30. Mara
Mara
Mrs. Lacey's silver braid swings as she moves from room to room, a stack of rough woolen blankets in her arms. I follow her, my arms laden with thick, squat candles, the scent of beeswax and old wood filling the air.
"I'm grateful they're here," Mrs. Lacey says as we meet in the hallway, a low, warm murmur that doesn't carry to the open doors. She means Daniel, Gray, and Leo.
"They're good guys," I say.
She stops and turns to me, her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, twinkling in the lantern light. A knowing smile plays on her lips. "Good guys, yes. But they're also completely and utterly enamored with you, honey. Don't you pretend you don't see it."
Heat floods my cheeks, and I look down at the candle in my hands, focusing on the way the flame dances in a slight draft. "It's not like that," I say, the words a flimsy shield. "They're just… they're Tess's family. They're being nice."
"Nice?" She laughs. "Honey, I've seen 'nice.' 'Nice' is helping someone change a flat tire. What I saw earlier was three men looking at you like you were the only source of light in a world gone dark. That's not 'nice.' That's something else entirely."
I don't have an answer for that, because she's not wrong. I've felt it, their attention, the way the air shifts when they're near. It scares the hell out of me.
She puts a gentle hand on my arm. "You know, I know a little something about what you're going through."
I look up, surprised.
"I was a librarian in the city," she continues, her gaze distant, seeing a different time.
"I had a small apartment, a cat named Bartholomew, and a predictable life.
I liked it. Or I thought I did. Then I met Jacob.
He was a carpenter, a man who could build anything with his two hands and a dream.
He had this crazy idea to buy this old hardware store downtown and turn it into something special.
Everyone told him he was a fool. Told him he'd lose his shirt, that the town was dying and nobody in Sweet Creek Falls needed one more hardware store. "
She pauses, a fond smile gracing her lips.
"He asked me to come with him. To leave my job, my apartment, my predictable life, and move to a small town I'd never even heard of to take a gamble on a dream.
It was terrifying. It was the single most irresponsible thing I had ever done in my entire life. "
When she looks at me, her eyes are clear and piercing.
"It was also the best decision I ever made. Even after he died, I just knew that he led me here, to this life. It's because of him that I found myself right in this town. This is exactly where I was meant to be."
Her words land with the force of a revelation. "Why?" I whisper, the question pulled from me.
"Because I was in love," she says, as if it's the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.
"Because I trusted him. And because I realized that a safe, predictable life isn't the same thing as a happy one.
Sometimes, the greatest risks lead to the greatest rewards.
Don't be so afraid of the fall, Mara. Sometimes, you have to jump to learn you can fly. "
Her advice echoes in my head long after we finish our rounds, long after she bids me goodnight and heads to her own small apartment behind the lodge.
It's almost midnight when I finally step out into the biting cold.
The snow is coming down hard now, thick, heavy flakes that cling to my eyelashes and melt on my cheeks.
The world is muffled, quiet, transformed.
And that's when I see him. Gray is standing under the awning, a small, bright point of orange light in the darkness. He's smoking a cigarette, the smoke curling up into the falling snow, a ghostly gray wisp.
"Isn't that bad for you?" I ask.
He turns, a small, wry smile touching his lips.
He takes a long drag from the cigarette, the end glowing like a tiny star.
"A lot of things are bad for me. Doesn't stop me from doing them anyway," he says, and he winks.
It sends a strange, pleasant jolt through me.
"I was waiting for you to finish up. Thought I'd walk you back. "
I just nod, pulling my coat tighter around me.
We start walking, our boots crunching in the fresh, untouched snow, the only light coming from the few windows in the lodge that still have their curtains open.
I like his smell. It's a little steeped in sweat now and there's something else underneath, something warm and uniquely male.
I want to be wrapped up in it, buried in it until the scent of my past is nothing but a distant memory.
The street is dark when we arrive, but as we get closer, I see a warm, golden light spilling from the café's main window.
Gray opens the door, and a wave of heat and the most delicious savory scent hits me.
Inside, Daniel and Leo are sitting in one of the large booths in the back, their faces illuminated by a cluster of candles on the table.
