Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
SLOAN
The champagne bubbles tickle my nose as I take another sip, the golden liquid warming me from the inside out.
Outside the cabin windows, snow falls in thick, lazy flakes, blanketing our little world in pristine white.
But inside, everything glows with the warm light of candles and the crackling fire Asher built in the stone fireplace.
New Year's Eve.
The thought still seems surreal. Has it really been a week since Christmas Eve? Time moves differently here. It’s not measured in hours or days. It’s measured in sunrises and sunsets, in the amount of things we’re able to accomplish before the sun goes down.
"You're thinking too hard again," Asher observes from his spot on the couch beside me. He's changed clothes for the evening—dark jeans and a soft black sweater that brings out the silver in his eyes. He looks relaxed, almost boyish, except for the intensity that never quite leaves his gaze.
"Sorry." I shake my head, trying to dispel the melancholy that's been creeping in all day. "I guess holidays make me nostalgic."
"Nostalgic for what?" His voice is gentle, curious. We've reached a place where he can ask questions like this without making me feel uncomfortable.
"I don't know. Old traditions, I suppose.
Cara and I always used to have this ridiculous New Year's Eve party.
Nothing fancy, just the two of us eating too much takeout and watching the ball drop while making resolutions we'd never keep.
" The memory makes me smile, almost bringing a tear to my eyes.
"She'd always say she’d try to date fewer assholes, and I'd always try to be more adventurous. "
"Looks like you got your wish," he says softly, and there's something in his tone that makes me turn to look at him.
He's right. This is certainly more adventurous than anything I could have imagined for myself a week ago. Being held captive by a gorgeous psychopath in a mountain cabin definitely qualifies as stepping outside my comfort zone.
"Not exactly what I had in mind," I admit, taking another sip of champagne to buy myself time to think.
"What did you have in mind?"
It's such a normal question, the kind two people might ask each other on any date in any bar in any city. Except we're not on a date, and this isn't normal, and the man asking has chained me to a bed to make sure I wouldn’t run away.
"I wanted to travel," I say, settling deeper into the couch cushions. The champagne is making me talkative. "See Paris, maybe. Learn to cook something more complicated than grilled cheese and tomato soup. Take art classes. Fall in love."
The last part slips out before I can stop it, and I feel Asher go still beside me. Shit. Too much.
"Alex didn't know how to love you," he says quietly, not a question but a statement of fact.
"No, he didn't." The truth comes easily. "But neither do you."
"Don't I?" He turns to face me fully, his eyes searching mine in the firelight. "What do you call this, then?"
"Obsession," I say without thinking, but the word lacks venom. He seems too innocent now.
"Love is obsession, Sloan. Love is thinking about someone constantly, wanting to know everything about them, needing to be the reason for their smile." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. “I just didn’t ask for permission.”
Permission. Such a simple word.
"You never gave me a chance to give permission," I point out, though my heart isn't really in the argument anymore.
"Because you would have said no." His thumb traces across my knuckles, sending warmth up my arm. "You would have chosen him and convinced yourself that settling for that life was good enough."
It's true. I would have said no.
"So you decided for me," I say, but there's no anger in it.
"I had to show you what you were missing." He lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my palm. "And I think I've succeeded."
The kiss sends heat shooting through me, pooling low in my stomach. Because he has succeeded, damn him. He's shown me things about myself I never knew existed, awakened desires I didn't know I had, made me feel wanted in ways that are both terrifying and addictive.
"The champagne is making me say too much," I mutter, pulling my hand back and reaching for my glass again.
"Good. I like this." His smile is soft. "I like you relaxed and not thinking ten steps ahead for once."
"Maybe that's because when I'm not thinking ten steps ahead, I do stupid things."
"Like what?"
Like admitting that I'm attracted to you.
"Like drinking champagne with my kidnapper and pretending it's romantic instead of completely fucked up."
He laughs, a genuine sound that transforms his entire face. "It can be both, you know. Fucked up and romantic aren't mutually exclusive."
"Speak for yourself. I prefer my romance without the side of felony charges."
"Boring," he teases, and the playfulness in his voice is so unexpected that I find myself grinning.
When did this become… easy?
The realization is unsettling enough that I need another drink.
"Tell me about your New Year's resolutions," I say, desperate to change the subject to something less dangerous. "Did you make any?"
"I don't usually bother with resolutions." He settles back against the couch, one arm stretched along the back. "Most people use them as an excuse to lie to themselves about changes they're never going to make."
"Cynical."
"Realistic." His eyes find mine in the flickering candlelight. "But if I were going to make one this year, it would be to make you happy. Really, genuinely happy. Not just content or going through the motions, but actually happy."
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. Because I can hear the vulnerability in the words. Making me happy isn't just a goal for him, it's become his entire purpose, his reason for existing.
And that should terrify me. This level of obsession is dangerous, unhealthy, and completely unsustainable.
Instead, it makes something treacherous unfurl in my chest.
"What would make you happy?" I ask, studying the way he watches me.
