Chapter 3
THREE
OLLIE
Iwatch as Ethan leaves the room to get the kit, his strong back rippling under the fleece shirt he has on.
My eyelids threaten to flutter shut as the warmth coming from the burning fireplace and the general heat in the cabin almost lull me to sleep. But I rub my eyes to keep the tiredness away because I don’t want to fall asleep.
Because Ethan is bringing the first-aid kit to take care of my cuts and scrapes.
No one has ever taken care of my cuts and scrapes.
I bury my nose in the thick, soft material of his hoody, letting his comforting scent fill my lungs—pine, like the trees surrounding this cabin.
I can’t see anything past the living room but I can’t help letting my eyes roam the huge room I’m in. There’s wood almost everywhere—on the floors, on the high ceiling that’s shaped like a triangle, on many different details around me.
A large window behind me shows the darkening sky, and the fire sheds light on the TV set next to the fireplace, on the dark carpet covering the floor in front of it, and on the modest dining room table at the far corner of the room.
Shoes and boots litter the entryway, empty mugs, some books and a laptop cover most of the table, and thick jackets are hung over the backs of three out of four of the dining room chairs.
It feels like a home that is well-lived and a small smile tips the corners of my lips at the thought.
The sound of footsteps has me unclenching my fingers from the hoody, smoothing it over, feeling my cheeks warm as Ethan returns to my side.
He is so tall.
I think that I would barely reach his chin if we stood next to each other, his presence already overwhelming with him just sitting on the couch. Overwhelming but not threatening.
How strange.
The cushion dips once more next to me as he sits and prepares everything he’ll need.
He throws me a sideways smile when he catches me watching raptly what he’s doing.
That’s the first thing I noticed about him. How kind his smile and his deep, brown eyes seem.
He works quietly, taking my arm in his rough hand, cleaning the cuts with a damp, warm towel, before disinfecting them and covering them with a clean dressing.
His movements are well-practiced, and even though his hands are so big, his touch is feather-light, taking care that I feel nothing but a sting.
When it’s time for him to do the same for the scratches on the outer side of my ankle, I place my foot on his thigh, a small shiver running through me when his warm hand touches the sensitive skin.
I can’t help watching his profile now that his attention is elsewhere.
His messy, brown hair is tousled, the thick strands almost dry from the rain, and he has dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw that looks like it would be rough if I ran my fingers through it.
I let my gaze travel further down, catching on his neck and broad shoulders, on the strong arms that picked me up and held me close and safe. So safe.
I still can’t believe he found me.
My throat tightens and my heartbeat thumps loudly in my ears as my mind replays all the events of the previous days and months, the heaviness on my chest enough to make me suffocate.
And it would if it weren’t for that gentle touch on my leg settling the agitation inside me, quieting the faint trembling still running through me, reminding me of where I am right now.
In Ethan’s warm cabin. Not in the relentless rain where the cold drops pelted my skin like sharp needles and the howls of the wind sounded like screams. Not frozen by a debilitating sense of fear that made me unable to move. Not alone where I thought no one would ever find me.
I thought I was going to die.
No. I was sure I was going to die. On the run, stranded somewhere, until the rain and the cold became too much for me to endure.
But he found me. This kind stranger who has done everything to help me. I should be terrified of being alone with him like this but I feel nothing of the sort.
I don’t understand it but all I can think about is that this big man with kind eyes found me and brought me to his home, and I’ve never felt this warm.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt warm. I don’t think I ever really have.
I swallow through the lump in my throat.
This is exactly why I can’t stay here. I have to leave this place as soon as possible, as soon as I’m able, because I can’t do this to him. Just because I think I can be safe here doesn’t mean that I can stay.
I just wish that I didn’t have to leave. It would be nice to feel this warm and safe just a little bit longer.
My eyes grow heavy in the balmy living room and the soothing touch of this gentle man on my hurt ankle feels so relaxing I could fall asleep.
I let my head rest on the soft back of the couch for a moment.
Maybe I could stay just for tonight. One night couldn’t hurt, right?
No one will find me here and I’ve still got time.
The wind howls almost violently outside, the sky now completely dark.
Yes, I will stay tonight and leave tomorrow, I think as my eyes close with a sigh.
***
ETHAN
The weather seems to be worsening by the hour, the sounds of the raging storm reaching my ears, but only distantly as I finish wrapping Oliver’s ankle. Thankfully, I had already prepared to wait out the next couple of weeks here, so food and supplies won’t be an issue, even with an extra guest.
I turn to tell him that he’s all set but the words never make it out when I see him fast asleep, features peaceful and relaxed.
He looks so young, he can’t be more than in his early 20s, but in sleep, his expression is calm, free of all troubles.
I need to tell him about the severe snowstorm that’s about to hit us so that he can be aware that he won’t be able to leave for a while.
I’ll tell him tomorrow, I think as I watch him breathe deeply.
For now, I should probably make sure he sleeps comfortably. Today must have put him through the wringer.
It only takes me two seconds of internal debating about whether I should let him sleep here on the couch, or put him in my bed, before I’m slowly lifting his leg off my lap, standing up and leaning down to pick him up and carry him inside.
I try to jostle him as little as possible, and thankfully, apart from stirring just a little bit when I settle him in my arms, he doesn’t wake up. He only snuggles closer, his head coming to rest in the crook of my neck.
His soft breaths brush against my skin as I take him to my bedroom, and my eyes slip briefly shut as goosebumps travel all over my body.
Fuck, this is ridiculous. I’m 36 years old, for fuck’s sake. Why am I getting goosebumps just because a pretty guy breathed on me?
Reaching my bed, I lower enough for him to roll from my arms onto his side. By the time I’ve straightened up and covered him with the thick comforter, his face is buried in my pillow, a contented sigh leaving his parted lips.
And the sight roots me to the spot, the rightness of it making my chest feel heavy and light at the same time.
That feeling never leaves me as I crash on the couch later, even as exhaustion pulls me under.