23. Mia
Chapter twenty-three
Mia
I ’m a little warmer now, the cold releasing its grip on my bones as we huddle together. His warm breath mingles with mine under the blanket. It’s ridiculous that I’m counting on our breathing to keep us alive. His body shakes. I feel bad for complaining. He’s just as cold as I am.
I snuggle closer, my body seeking his warmth. Noah is silent, but I know his mind is racing—figuring out our next move—calculating every possible outcome. He has always been the planner, the strategist. I trust him with my life. So far, he’s shown he is worthy of that trust.
“I’m sorry we’re in this mess,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he responds readily, almost automatically, like he’d been prepared. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. We’ve both got baggage. Our baggage combined was a recipe for disaster.”
A part of me wishes I could simply surrender myself to the comforting illusion that we are not running for our lives, that we are just two lovers in a little cabin. I imagine myself warm and comfortable.
“We’ll have to move on soon...while the daylight lasts,” Noah says, his steady voice breaking the little daydream. I can only nod, knowing full well how crucial it is to stay ahead of our pursuers.
The brief respite has given me a little energy, but my limbs still feel heavy and sluggish with cold.
Suddenly, the sound of engines can be heard in the distance. I stiffen, eyes wide and staring into the darkness. “They’re coming!”
We can’t stay in this little cabin. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and every creak makes my heart race. We’re fish in a barrel. They’ll see the cabin and find us. My heart starts to pound in my chest as a million things run through my mind. A certain death awaits if we can’t escape.
Noah and I exchange a look, a silent agreement passing between us. We have to move. We stumble to our feet, both of us moving slowly. He pushes open the door and peers out. I can hear the engines, but they sound far away. Maybe they’re going in the other direction. Maybe we’re safe.
“Let’s go,” he whispers .
The darkness is disturbing. It confuses my sense of direction. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me.
Noah clasps my trembling hand in his, the comforting warmth a welcome protection against the chilling cold. “Follow me,” he murmurs.
We step out into the blustery wind, leaving behind the relative safety of the shack. Each gust sends a shiver down my spine as we trudge through knee-deep snow in some places. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, an erratic drumbeat.
“Do you know where we’re going?” My voice is barely audible above the wind.
“I’ve got a good sense of direction. Trust me.”
I want to believe him, but the uncertainty gnaws at me. We move through the darkness, barely able to see a thing. The forest is a shadowy maze. The sound of wolves howling makes us stop in our tracks. Noah listens intently, his face set in concentration. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“They’re not too close,” he assures me, but to my ears, they sound right on top of us.
The engines of the snowmobiles roar closer, their sound mingling with the cry of the wolves. We come to a clearing. That’s when I realized that while the trees are dark and dangerous, being out in the open is terrifying. We pause, scanning for any sign of movement. Noah gestures toward a cluster of trees on the other side. I nod, my fingers tightening around his hand as we race through the open field.
The wolves’ howls kick up in an excited combination of yapping and howling, sending shivers down my spine. Noah scans our surroundings. The pack gets louder, but the engines seem to be fading. He turns to me, his expression urgent. Now, we’re forced to choose between wolves or men intent on revenge.
“We need to move,” he whispers.
We start walking deeper into the forest, following the faint moonlight filtering through the thick canopy above. I stumble over a hidden root. Noah catches me before I fall.
“Thanks,” I mutter, trying to steady my racing heart.
“Stay close,” he says, his voice low and steady.
We come upon a stream covered with a thin layer of ice. Noah breaks it at the edge with a stray branch. I’m relieved to see the water flowing underneath. He bends down, scooping up a handful of water and sipping it cautiously.
“It should be safe enough to drink,” he says, offering me some.
I drink eagerly; the icy water is refreshing and revitalizing even if I’m already cold. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. The sun is just rising, casting a faint glow over the landscape. The wolves have gone quiet, which is almost scarier than the howling. We take a few more drinks, and both of us scan the area.
“We probably have another ten miles or so,” he says. “I know you’re cold, but we have to push hard. We’ve come this far.”
I nod, conviction flooding through me. “I trust you,” I say, meaning every word.
We continue our journey. The forest is slowly coming to life around us, and the sounds of nature are a welcome change from the terrifying silence of the night. I feel a bone-deep exhaustion, but we can’t afford to stop.
