Her jaw works, and her arms are crossed over her chest as she contemplates what I’ve said.
She should realize by now that I say what the fuck I mean.
When a few seconds pass and she makes no move, I take a few steps toward her until I’m standing in front of her, and then I bend down and hoist her over my shoulder.
“Oh my God! You caveman, put me down!”
“Nope.”
“Put me down, or I’m going to scream.”
My shoulders shake with laughter. “Snowflake, there’s not a neighbor for fucking miles. Scream all you want—no one’s gonna hear you. Actually, better yet, let me give you an actual reason to scream. We both know how much you like to scream my name.”
Her tiny fists hit my back, but I can barely even feel them through the thickness of my jacket.
“Enough,” I say, slapping her directly on her jean-clad ass cheek, the sound echoing through the clearing. “It’s cold as fuck, and I’m pretty sure my dick has shriveled inside me. We’re taking my truck, end of fucking story.”
Maybe it’s the wind that suddenly seems to kick up just as I’m yanking the passenger door open and depositing her on the front seat, or maybe it’s because she’s decided to listen and stop being so damn stubborn for a single godforsaken second. But if I had to guess, it’s the former, not the latter.
I wouldn’t be lucky.
She squeaks as I toss her onto the seat and grab the seat belt, reaching over to buckle her in despite her protests. I shut the door and round the front to the driver’s door before opening and sliding inside.
“Fuck, how did it get so cold so damn fast,” I mutter, mostly to myself. My passenger princess grumbles under her breath but is otherwise silent.
Music to my ears.
Without another word, I put the truck in drive and head down the driveway that leads off my property. At first glance, this place isn’t much. Nothin’ to write home about, for sure. But… what made me buy it in the first place is what you don’t see.
You don’t see bones, and those are the things that really matter.
Kind of that way with people too. It’s what’s inside that tells you everything you need to know about who a person truly is.
That house has a story behind it, and growing up, there was always a story being told. That it was haunted, that someone had been killed there, that there was a family of squatters living inside.
Nothing remotely close to the truth. It was abandoned after Dr. Jacobson lost his wife and then died of a broken heart.
It’s a sad story, but when they showed me the house, Dr. Jacobson’s son, Brent, told me to try and see all of the happiness that this house used to carry. To try and remember all of the laughter and the love that lived here before it became what it was later.
I’m not a sentimental kind of guy, but I was halfway sold when I heard that story, and the house itself did the rest.
I’m proud of all the work I’ve put in on it over the last couple of years.
“Can you please change it? I hate this song,” Snowflake mumbles from the passenger seat. Her voice is so low that I can hardly hear it over the sound of the radio and the heater.
Snorting, I reach for the dial.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She huffs before she speaks. “Obviously something since you’re… snorting like something’s funny.”
“You just seem like the kind of girl who wouldn’t like George Straight.”
“Just not my vibe. I was actually hoping to maybe turn it off so I could go over the list for the party? I just feel like I’m forgetting something.” She rubs her fingers along her temples and sighs heavily.
Maybe I’ve been too busy trying to get a rise out of her to see how stressed she is, but I can feel it right now.
And apparently, I now give a shit about how Emma feels because I suddenly feel a little guilty for adding more to her plate.
“Hey, we’ll get it figured out, alright? Don’t stress over it,” I say. “You don’t have to do this by yourself. This is both of our punishment, not just yours.”
I think that’s the first time either of us has admitted that we were both at fault, not solely placing blame on the other.
She glances toward me, her lip between her teeth, and nods. “Thank you. I’m just… I’m feeling a lot of pressure to make sure everything goes according to plan. My parents are already disappointed, and I just don’t want to let them down again. My dad is also still recovering from last year’s… antics.”
Damn, I didn’t realize this party was that important to her. I mean, yeah, the feud has always been a thing, but judging simply by the expression on her face, I can tell that this is more to her than just a party. More than just not having charges pressed or a criminal record.
“I understand. Trust me, I get it. Don’t worry, Snowflake.”
“Thank you.” Glancing down at her phone in her lap, she chews at her painted nail as her eyes scan the screen. “Shit. Can you call the hotel and let them know we might miss check-in by a little? I think this storm actually might be getting worse based on the radar. Roads could be more hazardous than anticipated.”
“Uh… what hotel?”
Emma’s head whips up, her blue eyes shooting to mine. “Uh, the hotel that you were supposed to book? The one I told you to book when we were at Town Hall.”
For a second, I rack my brain from the other day when we were together, and I’m coming up short. Fuck, I was exhausted that day, and quite frankly, the only thing I remember is Emma hovering over me, her plump pink lips just above mine after the ladder incident.
“Please,” she starts, exhaling a deep breath. “Please tell me you did not forget to book the hotel, Jackson.”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh, thank God. I was about t—” she says, but my words cut her off.
“Okay, I didn’t book it, but in my defense, I didn’t hear you even ask me to in the first place, so I technically didn’t forget.”
She groans next to me, and I feel her head hit the headrest of the old bench seat behind her. “This is a disaster. An absolute, complete freakin’ disaster.”
Keeping my eyes on the road, I tell her, “It’s okay. Surely, we’ll find something once we get into town. We’ll just wing it.”
I turn my wipers up. The snow is falling more heavily, and it’s dark now, making it nearly impossible to see the road in front of me. The further we get from town, the worse the roads will be since they won’t have been cleared or salted.
We’ve been on the road now for thirty minutes, and I knew that if it came down to it, my truck would be safer. Sturdier.
Harder to dent.
But what I wasn’t accounting for was how quickly the weather would decline.
“God, wing it? In the middle of a snowstorm? That’s if we even make it there!” she cries. “Look how hard it’s snowing, Jackson. The roads aren’t going to be safe much longer. The only place between here and town is the old motel off of Highway 55, so if we miss it, then there’s nothing for another thirty miles. This is exactly why I had a plan, why you can’t just ‘wing it.’ Why can’t you take my plans more seriously?”