Chapter Ten
FIRELIGHT
The cabin was fucking cold. And the fire was dismal, small, like a fucking match. Cold had settled into his bones sometime during the hike and now refused to leave.
More fire. More heat. Problem solved.
“We need bigger,” he grumbled, rolling to his feet. He grabbed an armload of wood and dumped it beside the fire.
More fire meant more heat.
It wasn’t complicated.
Then Whip started taking pieces back off.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Whip said.
Apparently, it was complicated.
“Do I have to burn my shirt?”
Axel glared as he settled back onto the bedroll.
Whip’s eyes cut to him, drifted down his chest, and a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Axel went still for a second.
“Put it on the flames,” Whip suggested.
“Punk.”
A laugh slipped out before Axel could stop it.
“I’m soaked.”
His shirt still clung to his back. Every movement pulled damp fabric between his shoulder blades.
“As soon as the kindling dries, the fire will be hot enough to burn the heavier stuff.”
Whip added more of the moss and twigs he’d found in a corner of the cabin.
The kindling caught exactly the way Whip said it would.
Axel knew how to light a fire; he just didn’t have the patience for it, never had. That was all Whip. Even when they’d run around together as teenagers in the mountains of Oregon, Whip had been the survivalist. The one carrying extra water. Extra food. Extra common sense.
Most of the time, he just stole the extra snacks.
Why carry your own?
The fire snapped softly between them while rain rattled against the cabin roof.
“Remember that time we got caught on Winter Rim after dark?”
Whip snorted. “And you lost your shoe.”
“Hey, it was flooding.”
“Yeah, but you still lost your shoe. I told you to wear boots, but no…”
“The boots were torn.” Axel picked up a piece of twig and tossed it into the growing flames.
“That’s because you let Becky Taylor’s brother borrow them.”
“Did I?” He smirked, remembering very well.
“Yeah. You wanted to get into her pants.”
“I did get into her pants.”
“You lost a shoe.”
“Worth it.”
Whip barked a laugh.
The sound bounced off the log walls.
“Easy for you to say. I spent six hours listening to you complain.”
“I had one shoe.”
“You had one brain cell,” Whip said.
“Still got the girl.”
Whip rolled his eyes.
“Pretty sure that’s not the point.”
“It’s the only point that matters.”
Seemed like a fair trade to him. He tossed another twig into the fire.
“Besides, you’ve had worse than me losing a shoe.”
Whip quirked a brow. “How’s that?”
“I wasn’t the one taking all those hits in high school.”
“Most of those came from you.”
“Legal hits.” He picked up another twig.
“Attempted murder.” Whip sounded affronted.
“Legal.”
“Fern versus Scappoose, November 2004. Fourth quarter. Third down. You launched yourself through the air. I didn’t know people your size could fly.”
He shook his head.
“You had the ball.”
“You hit me after I no longer had the ball.”
Axel pointed at him.
“Allegedly.”
“It’s on video.”
“Biased video.”
Whip laughed again.
Another log shifted in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
“You put me in the hospital again.”
“Couple hours.” Axel shrugged.
“Overnight.”
“Observation.”
“You fractured two ribs.”
“I barely touched you.” It hadn’t been one of his finer moments.
“Barely touched me?” Whip gaped at him.
“That’s my story.”
“You tackled me into another zip code.”
“Still legal.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Scoreboard says otherwise.”
Winning settled a lot of arguments.
Whip threw a twig at him.
Axel caught it before it hit his face.
“See?” he said. “Still got the reflexes.”
“Still rewriting history.”
“Still won.”
Whip’s chuckle filled the cabin before he tossed another twig at him.
Axel chuckled and caught it automatically.
Neither of them stopped smiling.
The cabin smelled like wet clothes, damp canvas, and smoke.
True to his word, Whip had the flames in the fireplace roaring after several minutes. Heat finally began pushing back against the chill that had followed them into the cabin. Steam rose faintly from Axel’s socks where he’d stretched his feet toward the hearth.
About damn time.
“So, whose idea was it to come out here in the middle of the night chasing Cutter in a storm?” Axel nudged a boot closer to the fire.
“Screw you. It was your decision.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, I know so.”
“Wrong.”
“Right.”
Axel snorted and shook his head before shoving to his feet.
Whip almost always had to have the last word. The irritating bastard usually managed it, too.
Didn’t mean he was right, though.
He stalked to the go bag and dug out the instant coffee before checking the cupboards. Three cans of beans. One can of cream corn. Some instant coffee and creamer packets.
Also, one mug.
Not exactly luxury accommodations.
The sink still worked. Axel turned the handle and let the water run for a second before cupping a hand beneath it.
Cold and clean. Straight off the mountain. Good enough.
He drank deeply.
Filling the pot, he plunked it into the fire.
Whip immediately pulled it back out, rearranged the wood in whatever mysterious survivalist pattern made sense inside his head, and set the pot back down.
Axel left him to it.
He grabbed the mug, filled it with water, and carried it over when he dropped back beside the fire. He held the mug out to Whip.
“Thanks.”
Whip gulped the water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned toward the fire.
Axel lifted a twig and flipped it over and over through his fingers.
Firelight turned the damp strands of Whip’s hair gold.
Damn blond hair.
Axel’s attention lingered.
The small twig snapped, and he tossed it into the flames.
The floorboards under his ass were hard as hell, but standing around wasn’t any better. A gust of wind rattled the cabin hard enough to make the walls creak.
“This is all we got.” Axel pulled a jar of instant coffee from his pack.
“Nah, I packed MREs.”
