He lurches forward, backing me up against the side of the car, his forearm pushing painfully against my throat. Fear races down my spine. My father has never hit me, but this feels different. He raises his hand and I wince, expecting a blow, but he just gives me a pat on the cheek.
“You are a hockey player, Brantley.Thatis your focus. You can’t afford to fuck this up because you feel sorry for the local Nancy boy.” His breath smells like beer, and I fight not to gag. “Keep defending people like that and everyone will think you’re one of them. Do you know what happens if someone thinks you're a homo?”
I shake my head.
“It’s the death of your career, son. I don’t want you to see that kid again. Understand?”
This time, I can’t control my tears. Aiden is my friend.
“Stop it, Brantley. Only pussies cry, and my son is no pussy.”
I jerk awake.My face is wet with tears. I haven’t dreamed about Aiden in a while, and it makes my heart hurt. I wipe away the moisture on my cheeks and squint at the light coming through the window.
I was right—the cabin is frigidly cold this morning. My ears and nose are practically numb. The warm body snuggled up to my side does seem to help, though. Bastian is curled in a ball, his forehead resting against my bare bicep. His shoulders rise and fall with his gentle breaths, and he looks young and vulnerable.
Suddenly, my phone blasts Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy.”
“Must be seven,” I mutter while I fumble toward the nightstand. Not only is the music loud, but every high note she hits makes my phone vibrate against the old wood. My hand bumps the fucking thing as I reach for it, and it clatters to the floor.
Sebastian groans. “What. The. Fuck.”
“Dammit.” I reach down, barely grasping the phone with my fingertips. I turn it off, right myself, and roll over to look at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that’s my alarm.”
“You wake up every morning to Mariah Carey?” He rubs his eyes and glares at the window. “And why is it so fucking bri?—”
I hear something outside and slam my hand over his mouth. “Shhh, do you hear that?”
Bastian pushes my wrist away roughly but cocks his ear to the side. “It sounds like…chopping wood?”
I jump out of bed and walk to the window, peering outside. Fiona is dressed in snow boots and a heavy, oversized flannel. And she’s chopping wood like a sexy lumberjack.
“Holy shit.” I cover my mouth with my hand to hold in laughter.
“What is it?” Bastian asks, and I scoot aside as he crowds me to look out the small window. “What the…”
We watch as she sets up a large log and swings with practiced precision, splitting off part of the stump.
“Why is that so hot?” I mutter.
Bastian leans closer to the glass, his eyes fixed on Fi. “Where on earth did she learn to do that?”
She swings again, her snow-sprinkled hair swaying dramatically with the movement.
I glance over at Bastian, suddenly fully aware that I’m in my underwear and he is half naked. My eyes travel the length of his body, and I’m surprised at how muscular he actually is. He’s lean but still toned and cut in all the right places—the ones I can see anyway.
My throat feels dry and I back up a bit. “It is balls cold in here.” I walk to the bed to put on my rumpled clothing. My stomach feels a little queasy, and I swallow. “So, if we’re stuck here a while, we probably need to figure out a few things.”
Bastian faces me. “Like what?”
I sit on the bed and watch as he pulls on his gray Henley and a pair of dark jeans.
“I have a couple of extra shirts in my truck,” I tell him, “but I might need to borrow some clothing or something. I didn’t really pack for this, you know?” I realize my hands are shaking, and I clutch the quilt, but Bastian catches the movement.
“Are you okay? You look kind of green.”
“I just…haven’t had a drink since the night before last.”
Sebastian gives me a measured look. “I wish I could say I sympathize.”
