I wake with a start, my fingers aching as I slowly unclench them from the sheet. I blink a few times, seeing the time on the clock come into view.
1:21.
The room is dark, and I turn over onto my back, the cool air hitting my bare breasts. I quickly pull the sheet up, covering myself as I remember everything we just did a couple hours ago.
And in the truck yesterday.
I reach down, slipping my hand between my legs, the raw skin stinging a little and my thigh muscles aching.
I smile a little.
I’m glad it was him.
What I told him last night was true. No one’s first time is good, but mine was. It hurt, but he was careful with me.
He wasn’t selfish or mean or impatient.
I look over, but he’s not in bed. I should probably get back to my own, actually.
A light glows from the bathroom, and I sit up and slide my hand under the sheets, finding my panties and shirt. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I slip them both on and stand up, stretching. I wet my dry lips as I pull off the rubber band on my wrist and tie back my hair, walking for the sink to get a glass of water.
But as soon as I step into the bathroom, I see Jake standing in front of the mirror turned to the side, with his arm raised, and gazing at the tattoo on his hip.
My Mexico.
He catches my eyes in the mirror, and I drop mine, backing out of the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” I hear him ask.
I stop and step back into view, but I just want to be gone now. Out of his way.
I rub my eyes. “Just giving you your privacy,” I mutter and make to escape again.
“Why?”
I hesitate, shifting on my feet.
Because…
You didn’t ask me to come in. I don’t want to intrude.
Because I know what this is.
And I’m not her.
He stares at me through the mirror as he turns on the water and fills up a glass.
Without letting myself think, I walk over and press my forehead to his back, close my eyes, and wrap my arms around his waist.
He stills, letting me.
I don’t know why I do it, but the feel of him—of someone warm and strong—in my arms makes this weird feeling swell in my chest, and I lay my cheek against his spine, hearing his heart beat.
It feels good to feel this. To be touched. To ask for what I need even if he wants me to leave. Just for a minute.
Finally, I sigh and pull away, but he catches my arms around his stomach before I escape and tugs me back into place.
“Stay.”
My chin trembles, my heart races, and tears fill my eyes.
I dip my head back into his back and try not to cry.
He’s not my parents.
He’s not my parents.
He wants me around.
It’s okay.
I draw in a deep breath and release it slowly. It’s okay.
He stands there silently, thankfully not asking any fucking questions about why I’m almost crying again as I hug him. He just holds my arms in front of him, hanging onto me in a way.
“Are you thinking about her?” I ask.
But he remains silent as he dumps out his water and sets the glass down.
“It’s okay if you are.”
“I’ve never really talked about her,” he says in almost a whisper, “to anyone but you.”
I snake my hand back around his waist, breathing in the smell of his skin. “What did she do that you liked?” I say.
He inhales a deep breath and takes my hand, leading me over to the shower.
“Her hands in my hair,” he replies, turning on the shower.
He tests the water and then turns around, coming behind me and pulling out my rubber band, so he can tie my hair up higher into a bun on the top of my head.
I grin at the gesture. Was he like this with her? Probably more so. If he’s this sweet with me, what was he like with a woman he loved?
I feel his fingers under the hem of my shirt, and I stop him, turning around and shaking my head.
Holding his eyes, I peel back the curtain and step into the shower, letting the water soak me. His eyes fall down my body as the water trickles down my stomach and thighs, the white shirt and silk panties molding to my skin.
Just like she would’ve looked when they swam together.
I lean against the wall and watch as he pushes his pants down his legs, his cock already stiff.
God. Three times in the truck. Once in the bed. Apparently, I wasn’t too much for him to handle. Or vice versa.
He closes the curtain, darkness and steam filling the shower and our eyes still locked.
He presses into me, but I keep my hands at my side.
“And what did you do then?” I ask. “After she ran her hands through your hair?”
He lifts my leg, and I bite my lip as he pulls my wet panties to the side and pushes inside of me.
