Arden
Iwake up to light streaming through a window and washing over my face like I’ve entered Heaven itself, and for a moment I just lay in bed enjoying the warmth on my skin, the sense of safety and peace and quiet.
I tell my brain to be quiet and let my heartbeat quietly, pushing blood through my body and bringing my limbs to life.
And as I focus on the peace and quiet of it all, I sink into my own skin and breathe deeply for the first time in I don’t know how long.
Then I remember the reason I haven’t been breathing lately and my peace gets up and streaks out of the room, screaming.
Because I’m not at home in my own bed. I’m in some strange bed in a strange house in Hawke’s Wood, and I’m here because I was kidnapped months ago and the kidnappers have finally taken me out of the city and into the mountains.
For reasons I still don’t know.
I’m not at home because I’m in a small town in the Adirondacks.
And I only know that because I’m in Marshall Hawke’s house, and I know where he lives.
I sit up slowly, trying to take this all in, and look around the room.
I was so tired last night, so swept up in a combination of fear and fatigue and the desperate sleepiness of finally being safe, that I didn’t spend much time looking around, but now that I do, I remember that the room is spartan, at best. The bed I’m lying in, the dresser against the wall, and a desk where someone has lined pictures up next to an antique typewriter.
The place is done in shades of green and blue, set against timbers stained a deep walnut color.
The bedspread is plaid, the floor hard wood, and there’s a rug made of old rags.
It looks like a room decorated by a man. In a house built by that same man, and still holding the fingerprints of someone who doesn’t know whether he truly wants to commit to things like curtains and paintings.
I smile slightly at that, putting it together with Mars himself, and then climb out of bed and walk toward the window.
Because I can’t lay around all day, and I still haven’t seen Hawke’s Wood during the day.
When I brush the curtain to the side and look out at the street below me, I gasp.
I thought I was in Heaven when I woke up to the sun shining down on me. But I didn’t have a clue.
The town looks like it belongs in a Hallmark movie.
Shops line the street across from me, each of them butted up to the sidewalk like children preparing to go to school.
They’re painted all different colors–red, pink, yellow, blue, and even a bright, slightly lemon-flavored white–and each has shutters around the windows.
That doesn’t mean they look the same, though.
On the contrary, each has its own flavor of charm.
There’s a bakery sporting bright yellow paint and croissant illustrations on the hanging sign, and a bookstore next to it, done up to look like an old-fashioned shop in Paris.
Next to that is the police station–or maybe the sheriff–and on the next corner, the grocery store and a coffee shop.
To my left I see a longer building done in bright cherry red set off by black and white lining, and I immediately know it’s a diner.
Done in 50s style, I’m guessing.
I wonder if the waitresses wear poodle skirts. I wonder if they have a juke box and everyone chews gum like it’s going out of style. I wonder if they make malts and milk shakes for you to dip your fries in.
Not that I’ve spent my entire life dreaming of a place like that.
I gasp and run to the other window in the room, where I get a whole new view.
Next to Mars’ house I see the roof of what must be the garage where he works, and next to that another house, and then another, and another.
These aren’t anything alike. Mars’ neighbor has some sort of ranch style, and beyond that I see one that’s designed in a Tudor style.
Mars himself, I know, did craftsman, and I wonder if the people here just buy land and build whatever they want.
Build the thing that fits them best.
My heart does a strange melting thing at the thought, and I pause for a moment, concerned, before I realize it’s just emotions coming to the surface. It’s the thought of everyone here making their own home, and all of those homes melding together into a community that holds everyone in its arms.
Because I can see that this place isn’t just special because of its architecture.
The people on the street are smiling and waving at each other, stopping to talk and laugh about this or that, and pointing to the bakery or the cafe like they’re giving advice.
I see two girls standing in front of the bookstore comparing books, and one of them is blushing so brightly that I find myself wanting to know what they’ve been reading.
