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Leaning my head against the steering wheel in exhaustion, I can now understand how dad was so suffocated by the city. The past twenty-four hours engulfed me in a whirlwind of drama that I just didn’t want or need. My mother is not speaking to me, due to the embarrassment I have caused her by the public rejection of Richard. Richard himself is relentless, and has been calling non-stop, angry and bitter but still not wanting to let me go.
Lost in thought, I jump, startled by the ringing of my phone. Cell service is not great out here, but I am getting a few bars. Looking at the screen, I turn it off immediately, not wanting to see Richard's name flash up anymore.
I sit in the car for another hour before the rain stops, then the clouds part, and I begin to move. I slowly open the door and slide down from dad's Jeep. My shoes hit the grass, and I can hear the squish of mud underneath them. I hope he has some work boots inside that I can use, because my white Nikes are not going to last long. I close the truck door and make my way to the front of the cabin, and taking it all in.
Small, cozy, made of logs and large stones, it is beautiful. Not magazine cover worthy by any stretch, but it feels like home, and I immediately feel my shoulders relax as I stand, looking over the cabin and smelling the fresh air. Birds are chirping as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, and I lift my head to the sky as the sun’s rays find my face, basking in the fresh air and sunshine for a moment. It’s soul-cleansing and exactly what I need.
I don’t know why, but I feel safe, comforted, and at peace for the first time in a very long time. Looking around, I can see only grass and trees, and get a small glimpse of the neighboring cabin. It must have been built in the past ten years since I was last here because I don’t remember seeing it before. I can see a small section of it due to a well-worn path that joins to dad's cabin, connecting the two of them together—odd. Whoever lives there looks like they are putting on an extension; it is big, perhaps it belongs to a family full of kids?
What doesn’t escape me are the cameras. I wouldn’t have seen them if it wasn’t for the sun peeking through and reflecting off one of them. They are strategically placed around the perimeter of the large cabin, discreetly, but there all the same.
Perhaps a family who needs security?
I shrug, thinking that I will hear screaming, playful kids soon enough if they live there, and it is a sound that I wouldn’t mind hearing. Kids laughing and that fun innocence they have, is like a joy that nothing else can bring. I adore children and can’t wait for Kelly and her husband to start a family, so I can be the fun auntie. Looking back at the next-door cabin, I wonder if I could offer to babysit once I get to know them.
I start to walk toward the front door of the cabin and stop short. I see our swing, still hanging from the large oak tree off to the side of the cabin. A swing dad made just for me. Whenever I was here, we would spend hours outside, me on this swing and dad doing chores outside; chopping firewood and the like. My eyes rake past the swing, where I notice a small pile of wood and mentally note that I need to do some chopping over the next few days if I want to stay warm. It is a few degrees cooler here than in D.C., and winter is not far away.
I walk tentatively toward the swing, scared that it isn’t real and will be yet another thing of dad’s that will disappear. But when I get close enough, I reach out and touch the wooden seat, and it moves and wobbles. I grab the ropes on either side of the swing and pull a little to see if it will take my weight; it looks strong enough, although I am sure it hasn’t been used in years. I turn my body and slowly sit on the wooden plank seat, lowering my full weight onto it. Tears well into my eyes as I look over the yard and imagine dad here with me, chopping the wood, and I begin to swing.
8
Jake
I come here to my cabin to rest. To sleep, destress, and catch up with my former Green Berets. But now? Now all I can do is watch. Watch her. I am glad I have put so many cameras around the place, because I get a perfect view.
As I was sitting here in my control room stalking her on the web, looking at the gossip sites from D.C. and confirming that my suspicions about the polished funeral guy being a douche were correct, my cameras picked up a car pulling into the driveway next door. As it stops to the side of Danny’s cabin, I draw in a breath, as I watch. It is Danny’s car. There is no mistake that it is his Jeep. I zoom in on one of the cameras and see what looks like a blonde female sitting in the driver's seat, but she doesn’t get out of the car. She just sits there as the rain falls and lowers her head to the steering wheel.
I can’t see her face, but it is definitely Danny’s car, so it must be Isabelle. After about an hour, the rain stops, and she gets out of the car gingerly. She is beautiful. Wearing light blue jeans, a thick white wool sweater, and white sneakers. Her long blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She is too dressed up for around here, but her long legs look fucking amazing in those jeans, and I think about how they would feel wrapped around my waist, and suddenly my cock jumps to attention.