Axel made a face. “There’s cans of beans and corn, I say we eat that if we’re hungry.”
Whip grunted in response. His partner wasn’t any more of a fan of emergency rations than he was.
When the water steamed, Whip managed to make a cup of coffee in the mug even though they each had tin cans in their go bags. The smell hit first, cutting through the damp wood smoke.
“Here you go.” Whip held out the mug.
Axel took the mug and drank. “It’s good.”
“You say that like it’s a surprise.”
“It’s questionable how you can make good coffee out of instant.”
“It’s a talent.”
“It’s witchcraft.”
Whip gave a snort laugh. The noise filled the little cabin in a way the storm outside couldn’t quite manage.
For a while, neither of them said much.
Axel nudged one of his boots closer to the hearth.
Water still dripped from the leather onto the floorboards.
Whip glanced at it.
“Winter Rim wasn’t the only time you lost a shoe,” he said.
Axel frowned, racking his memory. “Yeah, it was.”
“Nope. Last summer. You decided that Bobby Moss wasn’t getting away across the lake and jumped in.”
“I got him.” The lake had been freezing, too. He poked a lip.
“Yeah, and lost your radio, flashlight, and boot.” Whip ticked them off on his fingers.
“Boone’s report says differently.” Axel preened.
“Suspect apprehended?” Whip cackled. “No mention of a swim.”
“I got friends in high places.”
Axel leaned over and stole the half-warm coffee from Whip’s hand. He took a few swallows before Whip immediately took it back and turned to poke the fire.
The cabin was still cold enough to make his teeth hurt. When Whip pulled a survival blanket from his pack, he wasn’t surprised. Whip always had something extra buried in his gear.
Of course he did.
A minute later, half the blanket landed in his lap—like there’d ever been a question.
He took it without argument.
The floor near the fireplace wasn’t exactly spacious. He shifted closer to the heat and ended up shoulder-to-shoulder with Whip on the bedroll.
The blanket stretched across both their legs while the fire popped and cracked in front of them. Heat soaked through the fabric far slower than Axel would’ve liked.
When Whip dug a pack of trail mix from his bag and tore it open, Axel reached over and grabbed a handful.
Felt normal now.
Sharing food, coffee, motel rooms, and patrol cars didn’t seem strange anymore.
Axel took another bite of mix and pointed at Whip.
“You know when I figured out there was something wrong with your brain?” he said around a mouthful.
Whip squinted at him over the rim of the coffee mug.
“When.”
“In Burns.”
Whip frowned.
“The truck at the motel?”
Axel eyed him.
“The fact you know which story I’m talking about is exactly the problem. Ya nut.”
Whip looked pleased with himself.
“I was right.”
The fire popped between them. Outside, rain rattled steadily against the roof. The storm sounded farther away now.
“We spent half a day looking for that guy,” Axel said. “Six blue pickups in the parking lot. Boone was ready to strangle somebody.”
“Probably you.”
“That’s fair.”
Whip smirked into the mug.
“Everybody thought the suspect left in one of the trucks,” Axel continued. “Nobody knew which one.”
“Your point?”
“My point is, we’re all standing around arguing, and you suddenly look at one truck and go, ‘That one.’”
Whip took another drink and smiled.
“It was that one.”
“Based on absolutely nothing.”
“Broken passenger mirror.”
“There it is.” Axel tossed back another handful of mix. “That. That’s the part where normal people leave the conversation.”
Whip looked satisfied. “The mirror was broken.”
Like that explained everything.
“We’d been there twelve hours.”
“So?”
“Nobody noticed the mirror, but you did.”
Whip shrugged.
“Room fourteen. Tuesday morning.”
Axel stared.
Even now the answer arrived too fast.
He wasn’t sure it would ever stop surprising him.
“See?” He jabbed a finger toward Whip. “That’s not normal.”
“The truck was parked outside the room.”
“You remembered a broken mirror from two days earlier.”
“It mattered.”
“Boone made us pull the surveillance footage.”
Whip nodded. “Because I was right.”
“You were.”
The mirror had been broken.
The truck belonged to the fugitive’s cousin.
Three hours later, they’d put him in cuffs.
Axel shook his head and reached for another piece of jerky.
“That’s when I figured out working with you was either going to make my life a lot easier or get me committed.”
“What’d you decide?”
Axel looked over at him.
“Jury’s still out.”
The fire had burned down to a steady glow.
Rain still tapped against the roof, though not as hard as before.
The coffee was gone.
The trail mix was gone.
The stories had finally run out.
For a while, neither of them said much. Whip finally stopped fiddling with shit and tipped his head back against the wall.
He always looked different when he stopped moving. Like the weight of everybody else’s problems wasn’t sitting on his shoulders for once.
Most people never got to see that side of Whip.
Stillness never looked natural on him.
Axel stretched his legs toward the fire and yawned.
“I’m tired.”
“Shocking.”
“Been a long night.”
“Mountain tried to kill us.”
“That too.”
The warmth from the fire settled over him in slow waves. Combined with the coffee and the lack of sleep from the night before, it hit all at once. He rubbed a hand across his face and stifled another yawn.
Without thinking about it, he shifted sideways and let his head drop into Whip’s lap.
Whip looked down.
Axel looked up.
“Comfortable?”
“Not really.”
“Good.”
Axel grinned and closed his eyes.
A second later, he felt Whip settle back against the wall.
“You’re gonna drool on my jeans.”
Axel didn’t bother opening his eyes.
“Occupational hazard.”
And for the first time all night, he drifted.
The storm could go fuck itself.