Chapter 8
Emersyn
I stare at the stairwell, counting six treads before the mid-landing is swallowed by darkness. Turner and his dog disappeared up those stairs almost two freaking days ago, and I haven’t seen either of them since. Luckily, when I had followed him out onto the back porch, I’d found the stack of firewood, which has allowed me to keep the cabin warm. But… where is he?
My jaw tenses as I think about the pill bottle he grabbed, and the way he pushed me sexually right before. I hate how turned on I was by him, and part of me regrets not letting him wipe the breakup from my mind momentarily. Part of me is still hoping Adam will want to work things out—but the smarter part knows it needs to be over.
Maybe Turner could jump start that process.
If he’s even still alive.
I frown at the intrusive thought, but honestly, it’s been flickering beneath the surface ever since he took that pill bottle and never came back. And I mean, maybe he’s just keeping to himself? Maybe he’s totally fine up there—wherever there is.
But I can’t let it go.
His dog should at least need to go to the bathroom? Eat? Something. I smooth out my sweater and take a step toward the stairs. If he’s up there, and wants to be left alone, I’ll just apologize and come back. No big deal. But as the wood creaks beneath my steps, it feels like a big deal. It feels like I might be walking right into a trap.
Taking deep breaths to steady my racing heart, I pause on the mid-landing. I check my now-charged watch, noting that it’s almost dark outside, too, which probably isn’t helping this whole escapade I’ve started on. But I continue forward, my mind running one hundred miles an hour.
What will I do if he…isn’t okay? I don’t have a phone. He doesn’t have a phone. How do I get help?
As I reach the top of the stairs, I’m met with multiple doors—all of them closed. I stand there for a few long moments, straining to hear something other than the howling of the winds. The snow fall has slowed from what I can tell, but the wind keeps whipping violently. As if on cue, a draft causes a chill to run down my spine, and I wrap my arms around myself.
I make it to the first door and stop again. Do I knock? Or just open it? I want to shout out my frustration. I’m already freaking trapped in a stranger’s house in the middle of a fucking blizzard—with no phone—and now I’m having to do a welfare check on the guy who knocked me out. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be terrified or just… mad. Regardless, I choose to knock softly.
But nothing happens.
I try the doorknob, and it turns in my hand. I push the door in, but the room is completely dark. I can’t make out what’s on the shelves and walls, but it’s easy to see that Turner and his dog are MIA. I close the door and move to the next one. As I do, the sound of a slight whining catches my attention from the next door over. I creep across to it, my heart pounding in my ears now.
And then I knock twice, just like before.
Holding my breath, I wait, listening to the whining intensify on the other side of the door. It causes me to nearly panic when Turner doesn’t come to answer. I knock again, this time, twice as loud.
“Turner,” I call out, my voice rasping from the silence I’ve been living in. “Are you okay?”
More fucking whining.
“Turner,” I say it louder, and then go for the doorknob. It doesn’t turn in my hand. It’s locked. I jiggle the doorknob; now almost positive I’m just going to find a dead body on the other side. Hands shaking, I lean down to scrutinize the lock, but it’s a pinhole. I don’t have the right tool to unlock it.
I choke back a cry, before turning to head back downstairs. I might be able to find something to jimmy it open with. I mean, at this point, it’s probably a medical emergency, right? I glance down to my wool socks and fill my lungs with oxygen, trying to keep myself from having a panic attack.
I’m fine. I can handle this. I’ll find something to open the door and then ? —
The door clicks from behind me. I spin around to see the door swing open and Gunner rush out. He bounds to me, his butt wiggling with excitement, but I can barely focus on him as Turner appears in the hallway, running his hands over his face.
His eyes widen as he sees me, like somehow, he didn’t expect me to be here. “What’re you doing up here?”
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
My jaw drops as my hands fall to my sides. “Uh, looking for you? It’s been almost two fucking days since I saw you last, and I thought that…” I can’t bring myself to finish the thought, realizing how over-the-top I’d sound. I look away and let out a sigh. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I see,” he grunts, eyeing me as he takes a step closer. He’s in the same clothes that he was in the night he disappeared, and the closer he comes, the more disheveled he appears. His face is pale and his eyes bloodshot. His shoulders slumped. “I just needed to catch up on sleep.”
“For two fucking days?” I blurt out, unable to hide my concern. “I don’t know how you…I don’t…” I can’t find the words as he nears me, his chocolate eyes holding mine.
“I should be good for a while now. No worries.” He slips past me, his arm brushing mine, and heads for the stairs behind me, Gunner following in step with him.
I stand there in a stupor. What the fuck did he do up here for two days? He doesn’t look like he got all that much sleep. I glance over my shoulder as his figure disappears down the stairwell and then turn back, shaking my head. He went from coming onto me, to just… this?
