Chapter 5
I woke to the sound of wind shoving itself against the cabin. Not howling—insisting, as though it had somewhere to be and we were in the way. The same sound it had made at three in the morning.
For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I stared up at the ceiling, my body rigid, listening for anything that didn’t belong.
Nothing came. Still, I didn’t get up right away. My eyes kept drifting to the door, then beyond it in my mind—to the kitchen, to the table. I pictured Jake still sitting there, rigid, palms flat, waiting. The image rose easily, as if my brain had decided this was the shape fear took now.
When I finally swung my legs out of bed, my feet hit the floor, and I flinched at the cold.
I went to the mirror first and was startled at my own reflection.
For half a second, my heart jumped, like I was seeing someone else entirely.
I looked worse than I felt, which was saying something.
My blond hair was tangled, my skin dull and gray, dark circles bruising the space beneath my eyes.
“Get it together,” I muttered.
The light helped a little; daylight always did. It softened the edges of things, made the cabin look more like somewhere people vacationed and less like a place you got stuck. I pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks and stepped into the hallway, hesitating before heading for the kitchen.
The table was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief—and then another for the fireplace, which still somehow burned. The snow hadn’t let up overnight. If anything, it looked worse.
After tossing another log on the fire and making a pot of coffee, I stood at the front window, mug warming my hands. Snow piled against the porch railing in uneven drifts. The road was gone, erased so cleanly it was hard to believe we’d driven in less than twelve hours ago.
Two nights left, I thought. Assuming we could even get out.
I was pouring a second cup of coffee when Ricky shuffled out of the hallway in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair sticking up in three directions.
“Anyone else up?” he asked, squinting like the light personally offended him.
“Just me.”
He poured coffee and leaned against the counter. For a moment, neither of us spoke. It was the first time since last night that I’d been alone with someone without Jake in the room, and the absence felt . . . noticeable.
“So,” Ricky said finally, “how’re you doing?”
“Fine.”
He winced. “Right. Okay. Let me try that again.” He cleared his throat. “How are you actually doing?”
I stared into my mug. Steam curled up and vanished. My lip still felt tender where Jake’s teeth had caught it. “Still fine,” I said.
Ricky nodded like he’d expected that answer. “Look. About last night.”
I met his gaze.
“The truth-or-drink thing,” he continued. “That shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve shut it down. It got weird . . . fast.”
“But you didn’t wanna make it worse,” I offered. “Pick a side. Create tension.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Exactly. I didn’t wanna stoke the flames. Jake was already pretty drunk, so . . .”
There it was. The unspoken rule. Keep things calm. Keep things easy. Don’t poke at the thing already burning.
He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry,” he added, “for not saying something sooner.”
Not saying something sooner echoed in my head, and with it came the night—unsolicited and out of order.
The door opening and closing. Jake at the table, eyes fixed and unblinking.
The stomping down the hallway. The fire collapsing into ash.
The stone cold beneath my hands. Jake sitting there again.
None of it had shape yet. It felt like pieces from a story we hadn’t started telling, one without a beginning or an ending—at least not one I could name.
So I swallowed it.
“Don’t be,” I said. “If I start accepting apologies for other people’s choices, I’ll never stop.”
That earned a weak smile. “Fair.”
Movement outside caught my eye, and I set my mug down. “Is that . . . ?”
“Bill,” Ricky said, following my gaze.
An old, dark truck rolled up to the house and stopped just shy of the porch, engine idling. Bill didn’t get out right away. He just sat there, staring at the cabin.
“What’s he doing here?” Ricky asked.
“He said he’d check in,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
Ricky watched him through the window, jaw tight. “He’s starting to creep me out. I think I’m gonna go say something.”
“No,” I said quickly.
He looked at me. “Why?”
Because antagonizing the only person who could reach us during a snowstorm felt like a bad idea.
“Let’s just see what he does,” I said.
Bill finally stepped out of the truck and went straight to the back, lowering the tailgate. He unloaded firewood, stacking it neatly against the porch wall like he’d done it a hundred times.
“He’s just bringing more firewood,” I said.
“Sure, but could he be less creepy about it?” Ricky muttered, heading for the couch.
I stayed by the window, watching Bill work. Snow gathered on his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m going to offer him coffee.”
Ricky blinked. “You’re what?”
“I’m going outside,” I said, pulling a mug from the cupboard and filling it with coffee.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No,” I said, already grabbing my coat. “Just . . . keep an eye out.”
He grinned. “I’m not getting up unless I hear a scream.”
I rolled my eyes, slid into my boots, and opened the door—already wishing I’d stayed inside.
Cold slapped my face hard enough to steal my breath. Bill turned as I approached, not startled in the slightest—as if he’d known I was coming.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I said, holding up the mug. “I thought you might want some coffee.”
He took it with a nod, his fingers lingering on the ceramic. “Much obliged.” He sipped slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “How was your first night?”
“Good,” I said. The word felt thin, like it might tear if I pulled on it.
“You look tired.”
“Late night,” I said, not expanding on it any further.
His gaze flicked past me to the window. I followed it and startled when I saw Jake standing inside, just beyond the glass, watching us. The daylight did him no favors. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes, and his stare was too intent.
“He had a little too much to drink,” I said.
Bill didn’t look away. “I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.”
“He’s just hungover.”
“Maybe.” He paused. “Or maybe it’s something else.”
He handed the mug back. I almost asked what he meant. The question burned on my tongue.
“Keep the fire going and stay put,” he said. “With storms like this, the best thing you can do is not be stupid.”
Then he was gone, the truck disappearing back the way it had come.
Inside, the warmth hit me all at once.
“Morning,” I said to Jake, out of politeness.
“Yeah, it is,” he said. His voice sounded rougher than usual, scraped thin. “You sleep at all?”
I hesitated. “A little.”
He nodded like that mattered to him. All I could see was him sitting at the kitchen table in the dark. The memory raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and I wondered if Jake remembered.
Ricky stretched on the couch, yawning. “Are Noah and Maddie gonna sleep the whole day away?”
As if summoned, Noah shuffled out, rubbing his face.
“Speak of the devil,” Ricky added.
“How long you guys been up?” Noah asked.
“A half hour or so,” Ricky said. “Creepy host dropped off more firewood.”
Noah frowned. “Bill?”
Ricky nodded.
“Is Maddie still asleep?” I asked.
Noah hesitated. “I thought she was up already.”
I shook my head slowly. “No, she’s not.”
The cabin went quiet. Not the comfortable kind but the kind that presses in. Something cold settled in my chest, and suddenly the storm outside felt like the least of our problems.