“I just—” I choke around the lump in my throat. I can’t seem to stop crying. “I think I missed you. A lot.” I look away. “And it’s overwhelming and frightening.”
“Fi—” Brantley starts. But then we hear a scuffling noise.
“What was that?” I tense against him, a prickle of fear overshadowing my emotional turmoil.
There’s another noise that sounds like scratching, and then the stall door across from us slowly creaks open. B drops me to the floor, pushes me behind him, and faces the stall. He looks around quickly and grabs a broom, holding it like a baseball bat. I peer over his shoulder, one hand covering my very hard, very cold nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt.
The door opens wider and out steps…
“A chicken?” Brantley says, relaxing his rigid stance.
The chicken—a rooster from the look of it—pokes his beaked face around the corner and cocks his head at us curiously. He makes a little clucking noise, bobbing his feathered mohawk, and I start to giggle.
B glances back at me with a grin.
“Hey, B, put some clothes on.”
He blushes. “Oh right.” He reaches for his pants and boots, and I do the same. We glance at the rooster and then turn the other direction to dress.
“Is it weird that I feel embarrassed that we were caught by a chicken?” I ask with a nervous laugh as I pull on my coat.
B sets the broom against the wall and pulls on his jeans. “No.” He glances over his shoulder. The rooster blinks its beady eyes. “He’s totally sus.”
I frown. “Do you think he’s cold? Should we bring him somewhere?”
B shakes his head. “He’s probably good in here. My grandparents had chickens, and they’re actually surprisingly comfortablein cold weather.” He steps closer and peers into the stall. “Plus, someone’s been feeding him.”
“What?” I walk up next to him, and sure enough, there’s an autofeeder hanging from a post above the stall, though it’s getting pretty low. “What the heck,” I say. “Maybe the same person who was in the tractor?”
B shrugs with a shiver. “Either way, maybe we should get back.” His cheeks redden as he rubs the back of his head. “The idea of someone else watching us fuck is a little creepy, but also kind of hot.”
He reaches for my hand, and I take it, smirking up at him. “Brantley Michaels, did we unlock a new kink?”
He clears his throat. “Maybe…”
We walk back to the cabin in silence, a weird tension building between us.
It was just sex, right? We’re both at rock bottom, and we wanted to feel good. What’s wrong with that? It doesn’t have to mean anything.
For the next couple hours, we try to avoid each other in the small space. I’m not the type of person who’s ashamed of sex, but the emotional response I had when Brantley and I finished has confused the hell out of me. Did B specifically trigger it? Was it because it’s been so long since I’ve had that human connection? I loved Anna, but the last few months of our relationship were riddled with silence and both emotional and physical distance as I navigated my feelings.
B makes it his mission to tend to the fire, and I just wait. I try to read for a while, but the longer that Seb is gone, the less I can concentrate. So now I’m pacing, checking the entryway window for any sign of headlights while my thoughts spiral.
What if Dennis somehow made it across the border? What if he followed us and found Seb in town? What if he hurt him? Yes, Seb has less conspicuous features, but he still looks like himself. This isn’t a Marvel movie—he can’t hide behind a hat and sunglasses.
“You’ve got to stop, Fi,” B says. “You're going to wear a hole in the floor with all that pacing, and it’s driving me nuts.”
“I’m sorry, but shouldn’t he be back by now? It’s almost completely dark.”
As if summoned, B’s truck rumbles up the road and pulls into the driveway. I feel a warm rush of relief as I stare out at the falling snow flickering in front of the headlights before Seb cuts the engine and climbs out of the cab.
I open the door and step out onto the porch, rubbing my hands together. “Do you need help, Seb?” I call as he walks around to the truck bed and pulls out several bags.
“No, I’m okay.” He looks pointedly at my feet as he approaches. “Are you out here in your socks?”
I look down and grimace when I finally feel the chill seeping through the wool material. “Yeah…”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re going to lose your toes. Go inside.”