I dig my nails into his arms, the pain and sting from being entered once again mixing with the pleasure of being filled. His mouth hovers over mine, breathing through his teeth as he pumps his dick.
“Close your eyes,” I pant with his thrusting. “Make love to her.”
He shuts his eyes, and I circle my arms around his neck, hanging on as he lifts Flora into his arms and fucks her against the wall. I run my hand up the back of his head and over the top, threading my fingers through his hair, relishing the sweet ache deep inside.
I moan between our kisses, the water on his mouth warm and sweet. I close my eyes, too, letting him go back. Letting him sink into the fantasy, because I want him to remember how he loved her and know how lucky she was to have him. That it wasn’t his fault.
That my parents weren’t his fault.
He slides in and out of me, grunting as I tip my head back and letting his mouth trail down my neck as I thread my fingers through his hair once again.
“I love you,” he murmurs. “But Tiernan uses her nails, and I like that more.”
Butterflies rush through my stomach, and I tip my forehead to his, immediately curling my claws and dragging them lightly down the back of his head.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he tells me.
I do, seeing him looking straight at me as the steam billows around us.
“I could never pretend you weren’t you,” he says. “I don’t want to.”
I hold his eyes, our bodies moving faster as his fingers dig into my ass.
“You remind me so much of her,” he whispers, not breaking his rhythm. “I’m remembering things I haven’t thought about in a long time.”
The tip of his dick hits my spot, and I throw my head back and arch my back, moaning.
“How possessive I was with her.” He grabs my face and brings me in, kissing me. “I’d forgotten about that. How we fought a lot about the dumbest stuff. How thoughtless and impatient I was.”
We fight about the dumbest stuff, too, but I don’t tell him that. If he hadn’t fought me, I wouldn’t be any different now.
He holds me, and I hold him, breathing hard against each other’s lips. “How overpowering the sex was,” he goes on, “because our emotions were so much bigger than we were and we lost control. And how we were young and fucked away every problem. I don’t want that anymore.”
“What do you want?” I ask.
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
And then he lowers his voice, barely a whisper. “I want you to like this.”
I do.
But before I have a chance to respond, he drops me to my feet, twists me around, and pins me to the wall. I gasp as he spreads my legs and thrusts inside of me again, pushing my body up on my tiptoes as he holds my thigh wide with one hand. With the other, he reaches around and slips his hand inside my panties.
“I want you happy, Tiernan,” he says low and husky in my ear. “I want my sons happy.”
He fucks me up against the wall, thrusting faster and faster as I turn my head to meet his lips.
“And I want you to know that no matter where you go,” he tells me between kisses, “you’ll always be ours. We’re your home.”
“I know,” I whimper.
Forehead to forehead, we hold each other’s eyes. “And I want you at my table in the morning and in my bed at night.”
I rock into the tiled wall, my breasts crushing against its surface, but I don’t care. I look over my shoulder, loving to watch him do this to me.
“Turns out that fucking prick did something right.” He pulls me back against him, kissing me deep and pinching my nipple. “He gave you to us. Our little princess. Ours. All ours.”
And that does it, the little sting of pain and his possessive words, and I’m backing up into him, hungry to come. He grabs my hips, helping me as we both moan and cry out, my pussy clenching around him.
“We’ll wake them up,” I gasp out.
But neither of us can stop.
My orgasm crests, and I rub my clit as he hits deeps. “Oh, God, don’t stop,” I beg. “Don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” he growls. “Fuck.”
He pounds harder and harder, and I slam my hands into the wall, crying out one more time as my entire body comes apart, a burst of tingles exploding under my skin.
I breathe hard, whimpering as he falls into me, still squeezing my thighs in his hands.
“Fuck,” he whispers, out of breath. “We should….” His chest rises and falls against my back. “We should probably use condoms, I think. Even if you are on the pill, this is too much to risk it.”
I nod, too tired to argue. He’s probably right. Five times in twelve hours won’t be a daily thing, I’m sure, but the more it happens, the bigger the chance.
