A blood-curdling scream tears through the cabin. Raw fear bleeds through the crevices of the wall separating us.
Ava.
The book drops from my hands as I bolt upright.
“Ava!” I’m already moving, feet pounding against the hardwood floor, the hallway elongating in my panic.
I shove her door open, imagining the worst.
She’s thrashing in the bed, tangled in her quilt, sweat slicking her skin. Her eyes are wide open, but they look hollow and dead. Those pouty lips part in a silent gasp before another cry rips free.
I rush to her side, gripping her shoulders. “Ava! Hey—hey, you’re okay. Look at me, I think you’re dreaming.”
Her eyes blink, and she jerks upright, gasping like she’s drowning. For a second, she looks straight through me, chest heaving, eyes wide and full of fear.
“I saw it,” she breathes. “Outside. Watching me.”
My stomach knots. “It was just a dream.”
She nods, but it's shaky, like she’s trying to convince herself. “I was in bed… just like this. And I knew it was out there. Every hair on my body stood straight up. It was right up against the window. I couldn’t see it, but Iknewit was there. Staring in. Watching. Waiting.”
I glance toward the window. The curtain’s still drawn, but the cold burrowing through the glass seeps into the room, regardless of the crackling fire in the stove.
“There’s nothing out there,” I say, though my voice doesn’t carry the conviction I want it to.
Ava wraps her arms around herself, like she’s trying to hold her body still from shaking. “It just needed me to see it,” she murmurs, drawing back into the trance-like state I found her in.
I rest my hand on Ava’s shoulder and give her a comforting squeeze before moving toward the window. I’m careful not to let the floorboards creak too loudly and advertise my approach. The curtains are made from the same gauzy fabric as the ones in the living room. I draw it aside and press my face close to the glass, blocking out the reflection from the room behind me.
Nothing. Just a whole lot of black on the back side of the cabin.
But it’s the kind of black that isn’t empty, more like it’s shrouding something in wait. The snow reflects nothing, even though I know the clouds have cleared and the moon is damn near full. I should be able to see the trees out in the distance, steadily swaying in the wind. But they don’t. I strain, scanning the tree line, looking for a shape she might’ve imagined. Anything tall or off-kilter, an unnerving shadow playing tricks on tired eyes.
Still nothing.
I force my breath out slowly and let the curtain fall back into place.
“There’s nothing out there,” I say again, a little steadier this time, now that I’ve confirmed. I turn back to her. “You had to be dreaming, Ava. That’s all. Just a bad one, not surprising after the night you’ve had.”
Her eyes are still wide, but some of the panic ebbs at my justifications. Her posture loosens as she sinks back against the pillows, relaxing her rigid form for the first time since I stepped foot in here. Her chest rises and falls in the same rhythm as mine, like she’s trying to match our breaths.
“You’re right,” she murmurs. “It just felt so… real. Like it was standing right at the glass, calling to me somehow. Like if I looked, it’d be there, waiting for me to let it in.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, the mattress giving beneath my weight. “Dreams can get weird like that out here, when you’re isolated with no communication to the outside world. You mix it with blood loss and whiskey, it’s no surprise your brain starts throwing wild shit at you. ”
A corner of her mouth twitches at my less-than-eloquent explanation.
She’s quiet for a long moment. The only sound between us is our now synchronized breathing and the dull tick of the stove pipe cooling as her fire dies down. That’s my cue to go.
Then she says it, soft and hesitant, “Would you stay… with me tonight?”
My breath hitches, my eyes casting down at my almost naked body. In all my haste to see what was going on, I didn’t bother pulling clothes back on.
I glance at her, unsure if making her comfortable is worth climbing into bed—in my boxers—with my best friend’s daughter. But she’s not flirting. There’s no lust in her expression.No devious plan hiding behind shining eyes. She looks vulnerable and way too fucking young.
My judgment takes a backseat, and I nod. “Yeah. I can stay.”
She scoots to one side of the bed, giving me space. I look for an extra blanket, but there isn’t one, so I ease in beside her. I’m careful to leave a well of space between us and not to crowd her, even though my hardening cock has other ideas. We lie in the dark. The blankets rustle as she settles in. I readjust, turning my back to her, doing my damndest not to make this more awkward than it already is.
