Chapter 12 Sloane
SLOANE
Ipull the quilt tighter around my shoulders and stare at the ceiling. The bedroom's cold even though the fire's burning in the main room, and I just can't seem to get warm. Or maybe it's not the temperature. Maybe it's the guilt eating through my chest, making everything feel colder than it should.
I was cruel back in the truck when we were fighting.
I said things I didn't mean. And I feel bad about that now.
Since the moment I showed up here, I've been a pain in Dane's ass, and all he's done is take care of me, even when I provoked him to anger.
And now I've gone and made it worse, even if I did have noble intentions toward my friend.
He's being tormented by these packages. Week after week, someone's dragging up every terrible thing he's ever done and forcing him to relive it. And instead of supporting him and showing him we're in this together, I threw a fucking tantrum.
God, I'm selfish.
I sit up, pushing the quilt aside, and swing my legs out of bed.
The floor is cold beneath my bare feet. I grab one of his flannel shirts from the chair and pull it on over the tank top I'm wearing, then pad into the main room.
The fire crackles, and I shiver, but I look to the kitchen where his coffee pot sits on the counter, still half full from this morning.
I want to do something to make this better, so I pour a cup and add the ridiculous amount of sugar he pretends not to want but always drinks anyway. Then I stand there as the microwave reheats it, trying to figure out how to apologize to a man who doesn't accept apologies easily.
He's trying to reform himself. That's what this whole thing is about, isn't it? He left that life, walked away from the violence and the killing, and started over here in the mountains. It might not be much—a cabin, some solitude—but it's his. And he's letting me share that for now.
If changing my appearance is what it takes to keep us safe, then that's what I'll do. He was right about Wade. If the sheriff doesn't buy our story, everything falls apart. Dane goes to prison for harboring me. I get sent home where Cal can find me easily. We both lose.
So I'll cut my hair. Bleach it. Become someone else for a while.
I dig under the bathroom sink and find some bleach, then find the scissors on the bathroom counter and grab the coffee from the microwave and carry the supplies out to the barn, coffee in one hand, bleach and scissors in the other.
The door is cracked open, and I push through and find Dane inside pacing.
His jacket is off, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, and the package from earlier sits open on the workbench—another box, another horror I don't understand.
From here I can see what looks like glass, maybe an ornament, but I can't make out the details.
And Dane barely notices me. This is eating him alive and I hate that I can't stop it.
"Hey." I keep my voice soft this time as I tiptoe in and raise the mug in surrender.
He looks up at me and grunts, "What are you doing out here?" But his voice is strained. Maybe I've read him all wrong and he's not hiding from me. Maybe he's hiding from his past, and that's why he's out here so much.
"Bringing you coffee." I hold up the mug. "And an apology."
He doesn't take the coffee at first, but his expression hardens for a moment.
"I'm sorry," I say, moving closer. "For being selfish and stubborn and not thinking about what you're dealing with. You're right about Wade. And I should've listened instead of fighting you."
He takes the coffee now, wrapping both hands around the mug but not drinking. "You were right too. I can't ask you to erase yourself just because I'm scared."
"You weren't wrong to be scared. This…" I gesture at the package on the workbench. "This is serious. Someone's trying to destroy you, piece by piece. And I made it worse by being reckless."
"You're allowed to want your life back." He sips the coffee, and I see the surprise flicker across his face when he tastes the sugar. "I forget sometimes that you're not here by choice. That you're a victim in this too."
"I'm here by choice now." I sigh and lean on his workbench. "I don't think I'd be safe anywhere else."
His eyes search mine like he's testing to see whether I’m lying, but I'm not. "I brought these." I set down the scissors and bleach on the workbench. "If you want to cut my hair, bleach it, make me look different, I'm ready. I call a truce."
He stares at the supplies for a long moment. Then he picks them up and moves them to the side, out of the way. "No."
"No?"
"I was wrong to ask you to hide. Hiding never solved my problems. It just delayed them.
" He sets down his coffee and crosses his arms, leaning against the workbench beside me.
