Chapter 33
Stevie
It’s fine. Adam is busy with his niece. I’ll call my brothers.
One of them will tell me I’m not crazy or oblivious.
And my expectations aren’t unreasonable.
Some brotherly love is all I need. I close the door behind me.
The rain is still pouring off the roof, but the porch is dry and Adam was nice enough to share his Wi-Fi with me.
I make my way to the hammock while I dial Conor.
He doesn’t answer.
I smash the button to end the call before his voicemail picks up.
I redial with a huff as I flop onto the hammock, but I miscalculate.
Too much of my weight lands on one side, and it swings forward, dumping me out the other side.
I land in a heavy pile on the patio, and my phone clatters beside me, still ringing.
I refuse to be defeated by a hammock. After the disastrous night I’ve had, I need a win.
One more try. With my phone propped between my ear and my shoulder, I steady the hammock with my free hand, pivoting my backside to position it in the middle of the mat. I lower myself slowly . . . slowly . . .
“Sir Steven Shuh!” Conor bellows in my ear.
I startle, dropping onto the mat. This time I cling to the edges, refusing to be bucked by this bronco again. I hurry to center my weight, grunting and twisting until I defeat the hammock with an angry, “Ha!”
I’m winded now.
“Stevie?” Conor asks. “You good?”
The concern coloring his voice makes my throat tight. This night—this month—has been a lot. I’ve needed my brothers. “No.” The word is strangled. My eyes are hot. Oh no.
“Where are you? It sounds loud. Are you okay?”
I’m hiccuping now, gulping down air while I fight sobs. “I’m f—” The words are lodged in my throat. I force myself to take a breath, lowering my voice. “I’m fine. I just needed to talk to you.”
“What’s going on?” he asks, then a dog snarls and barks on his end. A kid screams. “Aw, crap,” he mutters. “Darwin bit Asher. I gotta go.”
Click.
Seriously?
Of course, I hope my nephew is okay, but now I’m really crying.
My throat tightens as I swallow back the tears.
This isn’t that bad. I know that. I just needed Conor.
I swallow one last time, blinking the last of the tears away when the front door creaks open.
Swiping my hands down my face, I dry my wet cheeks with a sniff.
“Stevie?” Adam peeks around the door.
“Hey.” I sniff one last time, and I’m sure it won’t be obvious that I was bawling my eyes out a minute ago.
He makes his way to me, his soft smile turning into a frown. Instead of asking what’s wrong, he stands beside the hammock, steadying it.
“Hold still.” He braces the mat with a hand on either side, then rolls beside me, crossing his legs in front of himself easily. The hammock barely swings beneath us.
I scoff, irritated that he made it look so easy. “How did you do that?”
“What?” He props his arm behind his head.
“Nothing.”
“Hmm.” He’s so warm and so close that his rough voice rumbles through me even though he’s whispering. “What were you crying about?”
“Nothing.”
“Stevie.”
With a sigh, everything spills out of me.
I recount the horrifying hike here, the accidental date, and Crispin’s cutting observations, ending with the attempted phone call to my brother.
Adam listens quietly, eventually tucking his arm around me.
He pulls me in, dragging his thumb up and down my arm while I talk.
I air every worry, complaint, and hurt I’ve felt in the last six hours until I’m empty.
I have no more words. I yawn, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. I let my eyes flutter closed.
“Wow,” he murmurs.
“Yeah.” We listen to the rain for a few minutes, and an uncomfortable thought leaves my mouth.
It’s the last thing keeping me awake. “After what Crispin said—and Marlow and my brother and the whole town—I’m starting to feel crazy.
” The words come out slurred. My body feels heavy, and his warmth and the sound of steady rain tries to lull me under. I fight it. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
It takes him a while to answer, but when he does, his words are slow and careful. “What I think doesn’t matter.” His deep voice cuts through the fog. “You don’t need my validation, Stevie. You don’t need me or anyone else to tell you who you are.”
He’s right. I don’t usually have a problem standing behind what I know or who I am. But he didn’t answer my question. I want to prove I’m not nuts, and the exhaustion is making my lips loose.
“We heard Bigfoot tonight.” I sigh, settling deeper into his warmth. “I got a recording.”
This news should feel bigger. I have proof.
I can win this thing. But in light of what Adam just told me it feels anticlimactic.
I shouldn’t care whether people think I’m crazy or that I know what I saw.
But here I am, caring. My dumb little heart is aching for Adam to care about this.
I want him to cheer me on, tell me I’m smart, and I was right, and it wouldn’t hurt if he told everyone.
He could organize a parade. I wouldn’t complain.
Adam lets out a long breath. “That’s . . . good.”
