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CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
OPAL
Gauge and I arrive at Ramona Lake early the following day. The area is remote, with a pine forest surrounding the cabins that dart the snow-covered landscape. The log cabin is cute with its rustic charm. It’s more of a one-room efficiency retreat, but it has everything we’ll need for the weekend. The kitchen is not exactly big, but it is fully functional. There’s a large canopy bed taking up the main living area with a wood-burning stove near it. The bathroom is exactly like the kitchen, small but practical.
We drop our bags and go on a nature hike to spot wildlife. It’s delightful. I never used snowshoes before, but Gauge helps me. They come in quite handy as we tromp through the nearly two feet of snow on the trails.
Five minutes into our adventure, Gauge points out a doe. Excited, I try to approach it, but it bounds off. All I can do is stare after Bambi’s mother in utter disappointment. So much so, Gauge laughs at the look on my face. When he pulls me in for a tender kiss, wrapped up in his sweetness, I forget about the deer.
We find an antler shed on our way back to the cabin. For some reason, this makes Gauge chuckle. Not sure why antlers are funny, but if he’s happy, I’m happy for him.
Back at the cabin, Gauge surprises me with matching chef aprons, stating he wants to “have fun with food.” The catch? We’re only to wear the aprons. I can’t help but laugh at his request.
As soon as I step back into the kitchen wearing only the apron, Gauge can no longer focus on the recipe. To be fair, I can’t concentrate either when a hunky man with bulging muscles is wearing an apron too small to give him any kind of coverage. When he turns to the sink to wash his hands, my eyes feast on two perfectly cured ham stocks that make up his rump. He turns back and catches me drooling.
I try to walk him through the steps for making chocolate chip cookies, but his calloused hands keep running over my body, turning me into a needy, throbbing mess. We make it ten minutes into the cookies before we abandon it, opting for sex on the kitchenette table with a can of whip cream.
After a much-needed shower—which leads to more sex—we end up in the large, downy bed where we make slow, passionate love.
I’m draped across his chest in post-coitus bliss. His arms lock around me, caging me against him in all his love and protection. I stare at the open wood-burning stove, hypnotized by the orange flames licking up the wood.
Today has been perfect, and I hate to tarnish it with my sordid tale. It would be nice to have one memory not tainted by Levi. Perhaps after today, it’ll be possible.
Gauge must sense a change in me when my body stiffens as I prepare for the conversation. I can’t stop swallowing down lumps of emotion in my throat. He takes a finger and uses it to turn my chin up toward him so he can look at me. With his other hand, he runs it along my spine to calm me.
“Opal, if you’re not ready to talk, I understand. I don’t want you to feel pressured. Please know I’m here for you no matter what,” he murmurs, his face creased with concern.
“I know,” I breathe as the first of my tears rolls down my face. I appreciate him giving me a choice to opt-out, but I’m determined to follow through with my plan. My future with Gauge relies on my openness with him. He deserves honesty.
With a shaky inhale, I press my cheek against his broad chest, focusing on the fire. I’m ready.
“My mom, Shelly, was a drunk—functioning alcoholic, I guess you would call it. She could make it through her workday, but she would get wasted once back at home. She was only a teenager when she had me. I was the product of her rape. She ran away from her home when she was pregnant with me. The man who did it was a high-ranking member of her church, and she worried about her future if she stayed. I don’t know why she kept me, but she did, which may have led to her drinking problem. She could barely tolerate looking at me, let alone caring for me.”
Gauge gives me a gentle squeeze to let me know he’s with me, that he’s got me and I’m safe.
“Shelly went through men like some people go through underwear—a new one every night.” I shake my head. “I’m surprised no one ever took advantage of us because of her recklessness. One night, she brought a younger man home, and the next morning he was still there. I remember being scared when I went to get breakfast, finding him standing in our tiny apartment kitchen making coffee. No one had stuck around before.
“He introduced himself and asked if I wanted a cup. No one had ever offered me coffee before either. It somehow made me feel…older, more sophisticated. It’s juvenile when I look back on it, but that simple gesture meant a lot to me, being treated as an adult. He asked if I was Shelly’s sister since we looked similar, but didn’t seem surprised when I corrected him, saying I was her daughter.
“The next thing I knew, he was asking how I liked my eggs. He made me breakfast. I had been fending for myself since I started grade school. It was nice to have someone take care of me for once.
“We talked the entire time we ate. I thought he was so nice. I remember thanking him after, even crying a little. Then he surprised me again when he pulled me in for a hug and told me, ‘I’m here now. No need to cry.’”
Gauge’s arm constricts around me, like he’s sensing the worst is coming. He wouldn’t be wrong.
“He was there, from then on. He was good to my mom and me. When Shelly fell behind in rent, he would pay it. If groceries were low, he would buy them. When I needed help with my homework, he would struggle through it with me. For the first time in my life, it felt like I had someone who cared about me. Even if Shelly didn’t want me, I at least had him.
“Goodnight check-ins turned into him physically tucking me into bed.” I cringe as I recall liking those moments when I thought they were innocent.
“That’s why you panicked the first night when you thought I was putting you to bed,” Gauge interjects.
I nod. “We’d giggle about it, but it was nice to have someone care enough to wish me sweet dreams. Check-ins advanced to talking to me on my bed for hours. Shelly was too gone in her liquor to notice.
“We connected over similar interests in books, movies, and music. He’d tell me stories of all the amazing places he had traveled for his job. He could make anything into an interesting story, adding color to the mundane. I used to imagine myself in his place in those stories—for a moment, I could escape my sad reality. He promised me when I was old enough, he’d take me with him.”
I pause, taking a moment to gather my emotions before continuing.
“One night, I drifted off to him telling me a story, and I woke to him spooning me. When I tried to move, he held me tighter—almost crushing—and sweet-talked me into going back to sleep. It felt off, but it also felt…nice. No one had ever held me before, not even my mom.”