He lifts up. “Even if this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he adds as he rubs his thumb across my inner thigh. I blush, feeling him seep out of me. I don’t know what it looks like, but I like how it feels.
I peel off my clothes, wring them out, and rinse myself off, both of us climbing out of the shower and drying off.
I go into his room and pull out a pair of his blue boxer shorts, rolling them up a few times to make them fit, and one of his T-shirts. I need something dry to wear between here and my room.
I take my wet clothes and give him a peck on the cheek.
He pauses in the middle of pulling on a shirt. “What are you doing?”
“Going back to bed,” I reply. “While I still have my legs under me.”
He cocks an eyebrow, but I see the smile he tries to bite back.
Seriously, though. I need actual sleep.
And space. Too much too fast makes me a little afraid. I like what I found here. I don’t want to lose myself again.
“See you tomorrow night,” I whisper as I come in and kiss him again, this time on the lips.
“Tomorrow night,” he replies.
I turn to leave, but then I stop and ask, “Do I have to still be up for morning chores?”
He narrows his eyes in confusion.
“I mean, since mine go later at night now?”
His eyes go round, and he bares his teeth, whipping out his hand and smacking me on the ass.
I laugh and rush out the door, closing it behind me.
But not before I catch his smile as he shakes his head.
I like his smile. We so rarely get to see it. I blow out a breath and make my way to my room, but a scent suddenly hits me, and I stop, looking to my right.
There, in the narrow, dark stairwell leading up to the third floor, an orange ember burns bright and a cloud of smoke drifts out from the black.
My smile falls.
Kaleb. I glance at Jake’s door, gauging his bedroom is well within earshot of the stairwell. How long has Kaleb been sitting there?
He moves, the floorboards creaking as he stands up, and I straighten as he emerges from the darkness, staring at me as he takes another drag and then drops the butt to the floor, stepping on it with his bare foot.
My stomach coils, and I shoot my eyes up to meet his again.
“What?” I ask.
But of course, he remains silent.
He walks toward me, and I move, backing up to my room, but he shoots out his hand and blocks me. I hit the wall, dropping my wet clothes as he comes in close, bearing down.
Shit. So what is he thinking? We’ll go out to the shop and finish what he started weeks ago? I’ll be easy now?
His warm body and bare chest hover close, and I turn my face away, almost shivering at his hot breath on my cheek.
Bending down, he picks up my red panties that are still damp from the shower, and stands back up, rubbing the material between his fingers as he stares at them.
A moment of guilt hits me, but I don’t know why.
I grab for the underwear, but he yanks them away, and my stomach hardens like a wall of bricks. I slap him.
He jerks a little but doesn’t falter.
I grab for the panties again, but the fabric tears as he pulls his arm away. He balls my underwear in his hand, his eyes angry and on fire as he slams the fist into the wall by my head. I suck in a breath, cowering on reflex.
What did I do? Like he actually cares.
Everything I felt a moment ago with Jake is gone. I straighten, ready to shove his son off me, but before I have a chance, Kaleb grabs me.
Taking me by the arms, he backs me up into my room and pushes me down on the bed, pinning me there.
“Get off,” I growl, fighting his arms, but he’s quick to keep hold.
He rears up a little, and I barely have a moment for realization to dawn before I turn away and squeeze my eyes shut, his spit landing in my hair.
Tears immediately spring to my eyes, and my chest swells with a cry.
He grabs something off my nightstand, and when he drags it across my forehead, I realize it’s my marker.
He quickly climbs off me, tosses the Sharpie, and I lie there, too stunned to move for a moment.
I don’t have to look in the mirror to know what he wrote.
He leaves the room, his footfalls heavy on the stairs to the attic, and when I hear his door slam shut, I finally sit up.
Tears hang in my eyes, but I’m not crying anymore.
I stare off, angry and feeling dirty all of a sudden.