A group of men in pants and suspenders walks by, their hats declaring them firemen, and three men in leather jackets walk right underneath me and enter the garage.
I’ve lived in New York long enough that crowds of people don’t shock me anymore. I see them all the time.
But I’ve never seen so many people interacting like everyone they see is a member of their own family. This place is the embodiment of joy. Warmth.
Belonging.
I draw back, then, struck by the word. Because this might be a place where everyone feels as if they belong, but that can’t mean anything to me.
Not really. I was brought here by men who kidnapped me, and though Mars and Orion may have saved me last night, I’m not stupid enough to think that’s the end of it.
The men who were housing me, for lack of a better word, live in this same town.
Just down the street from here, if I’m guessing.
They’re going to notice I’m missing.
And then they’re going to notice that I’m at Mars’ house. And they’re going to try to claim me.
A shadow falls over the sunny day and the people below me fade into the background as I follow that thought to its natural conclusion.
Whoever took me is dangerous, and I’m sure they’re armed and willing to use violence.
Mars and Orion seem like they know their way around a gun but that doesn’t mean I want them using that knowledge because of me.
I can’t have the kidnappers coming here and making trouble for Mars.
He’s already saved me, and what sort of person would I be if I repaid him by bringing danger right to his doorstep.
So I have to leave. I have to go back to New York, where I have a home and, in theory, protection. There’s no reason for me to stay here, anyhow. Now that I’m free, why wouldn’t I go home? It’s not like Mars is my actual family.
Not like I have any real place here.
Still, I step back up to the window and press my fingertips against the glass, marveling at the scene below me and soaking in the warmth for the sun. And for just a moment, just a half a second, I let myself dream.
If I wanted to stay, could this be a home for me, too? Could I fold myself into the town and become part of the community? Laugh with girls I knew and drag them to the bakery for my favorite treat? Make Mars and Orion take me to the diner for milkshakes and fries?
Could this be my home, if I stayed?
What would it be like to live in a place like this, where you didn’t have to pay for every piece of attention you were given?
Where everything was warm and welcoming rather than cold and hard and forbidding?
Where the people were actually happy to see you because they liked you, rather than because they were wondering what you could do for them?
I bet even the snow is warmer here.
I close my eyes and imagine it for a moment... and then I step back and put it from my mind.
Because this isn’t my home, and that sort of hope–that sort of dream–isn’t for girls like me. I have a place in the real world, and it doesn’t include Christmas cookie towns or diners where girls in poodle skirts serve milkshakes. That sort of hope just leads to disappointment.
And I know better.
I need to leave, and the sooner I do it the easier it’ll be. I’ll find Mars, thank him for his hospitality, and then ask for a ride to the train station. Or maybe down off the mountain. Back to New York.
Back to my father.
I gulp... and then I decide not to think about that, either. I have one job right now: Find Mars and ask him to take me home.
I won’t think about what comes after that.
And I certainly won’t think about how much it hurts to know I’m leaving this place, and the house itself, before I’ve even had a chance to settle in or learn the men who live here.
I shower and make my way down the stairs before I can talk myself out of it, my mind made up about what I have to do. The shower gave me time to think through it, and I’m more certain than ever that I can’t stay here. The men who kidnapped me will come looking for me, I’m sure of it.
And I won’t bring trouble to Mars’ door. He barely knows me, isn’t even really my family, and I’m not his responsibility. There’s no reason for him to have to protect me.
The memory of his words flashes across my mind–that I’m safe here, and that I can stay as long as I want–but I wipe it clean. He may have said that, but it doesn’t mean it’s the truth.
I haven’t done anything to earn that sort of loyalty.
I kip down the stairs and then pause at the top of the hallway, looking to the other end.
Orion lives down there, I remember, and though the main part of the house is clean and tidy, not a shoe out of place, there’s clutter down the hallway.
A stack of books sitting against the wall. Doors that are half open.
A single shoe sitting in the middle of the hall, like someone forgot about it and it hasn’t figured out how to get home.
