Liam:Going off grid for a couple days. I’ll be back soon—just need some time.
Jackson: Got it.
That was the thing about his brother. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t press for details. He just gave Liam space. Even better, Jackson would tell their parents, and their mom would take care of the farm shop while Liam was away.
Liam packed a small bag, grabbed his sketchbook and pencils, a thermos of black coffee that would go cold before he drank it, and drove north, away from Maple Falls. Away from the festive lights, cheerful music, and the image of Cassidy—wrapped in someone else’s arms. The image twisted in his gut and he wished he could burn the memory away.
His truck wound up the mountain roads, tires occasionally slipping on the icy concrete. He didn’t care. He just kept on driving in silence, not even bothering to turn on the radio. Liam didn’t want the noise. Just the engine, the wind, and the steady drumbeat ofyou should’ve knownpounding in his head.
Two hours later he turned off the main road onto a two-track trail. This was the part of the trip where four-wheel drive was a must. The log cabin had been in his family for four generations. A place for hunting trips, weekend escapes, and summer nights with bonfires that lasted until the early-morning hours. Liam had tagged his first buck in those woods. Had his first sip of whiskey afterwards around the fire with his granddad.
Now it stood quiet, tucked between tall pines and heavy snow, far from cell towers and town gossip. A place that didn’t ask anything of him. It was all he could ask for.
He stepped inside the two-bedroom space and didn’t bother turning on the lights. He dropped his bag, let the door swing shut behind him, and stood in the center of the empty room. The air smelled of old cedar and cold ash from the last fire, layered with the faint scent of pine that seeped through the drafty windows.
He braced his hands on the worn kitchen counter, staring at the frost etching along the windowpane, breath clouding the glass.
What had he expected? That a woman like Cassidy—with her spark and softness and light—would really want someone like him?
His breath hitched.
God, he was such an idiot.
He ran a hand through his hair and paced the length of the cabin, jaw tight, heart thudding while he tried to get a fire started. He needed to keep his hands busy.
He gathered the dried wood from the side grate, twisted old newspaper, wedging it between the logs, before finding the jar of wooden matches on the mantel.
He hadn’t been here since the year before Avery died. They’d talked about coming up after Christmas that winter, just the two of them. No pressure, no expectations—just snow, quiet, and each other. She’d wanted to skate on the lake, bake something from scratch, sketch beside him in the mornings with too much coffee and not enough sleep. He remembered how her eyes had lit up when he’d told her about the cabin. “I want to see it in the snow,” she’d said. “I want to seeyouin the snow.”
After lighting the fire, the flames licking up the newspaper, he sank onto the edge of the old couch and dropped his head into his hands, cataloging every error he’d made with Cassidy. He’d thought he’d protected himself. Thought the walls he’d built were strong enough. But she had slipped past them without even trying. She’d made him hope again. And that was the real betrayal—he’d let her.
“Maybe I deserve this,” he muttered to the empty room.
He pulled his sketchbook out of his bag, but his fingers trembled. He tried to draw. Anything. The slope of a mountain. The edge of a tree branch. But it all blurred.
The page stayed empty.
Just like his chest.
Just like the damn holiday.
Christmas. What a joke.
It used to mean something. With Jackson and Lily, sneaking downstairs to see what Santa had brought them. With his mom, who sang along to the old Bing Crosby records while she bakedcinnamon rolls. With Avery, who insisted on making her own wrapping paper out of decorated craft paper.
She’d loved Christmas, too.
Sometimes he still heard her laugh in the cold. Saw her in his dreams. He wondered what she’d say now—what she’d think of Cassidy.
Would she tell him to stop pushing people away?
Would she tell him it was okay to try again?
In some ways, Cassidy reminded him of Avery. They were very different people, but at their core they had the same warmth. The same love of life and fierce determination.
He let out a rough breath and dropped the pencil. Leaned back against the wall and stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling.
This was what he got. For letting his guard down. For falling for someone who was still waiting around for someone else. For thinking, for one stupid second, that maybe he could have more.