But after a moment, the shame turns to more rage, and I almost smile.
He’s pissed.
I’m almost amused.
He’s had at least three women in his room since I’ve been here, not counting Cici in the barn that day. But I’m the slut who gets spat on. Would I have still been one if I’d let him and Noah share me that night last week?
His fucking spit weighs in my hair, and it’s all I feel. The anger building in my lungs with every breath is almost enough to drown out the ache.
Ours, Jake had said. All ours.
But in the quiet of my room, the dull thrum of Kaleb’s music vibrating overhead, I shake my head.
“Yours,” I murmur. “Not his.”
“No laptops at the table,” Jake says at breakfast.
He picks up my computer, and I grab my notebook and pencil off it just in time so it won’t tumble to the floor. “This assignment is due.” I argue. “I’ve been trying to send it for an hour now, but the Internet keeps going out.”
“They’ll understand.” He closes the top and sets it on the counter. “Try again later.”
I frown, but I toss my notebook and pen on the counter with the computer, giving in. I was on a roll. I’ve never had trouble being motivated for homework until now. You wouldn’t think a remote little place tucked away in secluded little Chapel Peak, Colorado, would provide so many distractions, but I constantly want to be doing a million other things.
Petting the animals.
Making treats for the animals.
Playing with the animals.
I glance at Jake as he doles out oatmeal into my bowl. Tucked away somewhere quiet with one animal in particular.
He must sense me watching, because he shoots his eyes over, meeting mine as he pours heaping scoops into the boys’ bowls. I spot the slight curl of a smile, because he knows exactly what I’m thinking, but he quickly hides it again as he drops the ladle back into the pot.
I tuck my grin between my teeth, picking up my spoon.
Both boys walk in, Noah shivering as he slips off his coat and sits down at the table, while Kaleb heads to the sink, washing his hands. I look out the window.
There’s no glow of the sun that’s usually hitting the deck by now, and I can’t smell the barn on their clothes—the hay and the animals—that’s usually so pungent. It’s too cold.
“How many inches are we expecting tonight?” I ask, knowing without looking at the weather that it’s going to snow.
Noah lets out a chuckle as if I just told a joke, and Jake stops dead, cocking his head, and throwing him a look.
And then it occurs to me. Inches. I roll my eyes and sprinkle some brown sugar on my oatmeal. Idiot.
He looks at his father, holding up his hands in defense. “I would’ve made that joke no matter what.”
Kaleb pulls out the chair across from me and starts to eat, and I watch him for a moment, almost hoping he meets my eyes. My forehead still stings from all the scrubbing it took to get that Sharpie off.
But he doesn’t look. Again, I’m not even here.
I drop my gaze and stick a spoonful in my mouth. I should tell Jake what happened last night after I left his room, but that wouldn’t hurt Kaleb. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and Jake can’t control him. The most annoying thing I can do to Kaleb is to keep doing exactly what I’ve been doing.
I stick another bite in my mouth and look back down at my copy of Beloved, turning the page.
“Have you ever seen snow before?” I hear Noah ask. “Oh, never mind. My mistake. You’re totally a Swiss Alps girl.”
“French, thank you,” I say without looking up from my book.
I take a bite, remembering the last time I skied. Another activity I could do alone, so I loved it. Winter and snow don’t suck if you’re having fun in it.
I look up again. “Yes, I’ve seen it,” I tell Noah, joking aside. “I haven’t played in it much, though. Or driven in it or lived in it. But I have seen The Shining, and I do know what happens to people cooped up at a remote location through a long winter in Colorado. It can be quite deadly.”
He chuckles, and I look back down at my food, but catch Kaleb’s eyes and stop for a moment. He watches me, his body still and his hot, green eyes hard on me.
I clear my throat.
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Noah jabs me in the ribs, teasing.
I squirm away in my seat. “Stop it.”
“All play and no work means I got a new toy,” he sing-songs and slides his chair over to mine, tickling me harder.
