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He thinks I’m ashamed to dress in front of him. Which makes no sense—he’s seen me naked before. When Fyre makes love, he makes love to my whole body, even the bits I never thought deserving. “I’m not embarrassed, I’m just freezing my ass off.”
He avoids eye contact as he goes about setting up the small two-man tent. He even stole a pair of sleeping bags, though fuck knows how he fit it all in that bag. Soon as he’s done, I go inside the tent and tug on the thermal vest and leggings before submerging myself in Fyre’s thick coat again. Within seconds, the thermal clothing starts doing its job.
Bliss.
There’s a small pot in the fire, and I catch the scent of some kind of meaty stew before I snuggle in beside Arrow. The dog’s panting from heat, but she seems determined to stay beside the fire. It must suck to be her in summer, but God what I wouldn’t give to be wearing a thick fur coat right now.
We eat in silence, even Arrow gulping down some of the canned stew when Fyre offers her the cooled pot. When he sees my wary side-eye, he smiles. “Don’t worry, I’ll mail them some money to replace everything I took.”
“What if they were going hiking tomorrow and we’ve just ruined their plans?”
“In this?” Fyre glances around at the drifts of pale snow around us. “Only hunters go out in this kind of weather, and they’re definitely not hunters.”
As soon as Fyre’s cleaned up the remnants of the meal and banked the fire, he gestures to the tent. “It’ll be warmer inside.”
It’s a tight fit with the three of us squeezed inside the two-man tent, but at least it warms up fast. Fyre switches on a small LED lamp and sets it up behind us, where it reflects off Arrow’s gleaming eyes as she stares at me with frank adoration.
I smile at her, and catch Fyre watching us for a moment before he says, “She missed you.”
I scoff. “She hardly even knows me.”
“She fell in love with you the day she met you.”
I shake my head, and Arrow lets out a sigh and closes her eyes like she’s glad Fyre’s finally explained her fascination with me.
“As did I.”
Tears prick my eyes when I turn to look at him and see a love just as deep shining in his eyes. My throat closes up. I can barely get out his name. “Gideon…”
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmurs.
I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them. No longer because I’m cold, but because I need to hold onto something solid. My mind hasn’t quite caught on to what’s real and what’s not.
Dear God, what if this is just another daydream, and I’m seconds away from waking up in the Toy Box again?
Warm, strong fingers grip my hand. I look at Fyre, our bodies less than a foot apart in the small tent. “You will get through this, Charlotte. I have firsthand evidence of your resilience, your strength.”
“And what if I don’t?” I whisper. “I feel...fucked up. Broken.”
“Your mind needs time to heal.” His eyes dart around, glancing at the tent walls as a gust of wind makes the tight fabric tremble. “You’re still in fight or flight, and understandably so. As soon as we get home...”
Home.
The word rings inside the tent like a church bell. Even Arrow pricks up her ears, her brown eyes peeling reluctantly open to pay attention for a few seconds before closing again. She lets out another blustery sigh.
“I thought you were dead.” I twist my hand, gripping Fyre’s fingers now, squeezing them. “When I woke up in the car and I couldn’t see you, I thought, I thought you’d—” I break off with a sob, but Fyre’s already pulling me closer. Strong arms wrap around my body, his warm breath brushes the side of my neck. I tip my head up, begging him for a kiss, and he stares down at me with an open hunger. But instead of kissing me, he burrows his face into the side of my neck.
“Charlotte...”
“Why won’t you kiss me?” My voice is thick with the effort of holding back my tears. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Jesus,” he mutters against my skin. “That’s what you think? That there’s somethingwrongwith you?” He pulls back, molten fire burning in his eyes as he studies my face. “You’ve just been through—”
“Hell,” I cut in bitterly, my mouth pulling into an angry line. “I don’t need your pity. I need to know I’m still alive, and that I can feel something that’s not pain, or hate, or humiliation.”
A small frown creases the skin between his thick black brows. “I can’t—”
I shove him away from me and push onto my knees. Glaring at him, daring him to stop me, I slip his coat off my shoulders. The tent is warm enough that, when I tug off the vest, my skin barely pebbles.
