6. Mason
Mason
The fire in the wood stove has burned low, casting flickering orange light across the cabin walls.
I sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, staring at the dancing flames while the blizzard outside screams like a living monster.
Riley’s moved to the bed now, sleep slowly pulling her under.
I keep thinking about how I shut her down earlier when she asked about the military.
The way her bright eyes dimmed just a little.
She’s so pure. So damn innocent. The last thing she needs is my ugly war stories filling her head after everything she’s already seen.
Blood in an alley. A man dying in front of her.
She doesn’t need to know about the sand and the screams and the things I did to survive. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I rub a hand over my face, feeling the rough stubble scrape against my palm. Sleep won’t come easy tonight. The couch is too small for my frame and my mind won’t stop turning.
The wood box by the stove is nearly empty.
The storm is eating through our supply faster than expected.
If I don’t bring more in soon we’ll wake up to a cold cabin tomorrow.
I stand up quietly, my boots heavy on the wooden floor.
The cold seeps through my bones as I pull on my heavy jacket, the fabric stiff.
I grab the axe leaning by the door, the metal head icy under my fingers.
Riley stirs on the bed, her eyes fluttering open. She sits up slowly, the oversized t-shirt slipping off one smooth shoulder. The firelight catches on her skin, warm and golden. “Mason? Where are you going?”
“More firewood,” I say, keeping my voice calm and steady. “Stay inside where you’re out of harm’s way. I’ll be right back.”
She pushes the quilts aside and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the floor with a soft sound. “I can help. Please let me come with you.”
The thought of her out there in that brutal storm settles like a weight, coiling through me with a hard edge. “No. Stay inside, little one. The wind’s too strong. I need to know you're okay in here.”
She looks like she wants to argue, those pretty eyes narrowing, but she nods. “Okay. Be careful. Come back quick.”
I give her one last look, memorizing the sight of her warm and guarded, then step out into the storm.
The cold hits me like a physical blow the second the door closes behind me.
Wind screams across the clearing, driving snow horizontally into my face with stinging force.
The flakes feel like tiny needles against my skin, melting instantly on my cheeks and neck and sliding cold down the collar of my jacket.
I pull my collar up higher and grip the axe tighter, boots sinking deep into the fresh powder with every step.
The snow reaches past my knees in places, heavy and wet, clinging to my pants and making every movement a battle.
The air burns in my lungs, sharp and freezing, tasting like ice and pine.
I trudge toward the woodpile against the side of the cabin, shoulders hunched against the wind.
The snow is deeper here, almost to my thighs.
Each step requires effort, muscles burning in my legs as I push forward.
The wind howls louder, pushing against my back like invisible hands trying to knock me down.
I reach the pile and start digging with gloved hands, the snow so cold it feels like fire against the exposed skin at my wrists.
Chunks of ice and frozen wood come away in my grip.
I set the first few logs aside and swing the axe to split a bigger piece.
The blade bites deep into the frozen wood with a solid thunk that vibrates up my arms.
I work as fast as I can, stacking split logs against my chest. The physical labor feels good at first, a distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head.
Riley’s innocent face when she asked about the war.
The way she backed off immediately when I shut down.
She deserves better than my ghosts. Better than the nightmares that still wake me up sweating and reaching for a rifle that isn’t there.
The desert sand burning under my boots. The blood on my hands.
The friends I carried home in pieces. She doesn’t need any of that darkness touching her light.
A particularly violent gust of wind slams into me from the side without warning.
I stagger, boots slipping on the icy ground beneath the snow.
My balance shifts and I crash hard against the sharp edge of the woodpile.
Pain explodes through my left arm as something jagged slices deep into the flesh just above my elbow.
A broken branch or frozen metal shard. The cut burns hot and immediate, blood welling up fast and soaking through my sleeve.
“Fuck,” I growl through clenched teeth. The wind steals the word away instantly.
Blood drips down my arm, hot at first then freezing against my skin as the storm whips around me.
The pain throbs in time with my heartbeat, sharp and relentless.
I grab as many logs as I can with my good arm, the axe feeling heavier now, the handle slick with melting snow and a little blood.
I fight my way back toward the cabin door, each step a brutal battle against the deepening snow and the howling wind.
I glance at the cabin and Riley stands there in the doorway, eyes wide with panic.
Snow swirls in around her, instantly soaking her hair and the oversized t-shirt.
She steps out into the storm without hesitation, bare feet sinking into the deep snow.
“Mason!” she cries, her voice nearly lost in the wind. She rushes toward me, small hands reaching out. Snow pelts her face and melts in her dark hair, making strands cling to her cheeks. Her bare legs are already turning red from the cold as she wades through the powder toward me.
“Get back inside,” I shout, but the words get torn away by another gust. She reaches me anyway, slipping one arm around my waist to help support me despite the logs and the axe.
Her body presses against my side, warm even through the freezing snow soaking her clothes.
The contrast of her softness against the brutal storm hits me hard.
“You’re hurt,” she says, voice trembling but determined. Snow sticks to her eyelashes and melts on her lips. “I saw you fall from the window. Let me help.”
We struggle back to the cabin together, her small frame surprisingly strong as she helps bear some of my weight.
The wind pushes against us the whole way, snow stinging our faces and soaking through every layer.
By the time we reach the door we’re both breathing hard.
I push the door open with my shoulder and we stumble inside, bringing a rush of freezing air and snow with us.
The warmth of the cabin hits us immediately, the wood stove throwing off waves of heat that make the snow on our clothes start to melt.
Water drips onto the wooden floor from Riley’s soaked hair and t-shirt.
The fabric clings to her body now, outlining every soft curve.
Her nipples are hard from the cold, visible through the thin material.
Blood from my arm drips steadily onto the floor, bright red against the wood.
Riley doesn’t let go of me. She stays pressed against my side, shivering but determined, her small hands gripping my jacket like she’s afraid I might fall again.
My injured arm throbs with every heartbeat, but all I can focus on is how she came out into the storm for me.
How she looks right now, soaked and brave and so damn beautiful it hurts.
We’re barely back inside, door slammed shut against the howling wind, when she looks up at me with those wide, worried eyes.