Bile rises in my throat as I play everything back through my mind. The argument in the bathroom. The bruises Austin saw. The concern that flickered behind his eyes, like recrimination or judgment.
Just like my grandpa.
But nobody understands. Just me and Trevor.
I grab my cell phone, searching text messages as my heart sinks. Nothing. He could still be in the snow freezing. Or maybe behind bars.
All my fault. Hell to pay.
Low, rich tones drift softly with the next song that comes on. Not a bad voice at all. Apparently, Austin is a cowboy in every way—even the crooning part.
But all I feel is rage for the man who put me in this situation. And for what? Some kind of savior thing?
When I shuffle into the living room, hugging myself, the big man stands in the kitchen shredding fresh parmesan. I note the red flannel half-apron he wears. Every bit a frontier cook, too.
“Sleep well?” he asks like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“About that…”
He stops.
“I stole your bed.” I grimace. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You needed sleep.” He grabs an oven mitt and leans down to pull a tray from the oven.
“Is that lasagna?” My stomach lurches, mouth watering. No breakfast or lunch today.
He nods. “You okay with that?”
“More than okay,” I reply too quickly. My eyes cast to the side, heat blooming across my face. Trevor would have something snarky to say about my enthusiasm. Too fat. Too ravenous. Insatiable.
But the cowboy chooses silence. Again. He sets the steaming, bubbling casserole dish down on the countertop. Garlic, oregano, and basil waft toward me.
“Smells amazing.”
He grunts, face satisfied.
All of this warmth, this caring makes me feel uncomfortable. Especially after scrubbing his knuckles raw. Like I could wash away what happened, the way I did Trevor’s blood.
My body trembles, panicked. As if a part of me would rather flee out into the snow than stand here soaking up his unearned kindness.
“You shouldn’t have cooked for me,” I say suddenly. “Honestly, I need to go.”
“Go?” His deep laugh booms through the cabin. “In that?” he asks, eyeing the white-washed window.
“Yes, I haven’t heard anything from Trevor yet, and…” My shoulders droop forward, head bowing as tears fill my eyes. “You don’t need to be anymore involved in this than you already are.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
I turn, hugging myself and staring out through thick, lacy veils of snow, drifts already piled above the windowsill. The treeline is invisible, so are the distant mountains, a whitewash.
Floorboards creak until I feel a wall of heat behind me. Pine sap and smoke curl around me as I take a deep breath. My body relaxes, openly rebelling against me.
“Still coming down hard out there,” he grumbles.
“That’s why I need to go.” My voice creaks.
But he and I both know that’s off the table now.