Everything in me turns toward the hallway, wanting to go down there and see what else is different. That’s Orion’s part of the house, and I can already see that it’s more cluttered. More undone.
And potentially more telling.
The man himself is a mystery, and my natural curiosity wonders if I can glean more information about him from his things. Last night, he said only a few things, all of them directed at Mars rather than me, and it’s easy to see that he doesn’t think I should be here.
But he was present for the rescue, or at least helped to get rid of my guard.
Was he just doing Mars a favor?
I tip my head and stare at that one shoe in the hallway, wondering. What sort of person takes their shoes off so quickly that he forgets one outside of the room, and then leaves it still sitting there when he gets up in the morning?
What sort of man has a stack of books against the wall in the hallway?
I breathe out slowly... and then yank myself back into the real world and turn toward the front door. It doesn’t matter what sort of man does any of that.
Orion made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with me, and I’m planning to leave at the first opportunity. I might never see Orion again. I have exactly zero reason to wonder what sort of man he is.
But as I walk out the front door and turn right, toward the garage, I remember the flash of curiosity in those dark eyes of his. The humor twisting his mouth as he teased Mars.
The feeling of danger rolling off him.
And the way my own heart answered that danger.
I’m at the mouth of the garage by the time I complete the thought, and walk right into the very men I’ve been thinking about. And a very obvious argument.
Mars is backed up against the wall, scowling stubbornly, and Orion stands in front of him gesturing like he’s saying something vital.
They’re both growling intensely, neither of them giving up an inch, and for a moment I want to turn and run away, embarrassed and horrified that I’ve interrupted something so private that they’re actually fighting about it.
Then they fall silent with a sort of thick, sticky intensity, and it’s too late for me to turn and run. Because they’re both turning to look at me.
Orion’s face is flushed with emotion, Mars more pale than anything else, and they both look both angry and resigned, like they both know they’re not going to win this argument and are facing an unsolvable situation.
Orion stares at me, his dark eyes sparking and his mouth pursed like he wants to say something and won’t, and I’m reminded of some sort of wild animal.
Something dark and terrifying that look at you from the shadows, its body crouched like it might spring at any moment.
I wonder what it would be like for him to spring at me. What he’d feel like if he got too close.
Smell like.
Taste like.
His glance flicks up and down my body like he’s wondering the same thing, and I’m struck by the thought that this man could eat me alive and I wouldn’t even see it coming.
Then he shakes his head firmly, spins, and stalks out of the garage without a second glance.
When I turn to look at Mars I catch him staring at me as well, the giant, golden lion of a man appearing lost and unsure of himself.
It’s so unlike the man I’ve always known that I stare back, the edges of the world blurring as the moment stretches.
His eyes are shockingly blue, I see. Even bluer than I’ve ever thought.
And they glow as if they’re lit from within.
Like he does have a fire burning inside him, the way he always seems to.
My breath catches in my lungs, but before I can say anything he’s turning slowly away, his eyes lingering on mine like he can’t stand to let me go. But moments later he disappears into the garage and I’m left alone on the sidewalk with one clear thought.
These two are best friends, and they’re out here first thing in the morning having an argument. Because of me. Because I’m here and already causing problems. I came down here to talk to Mars about leaving, and to see if he could give me a ride. Instead, they both took one look at me and ran.
And this brings my earlier thought home with such force that I can’t look away from it.
I don’t belong here. I’m causing problems, and I need to leave before I make it any worse. I need to get out of here and let Mars and Orion go back to their lives before I screw anything else up–or worse, put them in danger.
I turn back toward the house. We crossed train tracks last night on the way into town, and surely that means there’s a train station here. I don’t have any money, but I do still have one of my credit cards, kept in my bra over the months to hide it from the men who took me.
If I can get to the station, I can find my own way home.
And Mars and Orion can go back to the life they were living before they accidentally played hero and won a problem they didn’t want.