Chapter 13 JACE
JACE
The rope burns even through the gloves.
I know this because I've been gripping it for the better part of an hour, dragging a tractor tire through six inches of fresh snow, and my hands went numb about twenty minutes ago.
The chain connecting the rope to the tire clanks with every pull.
My boots punch through the snow crust and find frozen ground underneath.
Cold air comes in sharp and goes out as steam.
Every muscle from my shoulders to my calves is filing a formal complaint.
Good. That's the point.
Owen is on the TRX straps rigged to the big pine, working slow controlled rows, breath coming in short white bursts. Reid is on the stacked tires, jumping up and landing and jumping again. Nobody is talking. The cold and the effort don't invite it.
I set my feet and pull. The tire grinds through the snow and the chain snaps taut and I lean into it until my vision narrows to the trench I'm carving in the white ground behind me.
I need to stop thinking about the kiss.
That's the whole problem. I've been awake since five and I've been thinking about it since then.
The way she pulled on my shirt. The way her mouth felt.
The way she kissed me the second time like she'd made a decision and was done being careful about it.
And if I keep going down that road I'm going to be hard in the middle of a workout with my uncle and my brother and that is not happening.
Not in almost-zero temperatures with an audience.
I yank the tire another ten feet.
She's at the window. I haven't looked directly but I know. She does it most mornings. Stands at the kitchen window with her coffee while we work out. She thinks being three steps away from the glass makes her invisible.
It doesn't.
I set my feet and pull again, shoulders burning. I'm performing for her and I don't care. If she's going to watch, I'm going to give her something worth watching.
"Thought you preferred running."
Owen says, mid-row on the TRX. He's watching me with the look that means he already has the answer.
"Felt like a change of routine. Expanding my fitness horizons."
He drops out of the straps, lands clean, reaches for his water. He looks at me. Then past me, past my shoulder, toward the cabin, toward the kitchen window specifically. Then back at me.
The smirk is small. It's still annoying.
"Anything to do with the audience?" he says.
I drop the rope. "So you've noticed too."
He drinks his water. Gives me nothing.
I pick up the rope. "I need to make sure I'm not falling behind. She spends half her time in your office. She even drew your portrait." I pull the tire forward.
He gives me the look. I pull the tire.
"It's not a competition." Reid lands off the tire stack, boots hitting snow, and straightens up. Of course he's been listening. "Leave her alone. She came all the way out here to find peace. She doesn't need three men deciding she's the most interesting thing in these mountains."
"We all came to the mountains to get away from something," I say. "All three of us. And we found what we needed here."
Reid says nothing. He doesn't disagree. He stands there with his water bottle and his jaw set and his eyes on the middle distance. He feels it too. He just hasn't decided what to do with it yet.
Owen sets down his water. "Maybe she finds what she needs and then leaves." Quiet. Like he's been sitting with it for a while. "Maybe we're part of her recovery and not part of what comes after. Are we ready for that?"
The cold fills the space.
I think about our mother. What her death did to each of us.
Owen keeping everybody at careful distance since he was fifteen, making sure the loss can't reach him the same way twice.
Reid locking down, building a life that runs on duty because duty is constant and reliable.
And me, always moving. Always the next expedition, the next range, the next horizon.
Chasing the next thing because moving felt like choosing and choosing felt like the opposite of having things taken without warning.
I was supposed to be planning the trip. Eight weeks, deep jungle, the kind of terrain that breaks gear and tests everything. I haven't opened the planning documents in three weeks.
I keep finding reasons to be here instead. Near her.
That's new.
"I'm willing to risk it," I say. "She's different. She's worth it." I look at Owen. Then Reid. "Tell me you don't feel the same."
Owen says nothing.
Reid takes a slow breath. "I think she's worth it. But she's dealing with something real and she needs room to do it. The last thing she needs is three men competing for her attention."
"I'll give her all the space she needs," I say. "I'll follow her lead. But I'm not going to pretend there's nothing there."
They're both holding themselves differently now. Reid's grip on his water bottle has gone white at the knuckles. Owen is still on the TRX handles, arms locked, holding a position well past the point where his muscles should have quit.
I yank the tire hard. The rope snaps taut.
"Or," I say, "she doesn't have to choose."
Nobody moves.
The cold settles in around the words. Somewhere in the treeline a branch drops its snow, a soft collapse in the silence. Owen holds his position. Reid lands off the tires and stands there, both feet in the snow, not stepping away.
"We wouldn't be the first in Briarhaven," I say.
The silence that follows is full of things none of us are saying.
Owen steps off the log bench slowly. Reid picks up his jump rope and wraps it once around his fist.
Neither of them says no.
"I'll see where things go," I tell them. "The two of you can catch up."
Reid doesn't answer.
He drops the jump rope.
His chest is still heaving, steam rising off his shoulders, sweat at his temples despite the cold. He's looking at the kitchen window with an expression I have never seen on him. Not the controlled stillness. Not the assessment. Something settled. Almost amused.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
He holds up one finger. "Watch."
He turns to face the cabin and calls out across the yard, clear and easy: "MAYA!"
A beat. Then the kitchen window opens. She leans out into the cold, cheeks already pink, eyes going straight to Reid. She has the look she gets when she's been caught.
"Yeah?" she says.
"I'm heading to the rescue center." Reid's voice is unhurried. Completely calm. "Thought you might want to come. Wolves make good subjects. Could be useful for your book."
Her face lights up. All the careful gone at once, replaced by something unguarded and immediate, and she bounces on her toes.
"I'd love that," she says. "Ten minutes."
The window closes.
Reid turns around. He looks at me with the expression of a man who has just won something without breaking a sweat and would like the scoreboard to reflect that.
"First mover advantage," he says.
I stare at him.
Owen makes a sound beside me. Not quite a laugh but close enough.
"You son of a bitch," I say with amused annoyance.
Reid picks up his water bottle. He rolls his neck once, unhurried, and walks back toward the cabin without looking back.
I look at the tire.
I pick up the rope.
I pull.