The silence is even worse now than it was before. Before, there was at least the tension of anticipation. Now there's just this hollow, uncomfortable quiet and the knowledge that we have to get through an entire week of this.
"I should probably..." Jamie runs a hand through his hair, which is disheveled in ways that make me want to mess it up further. "I might go take a shower. If that's okay."
"Of course." My voice comes out too formal again, like I'm giving a colleague permission to use the facilities. "The bathroom's down the hall. But—" I hesitate, not sure why I'msaying this except that I want to give him something. A small courtesy.
"There's a bath, actually," I say. "A good one. If you'd prefer that."
Jamie looks at me, really looks, for the first time since we finished.
"Come on," I say. "I'll show you."
I lead him down the short hallway to the bathroom. This is the one truly extravagant thing about the cabin, my grandmother's single indulgence in a house otherwise built for simplicity. She had the rolltop bath installed sometime in the seventies. Said she needed one civilized thing out here.
The tub sits beneath a large window that faces east, toward the mountains. In the fading afternoon light, the view is a sweep of winter-bare trees and distant ridges, the sky above them going soft and grey with approaching dusk.
Jamie stops in the doorway. "Oh," he says quietly.
I reach past him to turn on the taps, testing the water temperature until it runs hot. "My grandmother had it installed when she was in her fifties. Said if she was going to live in the wilderness, she was at least going to have a proper bath." I adjust the hot and cold until the temperature feels right. "The water pressure's decent. Takes about ten minutes to fill."
Jamie is staring out the window. Something in his expression has softened. He looks younger suddenly, less guarded. "It's beautiful."
"The sunrise is better. If you're up early enough." I straighten, stepping back to give him space. "You can see the mist rising off the valley. My grandmother used to sit here with her coffee and watch it burn off."
The words feel too personal. I don't know why I'm sharing this. Jamie doesn't need to know about my grandmother'smorning rituals, about the quiet hours I spent here as a child listening to her hum while the bath filled. He's here because he's in heat and he needs an alpha, and I'm here because apparently I can't stay away from him no matter how many reasons I have to try.
"Thank you," Jamie says. Still formal. Still polite. "For... all of this."
I don't know whatall of thisencompasses. The bath? The supplies? The fact that I dropped everything and drove three hours to a remote cabin to help him through his heat? The fact that despite everything between us, I couldn't say no when he asked?
"Towels are in the cabinet," I add. "Take as long as you need."
I step out of the bathroom. The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I stand in the hallway, listening to the water run.
I should do something useful. Get the fire going perhaps. I need something to occupy my hands and stop me from thinking about Jamie on the other side of that door, stripping off his clothes, lowering himself into the hot water.
Instead, I stand there like an idiot, staring at the closed door.
The water keeps running. I can hear the splash and trickle of Jamie settling into the bath, the small sounds of someone getting comfortable. I imagine him sinking into the heat, letting his muscles unclench, looking out at the mountains while my touch washes from his skin.
His heat will hit fully soon, and then it won't matter that we don't know how to talk to each other.
11. Jamie
The water is perfect, just the way I like it—hot enough to sting when I first lower myself in and turn my skin pink. It’s almost hot enough to make me forget, briefly, about the man on the other side of the door.
I stare out at the mountains. The view is genuinely beautiful: winter-bare trees giving way to distant ridges, the sky above them fading from grey to the deep blue. It's the kind of view that belongs on a postcard and I'm annoyed by it. I didn't want to find anything likeable here.
I also didn't expect Carter to do anything other than turn up to fuck me. Instead he took the time to research omega heat care. He drove three hours with a trunk full of groceries and supplies.
At least while we were screwing, we didn’t need to talk to each other. Now, I have to get through an entire evening of... what? Small talk? Polite conversation about the weather and the drive? Hopefully, my heat will hit fully soon, then we won’t feel the need to dance around each other like this.
I sink lower in the water until it laps at my chin.
The cabin is nothing like what I expected either. I thought dynasty money would mean something sleek and modern but this is... homey. Worn. Loved. The kind of place where generations of children have run through the rooms and left their marks on the walls.
I think about the photo of Carter and Kate on the dock. Gap-toothed and sunburned, looking completely human.
