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Stepping in front of Travis, I shield him from Ben’s wrath. “True.” I pin my fists on my hips. “It also isn’tnormalto have some nutjob leave disturbing notes or gifts at your work or private property.” Fire licks my veins and I advance toward him. “It isn’tnormalfor some sick fuck to stand outside your bedroom window, peep through the crack in your curtains, and jerk off as he watches you sleep.” Fingers curled so tight my knuckles burn, I grind my molars. “Nothing about any of this isnormal, Ben. But here the fuck we are.” I wave my arms around the cabin, take a deep breath, then meet his pained expression with my furious one. “Right now, can we cast aside the bullshit and try to be asnormalas possible. Please?” The last word comes out in a whispered plea.
Ben steps closer, lifting his hands as if to embrace me. But then his arms drop to his sides. “Shit, sparkles.” He lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck, squeezing the muscles. “I’m sorry.”
I fight the urge to tell him it is okay, because going off the rails is never okay. Yes, this situation is outrageous. But it is happening to me. He doesn’t get to smother the real problem with his jealousy. Not with this.
“It’s early, but let’s just make dinner and play some music or something. I can’t deal with this right now.”
Before either of them says a word, I storm to the fridge and dig through the contents, ignoring their hard stares on my back.
Most of dinner passes in sweet, blissful silence.
I sit on the short side of the breakfast bar, forcing them next to each other once again. Beneath the table, neither attempts to touch my thigh or brush my foot with theirs. Above the table, neither attempts to soothe my blowup with phony or sympathetic smiles.
It’s equal parts relaxing and stifling.
When I eat the last bite on my plate, I push back on the stool, amble over to the sink, and deposit my dish in the basin. Without looking at either of them, I walk by, grab my shoes and coat, and slip both on.
“I need air.”
And before either of them opens their mouths to argue, I yank open the door and step out into the night.
I shiver the moment the door closes behind me, my jacket and gloves no match for the frigid mid-December temperature. Regardless, I trek forward, down the stairs, and stop near the bottom, plopping down.
Snow floats down leisurely from the inky night sky, slowly adding to the already thick blanket on the forest floor. By morning, this place will be a magical winter wonderland.
Closing my eyes, I inhale the crisp air laced with pine. Absorb the quiet, the peace, the calm. Let it settle my anger and ease my frustrations. Then I remind myself we won’t be here much longer. That this madness will all be over soon.
A click echoes through the trees and my spine straightens.
I twist on the step, thinking it’s one of the guys coming out to check on me already. But when I open my mouth to assure whomever I am fine, my brows tug together. The stairs and porch are both empty, the soft glow of the cabin’s lights fading into the night.
“Probably a deer,” I mutter, turning back to face the lawn.
The distinct sound of feet crunching snow hits my ears. As I twist left to scan the forest, anothercrunchhits my ears. I spin to the right as I shove up from my seat, ready to run up the stairs.
But before my foot lands on the next step, pain ricochets through my skull. A loud hiss rings in my ears. The world tilts left and then right, and I throw my arms out to balance myself.
Crunch.
Thwack.
Sharp. Fire. Infinite.
Cold burns my cheek. The light of the cabin dims.
Rocks. Branches. Dirt in my mouth. Something pulls at my hair.
The light disappears.
Thwack.
Tree.
Then nothing.
THIRTY
BEN