"I've spent five years running from my past and look where that got me.
Right back where I started, except now I've dragged you into it too. "
"So, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying it's time to stop running and go on the offensive." Dane looks more determined than I've seen him in weeks, but that sort of scares me. "Cal Maddox wants to play games? Fine. But he made a mistake bringing you into this. He made it personal. And now I'm going to end him."
I want to ask him what he means by "personal", but seeing this side of him come out makes my belly flutter.
And it's absurdly attractive.
His eyes sweep down over me, and I can tell he's noticing the flush of my cheeks. I'm attracted to him. There's no point in hiding it now. We've already fucked once.
"I'm going to the city," he continues, and I force myself to focus on his words instead of the way his muscles flex beneath his shirt. "I'm gonna track down Cal, figure out where he's operating from, and I'm going to make him stop. Permanently."
"When?" The practical part of my brain that's spent years as a trauma nurse handling emergencies kicks in. I want to know logistics and time frame. If I’m alone in these mountains, I need to know what's happening out in the real world. "How?"
"Soon. I need a few days to gather intel, confirm his location, plan my approach." He picks up his coffee again, taking another drink. "My buddy Jason gave me some contacts, people who might know where Cal's been hiding. I'll probably meet up with him and see if he has anything else for me."
"What do you need me to do?" I ask, even as another thought creeps in. If he's going to the city, he could take me there and hide me. I don’t have to be obvious. I could stay hidden. But even as I think it, I know it's selfish of me.
"Stay here. Stay safe." I don't like his tone or his instructions, but I've already caused problems once today.
I don't want him to think I'm impossible.
"Cal doesn't know exactly where we are yet, which means this cabin is still secure.
But if you leave, he'll find you, and I won't be there to protect you. "
"You think he'll come after me?"
"I know he would. You're part of his revenge fantasy. In his mind, you let his father die on that table. You're as guilty as I am." He sets down the coffee and moves closer to me, touching my elbow lightly. "I need you to be safe."
The intensity in his gaze pins me in place.
Dane is serious when he says he needs me safe, but I'm not sure why he's saying it.
It makes me uncomfortably warm but still hesitantly afraid.
If Dane's catching feelings for me the way I am for him, it could be really bad for his concentration.
He has to go up against a killer. I'm not sure I'm okay with him just riding off into the sunset with some murdering spree on his mind when he's distracted.
"Come inside," I say, taking his hand. "Let me cook you dinner. The venison from last week needs to be eaten, and I found potatoes in the cellar. You need to eat something before you start planning how to take down a crime family."
The corner of his mouth twitches and I almost see a smile. "You're going to cook me dinner?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm a decent cook when I'm not arguing with you about nutrition."
"The last time you cooked, you tried to make me eat quinoa."
"And you survived." I tug him toward the door. "Tonight, you get actual meat and potatoes. No vegetables in sight."
"Now you're speaking my language." He lets me pull him playfully toward the door, and I manage to avoid eye contact, but we break the handhold several steps outside the closed barn door. This comfortable closeness between us is growing, but I don’t know how to respond to it.
Dane is a mystery wrapped in the flesh of a man so intoxicating it makes me want him every time I see him.
But he's also a dangerous man, one who could easily snap my neck like he's breaking kindling for his fireplace.
And the men he's hunting, the ones I'm supposed to be terrified of, they're even worse than him.
When I started looking into the death of Domingo Maddox, I never thought this would all land on my doorstep.
I just wanted to know who he was and what he was involved in.
Maybe I had a smidge of hope I'd be able to track down the man who shot him to help ease some of the burden of guilt I carried.
He died on my operating table, for fucks' sake.
But this?
Meeting Dane the way I did is the biggest red flag I've ever witnessed in my life, and instead of running away from him, I picked it up and started waving it around. Now I've fucked him and managed to get his attention and tonight, I'm playing house, cooking him dinner.
I'm insane.
This is insane.
And I pray to God that I don't end up regretting the day I was born. Because if anyone has the power to make me rethink my entire life, it's Dane Strouse.