“How did you get into photography?” he asks out of the blue.
“I’ve always loved nature,” I say, a faint smile tugging at my lips. I realize he’s attempting to distract me. It’s working. “I studied biology in college, and photography was a hobby that became a passion. Combining the two just made sense.”
“Do what you love,” he says. “That’s what a teacher in high school told me. Do what you love, and it won’t feel like work.”
It feels good to talk about something normal, something that isn’t life or death. I find myself relaxing a bit despite the fear still lurking in the back of my mind. “Which is why you fly,” I surmise.
“There’s a freedom in the sky you can’t find anywhere else.”
“Do you think they gave up looking for us?” I ask. “I don’t hear the engines.”
“I’m guessing they are still searching, but they may have assumed we went the other direction,” he replies. “We’re the needle in the haystack.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think we would get away,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “Yeah, me either. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
I grin. “Pun intended.”
“Yeah. ”
“So, this guy that wants you dead,” I say, broaching the subject he’s been unwilling to talk about too much. “Is he pretty dangerous?”
“I don’t think he’s a teddy bear. I honestly don’t know him all that well. The Feds made him sound like a pretty serious criminal, but I didn’t think he was an international drug smuggler.”
“I’m normally a pretty boring person,” I laugh. “The last few days have been a little too much excitement for me.”
“Honestly, I love adrenaline—the flying and fishing, but I could really go for boring.”
“And a cheeseburger,” I smile.
“I want those onion rings you get at crappy bars,” he replies. “You know the kind I’m talking about. They’re huge and crunchy. Washing them down with a cold beer and shooting some pool sounds like heaven right now.”
“And I want a big slice of apple pie,” I sigh. “Or a bowl of my mom’s chicken and dumplings. Real comfort food: that’s what I miss.”
Noah grins. “Your mom sounds like a great cook.”
“She is,” I nod .
The conversation continues to flow, distracting us from our physical discomfort and the echo of fear that haunts the back of our minds. We reminisce about our childhoods, about family and friends, about the dreams we had as children, determined not to dwell on the danger we find ourselves in. I realize I’m not as cold as I was. Or I’m hypothermic and no longer feel the cold.
He tells me about a flight he made way up north. I love listening to him. His voice is soothing. It’s something I’ve come to need. Him. He’s what I need. I argue with myself about whether it’s real attraction or the circumstances because, honestly, in this life-or-death situation, I genuinely do need him.
My thoughts wander to our time in the cabin and the sex. My mind keeps drifting, trying to remember when I got my last birth control shot. “Oh crap.”
“What’s wrong?” Noah asks with concern.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Are you hurt? Did you hear something?”
“No,” I groan. Do I tell him? He does have a right to know. “I was just thinking about something.”
“What?”
“So, remember when I said I was on birth control? ”
He stops walking and looks at me. “Yes, I remember that very clearly.”
“I might have been wrong.”
“How can you maybe be wrong?” he asks.
“I travel a lot, and honestly, I don’t have much sex. I thought I got my shot a few months ago, but it was longer than that.”
He nods, but I can see he’s still not getting it. “Okay.”
“It just means I’m not actually on birth control at the moment.”
His face is blank—no expression. Finally, he nods. “Okay. We need to keep moving.”
I keep pace with him. “For what it’s worth, the doctor did tell me it takes months or even a year to get pregnant once I stop taking it.”
“Okay.”
I frown. “Are you freaking out?”
“A little.”
I can’t help but smile. “We’re on the run from dangerous drug dealers that want you dead and my ex, who has already killed two people, and this is what freaks you out? ”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I guess when you put it that way.”
We walk in silence for a while. The sunrise is beautiful, providing another distraction. Birds are chirping, and, in the distance, a deer peeks out from behind a tree. It’s strange how the world can seem so peaceful and normal when your life is anything but. It’s a little warmer, and I love being able to see, but I realize that means we’re easily seen. The daylight brings a new level of danger.
“We’ll keep following this stream,” Noah says, interrupting my thoughts. “That’ll ensure we get to town.”
“What if they are waiting in town for us?”
“I don’t think they’re going to want to make a scene with witnesses,” he replies. “And I can guarantee you the people in town aren’t going to be unarmed.”
I keep putting one foot in front of the other. We’re going to make it. We made it through the last trek; we’ll make it again.