Her eyes fill with genuine concern, and it feels like a little victory. I lean in, my hand resting on the small of her back,pulling her close. Her hands come up to my chest, and I can feel how cold they are. Her breath hitches when I lean in to whisper in her ear, “Worried about me?”
“Never,” she whispers back, and I laugh when I step back.
“Keep it. I can’t wait to take it off of you someday soon.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
A snowstorm is brewing outside,and I sit in my room, staring out my window, trying to breathe. It’s only September, but when you live in Lubec, you know that sometimes Mother Nature has a cruel sense of humor.
My eyes are fixed on the swirling flakes, the only thing that has kept me from spiraling into a flashback.
It’s snow, not rain.
But the sound of the wind whistling through the old house is the same. Memories of another storm, another time, haunt me. The sounds of that fateful night still echo in my mind, a constant reminder of the price I paid. My heart is racing, and my chest feels tight. Anxiety creeps in, clawing its way up from the depths of my soul. I should have known better than to look out the window, to let myself get lost in the past in the first place.
I clench my fists, my prosthetic leg itching with phantom pain. The image of the boat, the howling wind, and the crashing waves over my head is vivid, like it happened just yesterday. But it’s been years now since I lost my leg, since that storm took so much from me, from us.
Normally, when a storm this size hits, I would already be hiding in my bathtub.
Pathetic, I know.
But it’s the only place that feels safe when my mind spirals out of control. The only place I can let myself break without dragging the ones around me down with me.
The only thing that keeps me from doing just that now isher.
Sloan’s words replay in my mind, a gnawing feeling settling in my stomach with the falling snow. Her heater broke, and she lives in that damn rusty van. She’s out there somewhere in this freezing mess. I can’t just sit here, warm and safe in my room, while she’s left to shiver and suffer.
A war rages inside me, a battle between self-preservation and a nagging sense of responsibility. One part of me wants to retreat, hide, and curl up in the bathtub until the storm blows over. The other part screams at me to do something to make sure Sloan is okay.
The snow whirls against the window, a gentle but persistent reminder that the clock is ticking. I can almost see her out there, huddled in that van, her breath visible in the frigid air. The thought of her freezing and alone makes me sick, and I can’t ignore it any longer.
With a deep breath, I push myself up from my chair, my prosthetic thumping against the wooden floor as I walk into the hallway.
I’ll make sure she’s warm.
I’ll bring her home.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the ghosts of my past at bay as long as it takes to make sure she’s okay.
I can still hide afterward.
Making my way from my room to the front door, Nash asks from the living room, “Where are you going this late dressed like a slut?”
I look down at my gray sweatpants and have to laugh. Just because it’s his go-to outfit for late-night booty calls doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t wear them anymore.
“I’m going to get her,” I tell him, grabbing my coat from the coatrack and pulling it on when Nash and North come rushing out of the living room.
“Are you talking about who I think you are?” Nash asks, brow furrowed.
“No fucking way, Hunt.” North is seething, his eyes already spewing fire at me.
“Have you seen the storm outside? She told us that her damn heater broke! She lives in a van, North. Can you imagine how cold she will get in a fucking van without a heater while there’s a snowstorm?” I ask him, my frustration growing and my voice growing louder before I remember Lio is already asleep since it’s just past nine. I continue much softer, “She’s going to freeze to death, and we are sitting on our asses in a warm home with three fucking empty rooms!”
Nash’s face morphs from surprised to concerned. “She lives in a van?” He looks over at North, waiting for his decision.
Oh, he can wait as long as he wants. I won’t.
I’m about to move, but North reaches out to grab my upper arm. “She’s barging her way in. She’s counting on your pity, and you idiots can’t even see it. She just wants to get with Nash!”
