“No.” I’m shaking now, but I don’t stop. “Everyone in town warned me about you. The grumpy bear shifter who makes people cry. The man who lives alone because no onecan stand to be around him. I thought they were exaggerating. I thought maybe you were just misunderstood.”
I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my own ears.
“But they were right. You’re exactly what they said. You’re mean and bitter and so determined to be miserable that you’ll destroy anyone who tries to get close. No wonder you’re alone. No wonder your clan doesn’t want you. No wonder?—“
“Enough.” The word is a growl.
“No wonder you’re going to die on this mountain by yourself.” My voice cracks, but I push through. “Because no one in this town wants to be bothered with you, and now I see why. I don’t give a shit about this job. I don’t give a shit about your money. I quit.”
I turn toward the hallway, my vision blurring.
“I’m leaving,” I say over my shoulder. “Tonight. Storm or no storm, I’m gone.”
“Good.” His voice follows me down the hall. “I’ll even give your little car a push down the mountain.”
The words follow me into the bathroom.
I don’t turn around. I can’t. If I look at him right now, I’ll either scream or cry, and I refuse to do either in front of him.
The bathroom door slams behind me. I lock it with shaking fingers and lean against it, pressing my palms to my eyes.
The tears come anyway.
I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the cold tile floor, making myself small, sobbing as quietly as I can. Because he doesn’t get to hear me break. Doesn’t get to know how deep those words cut.
No wonder your clan doesn’t want you.
No wonder you’re going to die on this mountain by yourself.
I said those things. I said them to hurt him, and from thelook on his face, they landed. But I don’t feel satisfied. I don’t feel vindicated.
I just feel sick.
After a few minutes, the tears slow. I wipe my face with the back of my hand and push myself up off the floor.
Shower. I need a shower. I need to wash this day off me, wash the grime and sweat and tears off my skin. Then I’ll pack my things and get the hell off this mountain. Tonight. I don’t care if I have to dig my car out with my bare hands.
I turn on the water and wait for it to heat up. The mirror is already starting to fog.
I peel off my grimy clothes and step into the spray, letting the hot water run over my head, my shoulders, my back. It feels good. Cleansing. The heat soaks into my sore muscles, loosening the tension I’ve been carrying all day.
I take my time. Shampoo first, working it through my curls, letting my fingers detangle the knots. Then conditioner, the thick creamy kind that makes my hair soft and manageable. I leave it in while I wash my body, scrubbing away the sweat and grime until my skin feels new again.
When I rinse the last of the conditioner out, I just stand there for a moment. Eyes closed. Water streaming down my face. Breathing.
I feel clean. Finally, truly clean.
The tears have dried. The anger has faded to something duller, heavier. I’m tired. So tired. Of this job, of this cabin, of this impossible man who pushes everyone away and then acts wounded when they leave.
But I’m done.
I turn off the water and reach for the towel.
Tonight, I’m getting off this mountain. And I’m never looking back.
9
TOLIN