In front of them are two big, steaming bowls of soup.
"Look who I found," Gray says, his voice a low rumble.
Leo looks up, his face breaking into a wide, easy grin. "Made some soup," he says, gesturing to the pot on the wood-burning stove. "Would you like some?"
I shake my head, my stomach a knot of conflicting needs. I'm actually starving, the rich smell of the soup making my mouth water, but I'm also terrified. Terrified of sitting with them, of being close to them, of memories of the bathroom rushing back.
But then I hear Mrs. Lacey's voice in my head. Don't be so afraid of the fall. I take a deep breath. "Thank you, Leo," I say, my voice a little shaky. "That would be great."
Surprise crosses his face, but it's quickly replaced by pleasure.
I slide into the booth opposite Daniel and Gray, the vinyl cold against my legs.
Leo ladles a generous portion of soup into a bowl and places it in front of me.
It's a thick, hearty concoction, full of beans and vegetables and chunks of what looks like sausage.
I pick up my spoon, my hand trembling slightly, and take a bite.
Oh.
Oh, wow.
It's delicious. Smoky, savory, with a deep, rich flavor that warms me from the inside out. It tastes like safety, like home. I look up and find all three of them watching me.
"I found some cans of beans in the pantry," Leo says, a little too loudly, breaking the silence. "And I think there's some spaghetti in the back, so if you don't like that I can probably—"
"This is delicious," I say, cutting him off. My voice is firm, sincere. A visible wave of relief washes over him, his shoulders relaxing.
I smile at them, a real, genuine smile, and continue to eat. For a few minutes, the only sound is the clinking of spoons against ceramic.
"I know you feel awkward about what happened," Daniel says, his voice quiet but clear. "And we don't have to talk about it tonight. We can just… eat."
"Okay," I say, the word a soft breath. It's quiet after that, but it's not the suffocating silence from the car. It's a comfortable quiet. I'm exhausted, my body and mind worn thin, and the simple act of eating a warm meal by candlelight with them feels… normal. It feels good.
When we finish, Leo starts clearing the bowls. "We brought some bedding down from the lodge," he says, his back to us as he stacks them by the sink. "Figured we'd just sleep here tonight."
I frown. "Why? The lodge has perfectly good beds."
Gray turns to me, his gray eyes soft. "We're not going to let you stay in the café alone during a blizzard, Mara."
And just like that, a warmth blooms in my chest, a feeling so profound and overwhelming it almost brings tears to my eyes.
They're thinking of me. They're not thinking about the contract, or the sex, or the complicated mess we're in.
They're thinking about my safety, my comfort.
It has been so long since someone has done that. So long since someone has put me first.
I look at the three of them.
They're a pack. A complicated yet wonderful pack.
And for whatever reason, they want to be with me.
I don't feel like I'm running away anymore. I feel like I'm running toward something. And I think maybe I'm ready to jump.
A chorus of goodnights follows.
I head upstairs, the wooden steps groaning under my feet.
The air grows colder with each step, the warmth from the fire and the bodies below fading away.
My room feels like an icebox. The single lantern I left on my nightstand throws long, dancing shadows on the walls, making the space feel unfamiliar and vast.
I want to take a shower. I want to wash the day, the hospital, the car ride, the gas station bathroom, all of it, off my skin.
But the lantern provides a weak, sputtering light, barely enough to see by, let alone navigate a shower.
I strip down quickly, my movements stiff with cold.
I pull off my leggings and panties, and my cheeks heat when I see the dark patch on the fabric.
Is it just from today? From letting Gray touch me like that?
The thought sends a fresh, unwelcome jolt of heat through me, and I quickly bundle the damp fabric into the bottom of the laundry basket, as if I can hide the evidence of my own body's betrayal.
I pull on a pair of thick flannel pajamas, the fabric soft against my chilled skin.
I open the small bottle of heat suppressants and tap two extra pills into my palm.
I know I shouldn't. I swallow them dry anyway, the bitter taste a familiar comfort.
I climb into bed, pulling the heavy wool blankets up to my chin, but the cold is a deep, persistent thing that has seeped into the mattress itself.