I shake my head at the thought because I am too old for her, and I am her dad's most trusted confidant. I can’t get involved with his daughter in any way. It breaks about every bro code there is.
Looking back at the screens, I can hardly breathe as I watch her take small tentative steps to the front of the cabin and look around, and damn if the sun doesn't shine off her like she was sent from heaven. I continue watching her as she looks to the side and takes in my cabin inquisitively, before turning and making her way to the swing. The one that I know Danny made for her because he wouldn’t let any of us boys ever touch it. He kept it just for her.
I zoom the camera in closer and watch her swing, her face looks sad, and my chest aches for her.
Taking a deep breath in, I realize how much of a spy I have been today, and I step back and close the computer monitors. I need to keep my distance. I need to stay right away from her. I click off the screens and go through my emails. I put a few calls into my team in Boston and have a long chat with Marco to get an update on our Mafia associates. Things are quiet for now, and I am glad, but it won’t stay that way for long.
As the day turns to night, it appears that my stalker behavior from earlier today has returned because I peer out the window and see the lights on next door. Waiting and watching, I see Isabelle walk past the windows every now and then, her figure showing me she is no longer that little girl and every inch a woman. Her hourglass shape makes an appearance every few moments as she walks around the cabin, and my body waits in anticipation for the next visual. Her body is perfect. She is all woman.
I grab a glass of whiskey. I am not a big drinker, but I need something to take the edge off today. I pour three fingers and sit back in my chair. Leaning back, I take a few deep breaths and try to relax. My screens display an array of places in Boston where my team is located. I am attempting to keep a hold on things remotely from my cabin while I am away, and my eyes are glued… glued to the cabin next door.
Sipping my whiskey slowly, I wait up for an hour after her lights go out, just watching, making sure she is okay before I turn in and battle my own demons. I still haven’t slept a full night since being here, and it is unusual and extremely frustrating. It is normal in Boston for me not to sleep; there, I survive on very little. But here in the woods at my cabin, I usually sleep like a log for days. I am like a bear that hibernates, and although it is getting cold, I still can’t sleep.
I check the lock on the front door and turn off the lights before walking upstairs and into my bedroom. Taking off my clothes from today, I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, then step into it, feeling the weight of the hot water rush down on my body. I love my shower; it is large, black tiled, with black tapware and huge glass walls, along with a double showerhead. You could fit four people in here. I created a large space primarily because I am a big guy and don't want to feel cramped in my own bathroom. I had enough of that over the years while on deployment.
I scrub my face and wash my body. I like to take care of myself and train every day, but it is not the muscles that I feel as I lather the soap, but rather the scars. Each one tells a story. The really bad ones I have are covered in tattoos, making them appear less angry. But I also have a few smaller ones; knife wounds, bullet holes, identifiable marks that tell my life story of war, terror, and pain. I can remember exactly where I was and what happened for every mark that is on my body, and here in the shower is my daily reminder of that life.
As I wash away the day, I think about the smoking hot woman next door. Isabelle. What am I going to do with her? I can’t stay locked up in my cabin and avoid her. I have my extension to finish, and I love building, and making things with my hands, so I would go stir crazy if I couldn’t do it. But fuck, just thinking about her makes me hard. I lift my head to the showerhead and feel the rush of water down my face as I groan at the thought of her.
I am fucking rock solid now, so I grab my cock and give it a few pumps to try and relieve the ache, but it doesn’t work. With one hand, I lean against the shower wall as I continue to pump with the other, thinking about her long blonde hair and what it would feel like to grab it, to pull her to me and take her over and over again. Then I think about her perfect body, her perky breasts, and those amazing blue eyes, and my body convulses, my dick jerking in my hand as I explode all over my large black tiled shower.
Tension released, my body feels weary although in my mind I feel guilt. Guilt that I just jerked off to visions of my close friend's daughter.
Fuck, I need to sleep.
I dry myself off and walk naked back to my bedroom where I sink into my dark timber sleigh bed. It is a large bed because I often thrash around at night, lost in my dreams of the past, so the extra room is needed.
Curled up in my sheets, I am grateful that my room is dark. Painted with light coffee-colored accents to match the dark timber floors, it is masculine and matches the rest of the house in that way. I have a large fur rug on the floor to keep the room warm, and the large floor to ceiling windows that look over the lake in the distance are covered with heavy drapes that block out any light. It is quiet in here since this room is on the top floor, away from all other bedrooms, and I rest my weary body, slowing my breaths.
