“I’m not going to?—”
I don’t finish the statement.
Why?
Because I’m suddenly flat on my back, the cloth bag whipping around to smack me in the face.
Thanks, ice.
Thank you so much.
“Oh my god,” Aspen gasps.
“Stay,” I wheeze out.
My entire body is going to hurt tomorrow.
And I’ll probably have a welt in the middle of my forehead too.
I force myself upright, sitting in the snow in my jeans, and reach for the scattered food.
“Cash—” Aspen starts, but I cut her off.
“Stay,” I repeat.
My lungs burn. My ass aches. Shoulders too.
But I make myself rise as Aspen ignores my order and skitters down the steps in those damn purple boots that likely have zero traction.
“It’s icy,” I tell her. “Don’t?—”
“C’mon,” she says, holding out a hand. “Up you go. And then neither one of us is going outside again unless we absolutely have to.”
I glance at the woodpile, barely visible at the side of the house.
We’re going to have to leave. And also hope the extra wood isn’t too wet to burn. Got a feeling we’ll need it.
I don’t want to freak her out, but this situation is going to get worse before it gets better. And I need to get inside and get prepped for it.
“You should’ve stayed in the house,” I grumble as I climb to my feet all on my own.
I don’t want to pull her down.
It’s slick as hell out here.
“You too,” she replies.
We make it the rest of the way inside in silence.
It’s not far.
Maybe ten feet.
But it feels a hundred times longer.
I’m cold. My jeans are wet. I don’t have anything to change into.
If I’d stayed away, she’d be inside, still sleeping. She’d be warm and dry and happy. Having nice dreams and waking up and having her holiday time off her own way.
