Page 59 of Trust

BONFIRE

Sara

Cash is back.

I’m barely managing to live with one killer. Having another one casually show up complicates everything even more. He hasn’t exactly been a threat. Except for the part where he dragged me back here. He was nice about it, though, assuring me I’d be safe, and so far, he’s been right. The way Cash looks at me, the way he talks, I’m not sure what to make of it. I tell myself I’ll play nice, or as close to nice as I get. Until now, it’s been effective.

I towel my hair off but don’t bother drying it all the way. It's damp and sticking to the back of my neck when I go downstairs, my feet careful on the steps. I expect to find them in the kitchen or lounging on the couch, but the place is empty. A deep, repetitive thwack comes from outside. I follow the sound to the front window and peer through the glass.

I immediately forget how to breathe.

Chris is outside, chopping wood. Shirtless.

He’s standing near the fire pit they must’ve built, a stack of logs beside him, an axe in his hands. Each swing makes his shoulders bunch, slick with sweat in the fading daylight. His jeans hang low enough to make my eyes linger.

Eventually, I turn away, flustered with myself.

Jesus.

My eyes dart back to that perfect V disappearing into his pants. This might actually be the sexiest thing ever.

“Like what you see?”

The voice snaps me upright, adrenaline kicking in fast and unforgiving.

Cash stands right behind me, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

I blink at him, caught red-handed. My mouth opens, but I have no idea what I’m even trying to say. Nothing coherent comes out, just a noise that might be a syllable or a sound from a dying animal.

He snorts. “Relax, stalker. I’m not judging.” He ambles off, chuckling, leaving me alone with my flaming cheeks and the urge to crawl into a hole.

Great start to the evening.

When I finally gather the courage to join them outside, the fire’s going strong. Cash is tending to it with the devotion of someone performing a sacred ritual. Chris is back in a shirt, thank God, but I’m very aware of what’s under it. He’s at the grill now, flipping burger patties. It’s weirdly homey, considering the two men beside me could take down a building with their bare hands, but I’m comfortable with this.

We sit around the fire, legs stretched out, plates in our laps. Cash starts talking about some job in Morocco, and Chris adds dry commentary, making me nearly spit out my food. They have this rhythm together, bouncing stories back and forth. They must have done it a hundred times before.

It’s surprisingly fun listening to them. I’ve stumbled into some secret campfire club with inside jokes and bad accents and exaggerated war stories. I sink into the space between.

Cash gets up to grab beers and I glance toward him. “Can I have one too?”

He pauses, eyebrows raised. “Did your dad ever let you?”

I shake my head.

“Then you should definitely have one,” he says, and tosses me a cold bottle from the cooler on his massive truck.

I catch it, slightly clumsily. Chris is following our conversation but doesn’t object. On the way back to his seat, Cash casually drapes a blanket around my shoulders. I look at him, momentarily thrown, but he’s already refocusing on his beer and the flames.

It’s dark now with the kind of ambiance only a bonfire in the forest can provide. It sizzles and spits little sparks into the sky. If I squint, I can pretend this is summer camp.

Not that I’ve ever actually been to one.

I roast a marshmallow on a stick Chris trimmed for me, watching it slowly puff up and blister over the heat.

“How did you two meet, anyway?” I ask, more curious than I intend to sound.

They both chuckle.