“Noah, stop!” I protest, but I giggle anyway as I squirm in his arms.
I’ve never been tickled before coming here, and I don’t like it.
But I can’t stop laughing.
I shake my head and kick him under the table, the silverware clanking. I’m dying to hit him, but I’m too busy trying to twist away from his fingers as I tear up through the laughter.
“Hands off,” I hear Jake chide. “Now.”
But Noah doesn’t listen.
He brings his hand up under my neck, and I go to bite it, but he pulls it away. I jab him back, tickling him, too, and we push back our chairs, the legs scaping against the tile as I start to fight back.
When I was little, my parents’ friends had a daughter who invited me to her birthday sleepover—because of who my parents were and not because we were friends—
but I remember seeing the dad wrestling with his toddler on the floor that night. They laughed and played, rolled around and he let the little boy tickle him back. It was such a weird thing to see. Families who played together.
I dart out for his glass, ready to threaten him with a little shower, but before I can take it, Kaleb shoves his bowl, hitting the pot in the middle of the table.
It slams into my cup of milk, making my drink topple over, hit the table, and spill across the top. I can’t make it out of the way before it spills over the side and right into my lap.
I shove my chair back, my bare thighs and sleep shorts already soaked as I dart my eyes up to Kaleb.
“Shit,” Noah mumbles, and I see him get up, hopefully to grab a dish towel as Jake shoots his eyes over to Kaleb.
I clench my jaw.
Spoke too soon. Not everyone in this family plays together, I guess, and someone certainly isn’t in the mood. I look up, meeting Kaleb’s eyes.
He stares at me across the table, the kitchen now silent, and if there was any doubt about whether or not that was deliberate, there isn’t now. The cold milk streams down my thighs and drips to the floor, and Jake stares down at him, breathing hard.
Noah tosses a towel into my lap and takes another, quickly wiping up the mess. Kaleb and I are still locked in a stare.
He’s all over me one minute. Can’t stand me the next. Pulls me into his lap, so I don’t get soda all over my clothes, and then turns around and douses me.
Sliding my fingers under my sweater, I hold Kaleb’s eyes as I pull down my shorts and slip them off my legs. My top hangs just below my ass, and I cock my head, watching his gaze falter as he drops it to my legs for a moment. I’m staying here. He’s not making me run. Or cry. He might not like someone new in the house—or a girl in the house—but I didn’t ask for this, either.
I sit there, showing him that he won’t make me run and hide anymore, and when he relaxes back into his chair, the tension in his muscles underneath his shirt easing, I think I finally have.
But then I watch as he slides his spoon into his bowl of oatmeal and lifts it up, facing me instead of putting it into his mouth.
“Kaleb, no.” Jake moves for him.
But he flings the tip of the utensil, the glob of oatmeal on the end launching across the table. I jerk my face to the side, squeezing my eyes shut just in time for it to land across my jaw, the warm goo splattering across my face.
“Goddammit!” Jake barks and rises, reaching for Kaleb.
But I interject, swallowing the ache in my chest. “It’s okay.”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Jake yells at him, fisting his shirt.
“It’s okay,” I say louder, letting the mess stick to my skin and not making any move to clean it.
But Noah scolds him. “Kaleb…”
Jake pulls Kaleb to his feet.
Stop!” I blurt out. “It’s okay.”
Jake darts his eyes over his shoulder to me. “It’s not okay.”
“It’s how babies communicate,” I explain.
He narrows his eyes, and I look to Kaleb, lifting my chin an inch.
“Right?” I taunt him. “They throw things, because they can’t use their words.” I pick a glob off my face and whip it into my bowl. “Did you want more? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Kaleb?”
I pinch the fingers of each hand together and bob the tips of my right hand and left hand together. “Like this,” I instruct him. “More.”
Like babies who learn sign language to communicate before they can talk. Except Kaleb can talk. And write and sign. I used to think he just didn’t want to communicate, but no. He has no trouble communicating.
