around herself.
“Let’s get warmed up.” I swing the bag off my shoulder, setting it down with a thud. “We could be here for a while. I’ll get a fire going.”
“Right. I forgot you were practically a survival expert.” She looks around the sparse interior, already taking stock, lining up her next moves like she lines up everything else in her life—neat, orderly, controlled.
But nothing about this situation is neat or orderly. And control? That’s just a joke nature’s playing on us right now. I stifle a laugh because, really, what else can I do when I’m stuck in a cabin with the woman who’s taken up every spare thought I’ve had in the last few weeks?
Kelly’s teeth are chattering now. “Shit, you’re freezing.”
“I’m a bit chilly,” she admits.
“Just give me a sec.” I drop to a crouch by the fireplace, rustling through my EDC for the flint and steel and some firestarters I make from lint out of the dryer filter and a blob of petroleum jelly. I set up some smaller pieces of wood in the fireplace with the firestarters, and the spark catches quickly, flames licking upward, greedy. My hands go through the familiar motions, feeding more kindling, nursing the fire to life while Kelly hovers in the background, watching with those dark eyes.
“Nice skills,” she says.
Once the fire’s going, I turn back to my pack, rummage through until I find the stash of jerky and trail mix. Not exactly a gourmet meal, but some food will help. I toss a packet of jerky towards her. “Come sit by the fire and eat. You’ll feel better.”
She catches it and tears into the package, before coming to sit beside me. I rip open my own packet and chew on the tough meat, letting the silence stretch between us. She hesitates, then does the same, taking small bites.
“Thanks,” she says after a few minutes as the fire gains strength and heat.
“Don’t mention it.” And I mean it. I let the fire’s glow wash over me. “Your jacket’s soaked through. You should take it off and let it dry before you catch a cold or something worse.”
Kelly hesitates, but she doesn’t argue. As she peels it off, my pulse throbs in my throat. Every part of me wants to reach out, to pull her closer, and that shirt clinging to her just makes it worse.
It’s just a simple white shirt, but the details of her lacy bra are clearly visible through the wet fabric. I try not to notice. Really, I do. But suddenly all I can think about are her pebbled pink nipples in my mouth.
I start taking off my own wet layers, before dragging the wooden chairs closer and hanging our clothes over the backs, close to the fire.
“Here.” I toss her a spare T-shirt from my bag. “Put this on before you freeze.”
“Thanks,” she says, turning away from me and unbuttoning the shirt, letting it fall to reveal the familiar, pale curve of her back.
She’s so fucking beautiful in every possible way, and the crotch of my pants grows tight at the sight of the smooth expanse of her skin. I drag my eyes away, stripping off my own wet shirt and replacing it with a dry one, and we sit in front of the fire again, sharing the trail mix.
“Hey,” I say as we huddle close to the flames, “how’s your family doing?”
“Ant and Eddy are doing well. They’re both married now with kids.” She pauses, her expression going what I can only describe as blank. “And I guess you haven’t heard. Mom passed away about six months back. Cancer.” She speaks so matter-of-factly that it takes me a moment to process her words.
“Jesus, Kelly. I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. I’ve been so busy with work and Adele and I’m kind of out of the loop when it comes to town news. If I’d known, I would have said something earlier. Shit. I can’t believe no one told me.” Actually, it’s not that much of a surprise. The boys know Kelly’s a sore spot for me.
Still, I can’t believe it. Kelly’s mom. I remember her—always busy, always on the go. She was a workaholic, running her business like a machine, with impossibly high standards—especially for Kelly. It was no secret that she expected perfection, and I always wondered how Kelly felt with those impossible expectations.
Memories hit me. Kelly’s mom always came home in a rush, heels clicking down the hallway, her face set in that focused expression that told you she was already ten steps ahead.
One afternoon in particular comes into sharp focus. I was just hanging out in their kitchen while Kelly finished up some homework. We’d just grabbed a snack, laughing over some stupid joke, when the front door swung open, and her mom walked in, bags over her shoulder, a few loose papers sticking out from under her arm.
She glanced at me, nodding hello, before her eyes zeroed in on Kelly. “Kelly, did you get the results from your history test?”
Kelly straightened, her expression going from relaxed to wary in seconds. “Yeah, I got an A-minus.”
Her mom’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “An A-minus? You knew how important that test was. What happened?”
Kelly looked down, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt. I could see the shift in her demeanor, the way her shoulders tensed. “I made a couple of silly mistakes, that’s all.”
Her mom sighed, setting her bags on the counter. “Well, silly mistakes are going to cost you. You need to be more diligent. I don’t want this happening again.”
I sat there, an outsider in that moment, watching the way Kelly’s face tightened, her usual spark dimming under the weight of her mom’s words. And the worst part was, she didn’t even argue—she just nodded.
After her mom left the room, I reached over, nudging her shoulder. “Hey, an A-minus is still pretty damn good.”
“Not good enough for her, though,” she said quietly.
But despite all that, her mom was never unkind. She loved her family, even if she didn’t show it in the softest ways. I remember the few times I saw her smile at Kelly, a rare break in the armor. And Kelly lived for those moments. She always wanted to make her mom proud. It hurts to think of her gone, knowing how much grief Kelly must be carrying now.
I glance across at her and she shrugs, the motion stiff. “It’s life, right? People die. You just have to keep going.”
Shadows dance across her pretty features, and it’s clear she’s pushing it all down—her pain, her grief—as though she’s an island. It’s classic Kelly, tough as nails, refusing to show weakness even when it’s eating her alive. I fucking hate seeing her in pain and not being able to fix it.
“Come here,” I say, shifting closer, an arm instinctively going around her shoulders. She hesitates for just a moment before leaning into me without a word, her head finding the crook of my neck. It’s been years since I’ve held her like this, and the familiarity of it slams into me hard.
We sit there, by the fire, letting the heat and the crackling of the fire do all the talking. For a moment, the world outside this room—with its troubles and its ghosts—doesn’t exist. There’s just the fire, the warmth, and the girl who still has my heart.