Who the hell am I snowed in with?
After a few minutes, I spin on my heels and head back down the stairs, thankful for the warmth that comes with hitting ground level. My leggings are fleece lined, but the cabin I was planning to stay in with Adam had central heat—and if this cabin has it, I wouldn’t know.
I glance around for Turner, halfway wishing he was back upstairs. Not that it would help me sleep at night. My sleep is restless and fitful, leaving my head aching when I wake up in the morning. The back door slams as Gunner comes bounding through, followed by Turner.
“The snow is slowing down,” he tells me, rubbing his eyes. “But the second storm will move in tomorrow.”
“Ah, yeah.” My shoulders slump. “Another storm. Right.”
He nods, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing. “Yeah. That’s what I said.” Gunner jumps up on the couch, circling until he gets comfortable, but I can barely take my eyes off Turner, standing just a few feet away. There’s stubble aligning his sharp jaw, and despite his brawny figure, he appears ragged.
What happened to you?
I want to ask him. I want to know if he’s always been like this. He mentioned he had hobbies and a life, so maybe at one point, he wasn’t. I try to imagine him without the edge—the rugged unstableness. I get lost in the image, and it’s only as he clears his throat that I realize I’m blocking his path.
“I need to shower.”
“Right, sorry.” I angle my body to side, as he steps past me. “Are you hungry?”
He stops, gazing back at me. “Yeah, but I can make dinner. I owe you.”
I furrow my brow as he disappears into the bedroom and shuts the door. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I shake my head, pushing my hair out of my face. It’s exhausting being here, and the sooner I can leave, the better off I’ll be… But there’s no way I’ll ever forget this strange man. I take a seat next to Gunner on the couch, stroking his dark fur.
“He’s not okay, is he?” I ask, sighing. Gunner lets out a heavy breath, as if to answer the question. I listen to the sound of the shower running, and imagine Turner beneath the stream of water, washing away two days’ worth of mystery. I clench my thighs at my body’s reaction, and then roll my eyes at myself.
He’s a bad, bad idea.
Twenty minutes later, Turner reappears, this time dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans and a gray henley. His dark hair is damp as he steps into the kitchen, the soft glow glistening against the moisture. He’s quiet as he goes through the motions of shoving some sort of casserole into the oven, and I’m left to watch him from afar.
I fight the urge to talk and fill the silence, but instead I choose to wait it out, my uncertainty stronger than my need to speak. Turner appears to set a timer on the oven, and then surprisingly, he joins me in the living room.
“I see you managed,” his deep voice gravels as he takes a seat in the arm chair across from me. “I didn’t realize how long I was up there.”
“Yeah, I was fine.” I watch him cautiously, my heart skipping over itself as his eyes linger on my face. “I just got a little worried.”
He seems taken by this, his brows creasing. “Why?”
I purse my lips. “Because you were MIA for almost two days. That’s a long time to go without eating or something…”
Surprisingly, he chuckles. “You’re lying.”
I swallow the knot in my throat, running my hands down my thighs. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why were you worried?”
“You were missing for two days,” I repeat myself, my voice tinged with frustration. “That’s a valid reason to be worried.”
“Because I hadn’t eaten?”
“Because you could’ve been dead,” I blurt out, ignoring the smirk on his handsome fucking face.
Turner leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It would take a lot more to kill me, Emersyn. Trust me.”
“Good to know,” I mutter, my chest heaving as I catch a whiff of his new cologne and force my eyes away. “I’ll make a note of that.”
He cocks a brow at me. “Interesting thing to take note of.”
“You’re really picking apart every word that comes out of my mouth,” I shoot back at him. “Like I’m the one who disappeared for two days.”
Turner shrugs but his gaze darkens as he catches mine again. “I kind of like you all worked up, Em .”
My lips part but nothing comes out as Turner stands to his feet, leaving me there on the couch to watch him walk away. My eyes follow him all the way back to the kitchen. I don’t want to admit what his words did to me—or how he affected me in the bedroom that night—but when I shift to get more comfortable, the dampness in between my legs tells the story.
And it’s the fastest I’ve ever been turned on.
There is something wrong with me. He’s probably going to kill me, and here I am, getting turned on and growing attached.
I bite down on my lip as he leans against the counter, folding his arms across his broad chest. He’s closed off and complicated, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to know more about him so badly. I don’t even have a good reason as to why, either. There’s something dangerous about him, but also something broken…
And I’m drawn to it more than I want to admit.
My mind fills with the image of him touching me, and it startles me as much as it turns me on more. Turner is a walking red flag, but the moment his eyes soften in my direction, all the sirens grow silent—and that is almost as terrifying as this blizzard. I inwardly chide myself.
It’s just because I want a rebound… That’s it. It has to be.