“Can you do that?” I ask him, making my voice light and sugary like I’m talking to a child. “Mooooore.”
He growls, throws his father off, and grabs the table, flipping it over. I gasp, watching the table crash to the floor on its side, everything on top spilling to the tile. Dishes break, the oatmeal in the pot splatters across the refrigerator, and Noah’s juice hits Jake’s jeans before shattering on the floor.
I can’t tell what’s happening on Jake’s or Noah’s faces, but I don’t move as I try to hide how my heart hammers in my chest.
I look up at Kaleb and almost smile, despite the fear. He’s losing his mind.
And he’s mean.
Did I just win and now he’ll stop?
Or did I make it worse and now I have to wait for him to strike again?
Before anyone moves, he’s gone. Spinning around, he walks out of the kitchen, and I hear the door open and slam shut as he leaves the house.
Unfortunately, he can’t go far, though.
Jake starts to follow him, but I call out. “Stop.”
It’s between Kaleb and me.
Jake turns, regarding me for a minute. “What the hell is going on? He’s never acted like that.”
I kind of feel a pang of pride at hearing that.
But I just shrug my shoulders and stand up, my long sweatshirt covering my underwear as I reach for the paper towels to clean myself up. “Just playing.”
Poor Noah got stuck cleaning up the kitchen, because Jake went out looking for his son only to find that Kaleb had taken the snowmobile out hunting. Good. I hope he is gone all day.
Hell, hunting can take multiple days. And since we just bagged a buck yesterday, we don’t need the meat, which means he wants to be gone as much as I want him gone.
I don’t understand him. I wanted to, but he’s like an animal. He eats. He mates. He fights. That’s it.
He can’t be jealous. He didn’t seem angry when Noah was on top of me the other night.
Noah. I drop my eyes.
And Jake.
My cheeks warm, and the guilt I’ve been pushing away creeps in again.
I’ll never not understand why it happened with Jake. Or why it could’ve happened with Noah. Something about this house—these people—lend credence every day to what I always knew I needed. Not sex. Not a guy.
Just a place. Somewhere or someone to feel like home.
And yesterday, Jake Van der Berg needed that just as much as me. I guess I feel guilty, because others won’t understand it. They’ll have opinions, but the great thing is they’ll probably never find out. Mirai’s not here. Strangers with smartphones aren’t here. TMZ’s not here.
We’re free.
I spend the rest of the morning catching up on school work and finally getting it submitted online when I can catch a signal, and then I bundle up in my coat, boots, gloves, and hat and step outside. A sprinkle of snow falls, little wet flakes hitting my face as I close the door, and I stop, tipping my face up to the cloudy sky.
I love this. The air seeps into my pores and caresses my face, making the loose hairs peeking out of my hat float and flit in the breeze. For a moment, everything is quiet, except for the sound of the snowflakes hitting the twelve inches of beautiful, untouched blanket on the deck.
Snowfall isn’t like rainfall. Rain is passion. It’s a scream. It’s my hair sticking to my face as I wrap my arms around him. It’s spontaneous, and it’s loud.
Snowfall is like a secret. It’s whispers and firelight and searching for his warmth between the sheets at two a.m. when the rest of the house is asleep.
It’s holding him tightly and loving him slowly.
I open my eyes, breathing out a puff of steam into the air and watching it dissipate.
The cordless screwdriver whirs in the shop, and I take a step, the snow packing under my feet as I head down the stairs. Noah and Jake work away behind the closed doors, and I walk past the shop, kind of wishing they’d let me go for a hike by myself.
But I get it. The wilderness is dangerous enough, and I’m a rookie in the snow.
Stepping into the stable, I walk for Shawnee, such a beautiful bay mare with a red-brown body and black legs, eyes, and a mane. Even the tips of her ear ears are black. She looks like a fox, and I can tell she’s plotting her next escape.