I'm bone-tired, but sleep doesn't come. I'm restless, my mind replaying snippets of the day on a relentless loop.
Tess's pale face in the hospital bed. Daniel's furious, protective energy.
Gray's calming presence. Leo's easy smile.
The feel of Gray's fingers inside me, the sight of Daniel's hand on his own cock.
A violent shudder racks my body, and it's not from arousal this time. It's just cold. I'm so, so cold. I curl into a tight ball, tucking my knees up to my chest, but it does little to help. I wish I had something warm. A cup of tea, another body, anything.
Just then, a soft knock sounds on my door.
My heart leaps into my throat. I sit up, clutching the blankets to my chest.
"Mara? It's Leo."
I let out a breath. "Come in," I call out, my voice a little shaky.
The door opens, and he's standing there, holding a steaming mug. "Thought you might want something to warm you up," he says, his voice soft. "It's chamomile. But there's some hot cocoa downstairs if you want."
"Thank you," I say, my voice thick with gratitude. I take the mug from him, the ceramic warm in my cold hands.
"It's freezing up here," he says, looking around my room with a frown. "We've got a good fire going downstairs. Much warmer."
I nod, a silent agreement. I grab the thick blanket from my bed and follow him out of the room, leaving the lantern behind. The main floor of the café is a world away from my frigid bedroom.
It's a haven of warmth and light. The large stone fireplace is roaring, a crackling, hungry beast that pushes back the darkness and the cold.
The guys are all sitting on the floor in a makeshift circle of sleeping bags and pillows, their faces illuminated by the firelight.
They're sipping from mugs, their bodies relaxed.
"Look who's joining the slumber party," Leo says with a grin as I approach.
Daniel looks up, his eyes finding mine in the flickering light. "You okay?"
"Much warmer down here," I admit, my gaze drawn to the mesmerizing dance of the flames.
"We can grab you some bedding from the lodge," Gray says immediately, already starting to get up.
"It's already so late," I protest. "Mrs. Lacey is probably in bed by now."
"How about we bring your mattress down?" Daniel suggests.
"It's late. I can just warm up for a bit and then head up."
"And then freeze up there? No way. It's no trouble at all," Leo says, already moving toward the stairs. "We'll bring your bedding down."
I watch them, Daniel and Leo, disappear up the stairs. Gray stays, gesturing for me to take his spot on the thick wool rug closest to the fire. "Sit. We've got it," he says.
I sink into the warmth of his sleeping bag, the heat from the fire seeping into my bones. "It's so much warmer here," I tell him.
He smiles, a genuine, easy smile that softens the sharp lines of his face. "Good."
I sip the tea, the sweet, floral liquid a soothing balm, and watch as they come back down, carrying my mattress and a pile of my blankets and pillows. I have never been taken care of like this. Not like this. Not with this easy, unthinking competence.
They arrange my mattress a few feet from the fire, creating a small, private nest for me.
They grab their own drinks and settle back into their spots around the fire.
Leo pokes at the logs with a metal poker, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
The wind howls outside, rattling the windows with a violent, angry force.
"You're safe in here," Gray says, a low, calm assurance that cuts through the noise of the storm.
"I've never seen it snow this badly," Leo says, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and apprehension. He's trying to sound casual, but I can hear a faint tremor in his voice.
"Worse than the big one in '98?" Daniel asks.
"Way worse," Leo says. He shivers, pulling his sleeping bag tighter around himself. "I hate thunderstorms, you know. This feels like a thunderstorm, but with snow instead of noise. It's the waiting that gets to me. The waiting for the crash."
I curl into my bed, my head resting on the soft pillow, and listen to them trade stories of storms past, of childhood fears, of ridiculous things they've done. Their voices are low and soothing. Their scents fill the small space—a complex, calming symphony that wraps around me like a blanket.
The tension I've been carrying all day, all week, all my life, slowly begins to unspool. I'm not even sure when I fall asleep, just that one moment I'm listening to Leo describe a disastrous camping trip, and the next I'm sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep, warm and safe.