"You, choosing to stay with me. Not because you have to, but because you want to be here." His gaze is steady, unflinching. "You, letting yourself love me back."
The words hang in the air between us. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I want to deny it so badly, but I’m not sure I can anymore.
"And what if I can't?" The question comes out a whisper. "What if I'm too broken by all this to ever trust you the way you want?"
"Then I'll keep trying." His voice is soft but absolutely certain. "I'll keep showing you how good this can be until you believe it. I'll keep taking care of you until you understand that you're safe with me. I'll keep loving you until you're ready to love me back."
"That could take a very long time."
"I have a very long time." His smile is gentle, patient. "I have forever, if that's what it takes."
Forever.
The champagne has definitely gone to my head.
"I think I need some air," I say, standing up perhaps a bit too quickly. The room spins around me, and Asher is there immediately, steadying me with gentle hands.
"Careful," he murmurs, his touch warm through the soft fabric of the dress he bought for me. It's a deep blue silk that brings out my eyes, fitted but elegant. "The champagne hit you harder than you expected."
"I'm fine," I protest, but I don't pull away from his steadying grip. "I just need some fresh air."
"It's below freezing outside."
"Then I'll stay by the window." I move toward the large picture window that overlooks the forest, pressing my palms against the cold glass. Outside, the snow continues to fall, each flake caught and illuminated by the warm light spilling from the cabin.
It's beautiful, in an isolated, end-of-the-world kind of way. Like we're the last two people on earth, comfortable in this perfect little bubble while the rest of civilization disappears under snow and ice.
"Do you ever miss it?" I ask without turning around. "The real world, I mean. Other people, cities, all the noise and chaos of normal life?"
"No." His answer comes without hesitation. "I never fit in that world anyway." I feel him move closer, though he doesn't touch me. "But here, with you, I finally make sense."
"We can't stay here forever." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I feel him go still behind me.
"Why not?"
"Because..." I struggle to find reasons that don't sound hollow even to me. "Because we'll run out of supplies. Or someone will come looking. This isn't real life."
"This is the realest life I've ever lived." His reflection appears in the window beside mine, his face serious in the glass. "Every day before you felt empty. This is what I was meant for—taking care of you, loving you, building with you."
"Building what?"
"Building a love worth killing for." His voice is smooth. "A love worth sacrificing everything for."
The way he talks about murder should horrify me, but the champagne has dulled the sharp edges of my fear.
"You're insane," I whisper, but there's no real threat in it.
"Probably." His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and possessive through the silk. "But I'm insane about you."
I find myself leaning back against his chest, letting his warmth surround me as we stand together watching the snow fall. His arms come around me from behind, holding me against him.
"Tell me about your New Year's resolution," he murmurs against my hair.
"I don't make resolutions anymore."
"Make one anyway. What would you want to change about your life if you could change anything?"
What would I change? The obvious answer is everything. I'd go back to Christmas Eve and run the moment Alex raised his hand to me. I'd call the police, or get in my car and drive away, or scream loud enough to bring help. I'd change the decisions that led me to this cabin. To this man.
But if I'm being honest—and the champagne is making me dangerously honest—I'm not sure I would change everything.
Not the way he makes me feel when he touches me.
Not the way he looks at me like I'm the most important thing in his world.
Not the safety I feel in his arms, even knowing how dangerous those arms can be.
"I'd want to stop being afraid," I say finally, surprising myself with the truth. "I'd want to stop second-guessing every feeling, every thought, every moment of happiness. I'd want to just... be."
"You can do that here." His voice is soft, hypnotic almost. "You can be anyone you want to be here. You can stop carrying the weight of other people's expectations and just exist."
"What if I don't know who I am without those things?"
"Then we'll figure it out together." His lips brush against my temple, feather-light. "We have all the time in the world to discover who you really are."
All the time in the world.
"The ball drop is starting," he says, nodding toward the small TV in the corner where Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve is playing on a low volume. "One minute until midnight."
One minute until a new year.
"Come here," he says, taking my hand and leading me back to the couch. "Let's watch it together."
I let him guide me back to the cushion and pull me against his side as we turn our attention to the television. On screen, thousands of people are packed into Times Square, bundled up against the cold, all of them counting down to a new beginning.
"Asher," I say softly, not sure what I'm going to say until the words spill out. "What happens after midnight?"
"Whatever you want to happen." His hand finds my face, thumb tracing along my cheekbone with infinite gentleness. "This can be the start of something new for us. Something real."
"It's already real." And the admission feels like it costs me everything. "That's what scares me."
"Don't be scared." His forehead rests against mine, and we're breathing the same air. "Be brave enough to want something extraordinary."
"Ten! Nine! Eight!" The crowd's voices fill the cabin, their excitement infectious even through the television speakers.
"Seven! Six! Five!"
Asher's eyes never leave mine, patient and hopeful and absolutely certain of what he wants.
"Four! Three! Two!"
I make my choice.
"One! Happy New Year!"
And I kiss him.
Not because I have to, but because it’s what I want. It’s what I need right now.