“I was so excited by how dreamy the picture was,” I go on. “There was so much color, I just wanted to jump into it like it was one of the chalk drawings in Mary Poppins.” I laugh a little. “Kind of precious and magical.”
I switch out the pencil, picking up a teal one as a lump forms in my throat.
All I can manage is a whisper. “Hours later, I’d find them hidden in the trash.” I flex my jaw as needles prick my throat. “They didn’t go with the décor.”
Tears rise up from my chest. I’d forgotten about that. But now—years later—it hurts more than ever. Couldn’t they have kept it up for a day? Was it impossible to say one nice thing?
I want to break, to let it go, but he catches me just in time. Suddenly, I feel him. His lips in my hair as he leans over me.
I close my eyes and stop breathing as the silent house surrounds us. He holds me. Barely touching me, he holds me.
Chills spread down my arms as his mouth grazes my hair. He inhales, like he’s drawing in my scent, and I pause in my work as he reaches around and cups my face.
His nose trails down my temple, his hot breath heavy on my cheek.
Like he’s struggling.
Bringing his other hand up, he holds me to him as my whole body warms under the blanket of him.
No kissing. No touching anywhere else.
Just warmth. He’s not in control and neither am I, and even though my nerves fire under my skin and my blood races, my fingers don’t fist and my muscles don’t tense anymore. I feel safe.
And when he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, I fight to keep the tears away again.
Kaleb.
He just holds me. Or holds onto me. Either way, I don’t want it to ever be over.
I know what he wants, though, so it can’t ever start. He can’t do this, and I can’t let it happen.
I pull my face away, out of his hold, and it almost makes me sick, because I don’t want to lose his touch, but…
“I guess a slut is good enough,” I mumble. “When you’re desperate enough.”
Pulling away from him, I pick up my pencil, feeling him stand there frozen as I quickly dry my eyes and keep working.
I wait for him to explode. To spit on me or handle me like he always does, because he throws tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants, but…
He just leaves—pushes off the table, turns around, and leaves.
I don’t see him for the rest of the day.
I curl my dry toes inside my socks and warm boots, the cold from the snow starting to seep through as I tip my face back and let it stick to my nose and lashes.
I twirl, faking some ballet, and I can see Jake watching me from over by the barn, probably shaking his head as he tosses tennis balls for the dogs to fetch.
What? Growing up in Southern California, I don’t get to experience much precipitation. It just makes my day, is all.
I stop, the world spinning, and I finally lock eyes with him and see him trying not to smile but failing miserably.
I don’t care if I look like an imbecile. I was miserable three months ago, and now I’m not. I jog over to him, the snow crunching under my feet as Noah and Kaleb load up his snowmobile and disappear back inside the shop.
I look after Kaleb. “Is he going with you?” I ask Jake.
“Nope.”
“Doesn’t he usually?”
I was kind of counting on Kaleb to join Jake on his four-day foray up to their other cabin. It’s where Kaleb was when I first got to town, and I’ve since learned he and Jake like to spend time there whenever they don’t have a deadline looming. They use it for extended hunting trips or when they want to be closer to better fishing.
It’s definitely not a place that can fit all of us, and there’s no electricity, WiFi, or plumbing, so I’m out, but I’m told it’s beautiful, especially in the summer.
I might not be here to see it, though.
Jake simply shrugs at my question, and I gather he doesn’t know why Kaleb is hanging back, either. I can deal with Noah on my own. Especially since he’s backed off since the night in the shop under the bike a couple weeks ago.
And Kaleb has barely looked at me once in that time, either.
I look longingly at the scruff Jake is growing like a winter coat or something. I guess I can get ahead on some schoolwork while he’s away.
“This was a good idea,” he says.
I follow his gaze as he heads just inside the barn. We stop at the coop and the monster truck tires Noah helped me cut in half. Three halves are stacked on top of each other, the insides filled with hay and chickens.