Chapter 11 Hunter
HUNTER
The storm has passed, leaving a pale gold sun over the mountains and a thick blanket of silence.
I’m up and out early, chopping wood—each swing more about control than necessity.
The rhythmic thud of the axe against frozen logs echoed across the clearing.
I need it to ground myself, to calm myself, as all the words spoken aloud last night come racing back.
The storm is over, so I know what happens next.
Behind me, I hear the door open, and Sierra steps out onto the porch, her boots crunching in the snow.
I know she heard me get out of bed earlier this morning, but she stayed still, pretending to sleep.
Morning has a way of highlighting everything the night holds—all the secret promises whispered that now have to be faced in the light.
The fact that she gave me space only made the tightness in my chest worse.
The I love you’s that were said, the I’m yours and tell me you’re mine, were still bouncing around in my mind—and off the cabin walls.
It’s heavy, it’s a lot and it’s happening so fast.
I feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to speak first. Her arms are folded in front of her, protecting her against the cold, and she’s wearing those ridiculous pink snow boots. God, she looks like a sunrise in a world I’d long forgotten about.
I hate how much I notice it.
“Go back inside. It’s cold.”
She clears her throat. “You planning to chop wood until spring?”
“Plenty to do before the next storm.”
She stands rigid, staring at me. “You mean plenty to avoid.”
I slam the axe into the stump with a sharp crack. “Not now, Sierra.”
I hear her step closer, her voice softer now. “I get it. Last night was more than we expected. But you don’t get to pretend it doesn’t mean something.”
I don’t turn around. “I’m not pretending. I’m correcting.”
“Excuse me?”
I face her then, wiping the sweat from my brow—but it wasn’t from the exertion of cutting wood.
It was her. I know better than to say what I was about to say, but I can’t stop the words from coming out anyway.
“We were snowed in. Things got intense. That doesn’t mean this—” I gesture between us, “—is a thing.”
Her face pales. She acts like I didn’t just cut her open, but I did. And I see it. And it wrecks me—because she’s been pushed aside before. But I had to stop this now.
“So you’re back to being the emotionally unavailable mountain man?” she says, biting off the words. “That was quick.”
“It was temporary. You knew that.”
“No. I thought I knew who you were. But now I’m wondering if all that honesty was just some kind of test to see how fast you could get me into bed.”
I look away. “You’ll leave, Sierra. Maybe not today, but eventually. And when you do, I’ll be the one left with the mess.”
She takes a long, shaky breath, and I brace for the fury I know is coming.
“You’re not afraid of me leaving, Hunter. You’re afraid of needing someone again. Of hoping. And instead of facing that, you’d rather burn it all down.”
My hands clench at my sides. “That’s not—”
“It is. And you know what?” Her voice cracks. “I wasn’t asking you to promise anything. I was just asking you to stop pretending you don’t care.”
We stare at each other as her words echo through the trees.
She shakes her head and turns toward the cabin. “You don’t have to worry about pushing me away, Hunter. You already did.”