Page 205 of These Tears

Then the worst of it arrives: do they know the truth? About Elias? About me?

As I struggle to fit that into any form that does not frighten me, Inga comes up to me with a bright smile.

But now that I know she’s family, her warmth no longer feels like something I have to compete with.

How silly am I?

Anders opens the front door. ‘It’s rare we see wolves this far north,’ he grinds out. I don’t like the crease between his eyes. ‘They usually keep to the south, around the Swedish border. The mountains have little food for them. If they’ve come this far north, this close to houses…’

‘They’re hungry enough to risk people,’ Elias supplies.

Anders gives a ponderous nod. ‘There’s livestock around. Who knows what else. But if they’ve learnt houses mean food, hunger is not the only problem.’ His face crumples further at that. ‘Keep the meat sealed. Lock the hens well. And set those traps,’ he enunciates before disappearing through the doorway.

‘I’ll see you later.’ Inga walks out after her father.

The cold punches the breath out of me as we follow them onto the porch, but it is nothing compared to the way Elias’ hand settles at the small of my back. Perfectly placed for audience.

I go rigid beneath it.

Inga beams over her shoulder while Anders mounts his snowmobile.

I keep my smile in place until my teeth threaten to crack from the pressure of keeping all my rage behind.

‘Were you going to tell me we’re playing house again today?’ I bite out, low enough for only him. ‘Or were you just going to let me figure it out when they bring the cake?’

Anders calls something over the engine’s first growl, and Elias nods at him once.

Through that same polite, poisonous smile still aimed at our guests, he says, ‘It’s only fair you get a birthday after you gave me one.’

When next I blink, I’m back in Stonebrook with a vanilla cake balanced in my hands. And suddenly this feels more like a debt he’s decided to settle.

That runs through me in hot and cold waves.

The snowmobiles pull away from the house in a spray of white and we wait until the forest swallows them.

I turn to him.

‘You owe me nothing,’ I say, a little sharper than intended. ‘And I don’t owe you anything either.’

His smile fades as he takes his eyes off the treeline and looks down at me. Before his mouth opens, I’m already shoving past him into the house and snatching the snowsuit from the hanger by the door.

‘I know,’ he rumbles from outside. ‘You’re the one keeping score.’

I force myself into the suit in ugly motions. Boots next. Gloves. Beanie.

When I’m back outside, he is still standing in the same place – this time with his arms crossed and his face held tight.

Snatching the snow shovel from beside the entrance, I drive it into the packed path against the porch hard enough to jolt my shoulders.

‘I am sick of this game,’ I throw at him without looking back. ‘The devoted fiancé, the cosy home, the fucking birthday party in the middle of the North Pole!’

He shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘Norway is not in the—’

‘—Sick!’ I snap, turning on him so fast the shovel blade screeches across a rock. ‘Of marinating in your lies so everyone else can clap at how pretty they look.’

He looks away from me, biting back something barely withheld. Then turns so quickly the wood squeals under his boot and storms back into the house. The door slams hard enough to rattle the boards – and my bones.

I jam the shovel into the snow.