“Hey.” I grin and reach into my pocket, pulling out the plastic tube filled with her favorite treat. Tearing it open with my teeth, I push the frozen fruit juice up and out of the wrapping and break it off, feeding it to her with my hand. Her muzzle digs into my palm, grabbing hold of the flavored ice, and I come in closer as her head hangs over the door to her stall. I break off another piece and then another, feeding her the rest. As she chews and chews, I take off my glove and rub my hand up and down her snout and then up to her forehead.
“You keeping warm?” I ask, rubbing her all over the head and nuzzling my own into her. It’s amazing how warm she actually is. Jake blankets the older horses at night, but he doesn’t want to baby Shawnee. She gets more than enough hay, and he assures me she’s acclimated to the frigid winter temps as long as she doesn’t get her winter coat wet. And so far, so good. I guess it’s all relative. A forty-degree day feels better than a nineteen-degree day, but a nineteen-degree day feels a hell of a lot warmer than ten below, too.
I give her a half-smile. “Reality is fickle, isn’t it?” I ask. “We can get used to almost anything.”
We all acclimate. We learn, we resolve, we come around—it’s not that anything really gets easier or harder. We just get better at rolling with it. I’m not sure these men will be different because of me, but I’ll be different because of them. I like that.
And I don’t.
I pull out another juice pop, and Shawnee immediately stomps her hooves and bobs her head. I smile, tearing open the tube. There’s so much I love about my days now.
I finish feeding and tending to everyone, making sure the three horses have plenty of hay and water, and then I put my glove back on and roam into the barn from the stable. Noah left the buckets I need in here.
I check every corner, behind bales of hay, and all the hooks on the walls, but I don’t see anything. Stopping, I absently shake my head. How does he lose stuff so easily?
But as I start to head out, a loud thud hits my ears, and I jump. I thought they were in the shop.
Three more pounding sounds hit, and I peer around the stalls, not seeing anything or anyone. What…
Forgetting the buckets, I veer left and head down the row of stalls, the sound getting louder the closer I get to the door. Another thud hits, and I blink, slowly reaching out and laying my palm against the door. It doesn’t latch, and even though I see movement behind the cracks and I know who it is, I push the door wide anyway, the hinges whining as the room beyond comes into view.
A large stove burns in the corner of the dark room, fire spitting from its vents as Kaleb stands at a table with his back to me. He raises his ax, coming down hard. Blood splatters, he removes the leg, and then he grabs his hunting knife. A lump rises in my throat, and I can’t breathe.
Oh, God.
I rear back, but I don’t escape in time. The sounds as he tears into the hide of whatever animal he bagged, the serrated edge carving through the skin, muscle, and rib cage, hits my ears as blood immediately spills at his feet.
I swallow the bile down.
He turns, seeing me, and his green eyes hold me frozen as he raises his fingers. Sweat covers his chest and arms, his hair sticking to his temples, and I watch as a small grin curls his lips, and he sticks a finger into his mouth, licking the blood off.
He grips the knife in his other hand, lowering his chin and looking at me as if nothing else exists in the world, and there’s no way they’d hear me out here beyond the machines they’re running in the shop if I screamed.
Yeah, no.
I grab the door and pull it closed as I scurry back out of the room. His light chuckle carries as I quickly disappear from his sight. Asshole.
But then I stop, noticing. He laughed. Out loud.
It wasn’t much, but I heard his deep voice. He’s growled or grunted a few times, but he let me hear him laugh. I narrow my eyes, lost in thought. I wonder if he even realizes.
He let me hear him.
I shrug, shaking it off, and take a step toward the exit. But then something catches my eye, and I look to my right, noticing a ladder. I’m not in the barn much, especially since this is where Kaleb likes to lurk.
Glancing at the door again, behind which he still works, I approach the ladder, placing my boot on the bottom rung and gripping the one level with my head.
I climb, coming up through a door in the floor and stand up in a small room, filled with sheet-covered objects.
Furniture?
I reach out, grab one of the pieces of cloth and pull.