It’s not quite enough. My tired brain wants to add this to Adam’s list. He should care more. But that would prove Crispin’s point about me, wouldn’t it? And why do I care what Crispin thinks? I want to scream. I yawn instead.
“You need to sleep.” I think Adam presses a kiss into my hair, but I’m halfway gone. “We’ll figure out everything in the morning, okay?”
My hair smells like Adam, and I don’t mind it. My pillow smells like him, too. I turn onto my side without opening my eyes. I’m not ready. Yellow light shines through my heavy eyelids, telling me I’ve overslept. Or have I? What day is it?
I stretch my legs over cool, scratchy sheets that don’t feel right. It’s Saturday. I’m taking Crispin on a tour tonight.
No, that was yesterday. We got lost. Stranded at Adam’s—
“Oh!” I gasp.
Sitting bolt upright, I assess my surroundings.
The stacked logs of the exterior wall have one sunny window and no curtains.
There’s a dresser with no books, picture frames, or any signs of human habitation.
The only clue I’m given is a pair of worn leather work gloves resting on top of the dresser.
I know those gloves. I’m in Adam’s room. How did I get here?
Thanks to my hyperactive imagination and snippets of memories of last night, my heart is galloping. A dreamlike memory surfaces: Adam carried me in here. I think he tucked me in.
I’m awake now.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, it takes my feet way too long to touch the ground.
I’m like Goldilocks, waking up in a bed that is way too big and smells like cedarwood.
I grin, thinking about how Adam needs an extra tall bed.
Of course the man who has so much in common with Bigfoot would also need a humongous bed.
After a short trip to the bathroom and a quick check of the hair situation—which is hopeless, unfortunately—I follow the noise down the hall. I feel like a new woman. Getting enough sleep is underrated. When I reach the kitchen, the air is dingy with smoke and the vent fan is running.
“Steee!” Sammie stumbles out of nowhere, flinging her arms around my legs.
“There you are.” Adam waves an oven mitt overhead, grinning when he takes in my spectacular bedhead. “Did the smoke alarm wake you?”
“The smoke alarm went off?” My voice is still rough with sleep.
“My brother is trying to cook for you.” Ruth’s smile is wide. “Unaided.”
Adam swats at his sister with the oven mitt, but she dodges him neatly.
I can’t believe I slept through a smoke alarm, but from what I remember of last night, I shouldn’t be surprised. I was tired down to my bones after that disaster of a tour-slash-date. Speaking of the man who showed his true colors last night, I scan the small kitchen and living area for Crispin.
“He’s on the porch,” Ruth whispers, reading my mind and peeling her daughter off my legs. “The smoke was too much for him.”
“Hmm.” I frown in Crispin’s general direction. I wonder what it would take to get him to walk off the front porch and keep walking? Am I a terrible person? At least I’m keeping the thoughts inside. I’m ready to be free of the man, though. “How’s the road? Has anyone looked?”
“It’s clearing up.” Adam moves his spatula around in a pan full of some eggy thing I don’t recognize.
“By late morning we should be able to get my truck out and get you both back to civilization.” He lowers his voice.
“Not that I’m in a hurry for you to leave.
” He shoots a flat look toward his front porch.
Ruth snags my arm, dragging me over to the small dining nook by the back window. “You can’t leave until I—”
“You’re not holding her hostage, Ruth,” Adam calls over the vent fan.
“She’s the whole reason I’m here.” Holding her palms up, she turns back to me and lowers her voice.
“I came here mostly to meet you. You can’t leave until I ask you all the questions.
” She pulls Sammie onto her lap, but she flops out of her grasp like a freshly caught trout and toddles back to Adam.
He scoops her up and holds her on his hip. “Want to take over?” he asks, offering her his spatula.
Sammie shakes her head, tipping her head onto Adam’s shoulder while he cooks.
When I turn back to Ruth, there’s a knowing look in her eyes. “Isn’t he adorable?” she asks under her breath.
I sigh. “He is.” It’s a little weird for his sister to point it out, though. She’s a good wingman, I guess.
Ruth grins, settling in across from me. “Is the bet over?”
I crinkle my forehead in confusion. “No. How could—”
“I mean because you and Adam are a thing now.” She pumps her eyebrows. “Pretty sure I’m coming into some money.”
“Ruth,” Adam groans from the kitchen.
She purses her lips, fighting a smile. “Fine. But I know what I know, and I know my brother is in love with you.” Her eyes follow Adam while she says, “What about you, though? Where do you stand on the whole—”
“Ruth,” Adam barks.
My face floods with heat.
He lowers his niece to the floor. “Go play, kid,” he murmurs. Sammie scampers to the back of the cabin, and Adam drops a cast-iron frying pan onto a kitchen towel with a thunk. “Breakfast is ready. Are you done butting in?”
Ruth shakes her head. “No. Not even close.”