Page 25 of Dare To Live

I finish the meal slowly. If she’s right and it’s Christmas Day, then somehow, I’ve lost three days. My gaze shifts to the doorway. Which means she’s been here the entire time. Was that why I could hear her voice but not see her? Did she hear anything I said?

Fuck. I hope not.

I scrub a hand down my face, push the plate away and stand. There’s a small bed and breakfast in town. I’ll drive her there. She won’t be able to get a flight out until tomorrow, but one night won’t hurt her. It’s better for us both if she’s not here.

I take some time to clear the plates and stack the dishwasher then walk back into the living room. The chill has gone from the air and the floor under my feet is warm. Low music is playing, and it takes me a second or two to realize it’s coming from the small radio on the coffee table.

A stab of pain goes through me. Where did she find it? I’m surprised it still works. The last time I’d seen that radio was back when my mom was alive.

My gaze moves from the radio to Arabella. She’s stretched out on the couch, her eyes closed, and she’s burrowed under a blanket. It’s from one of the guest rooms. I look away from her to the kitchen and back again, then sigh.

This is such a fucking mistake.

Kellan’s laughter echoes through my head.

“Arabella?” She doesn’t stir. I crouch so I’m at eye level with her. “Arabella?” Still nothing. My jaw clenches.

Kellan’s laughter grows louder.

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter, and crouch to scoop her up, and stride down the hallway to the guest bedroom. Nudging the door open, I deposit her gently onto the bed, draw the blankets up around her, and creep back out.

I don’t question too closely why I dig out my snow boots, wrap myself up in another jacket and pull on gloves. Nor do I think too hard about the fact I spend the next hour chopping down a small tree that will pass for a Christmas tree.

I have it indoors, in a small pot, and decorated with my mom’s old decorations, which I’d stored in one of the sheds, and covered in lights before the sun sets. Once that’s done, I relight the fire and then make the coffee I promised myself hours ago.

Just that small amount of physical work has drained me, and I’m sprawled out on the couch, doodling in a sketchbook, when Arabella finally emerges from the bedroom.

The room is lit only by the fire and lights from the tree, and she stops in the doorway, eyes wide as they dart from the tree to the fire then to me and back to the tree.

“There’s coffee in the pot.” Her eyes jerk back to me when I speak. I shift my attention back to the sketchbook on my lap.

“Eli—”

I don’t look up. “Thank you for watching over me, Arabella. Thank you for cooking for me. Thank you for sitting and watching me breathe every waking second while I’ve been sick.” My voice is dry.

“Oh … you heard that.” She sounds sheepish.

“Hard not to.” I put the sketchbook to one side. “For the record, I didn’t ask you to do any of it, but if you need to be acknowledged for your unwanted sacrifice …” I wave a hand toward the tree. “There’s your thanks.”

And just like that the glow of pleasure leaves her eyes. She spins away. “You’re still a fucking asshole.”

“Did you expect me not to be?” I stand. “Maybe I’m supposed to be the sad, pathetic hermit living in a cabin in the woods. Did it ever occur to you that I chose to live here alone? That I want to be alone and not surrounded by people who can fuck me over?” I shake my head. “Of course, you fucking didn’t. Why would it? That’s not what the mighty Arabella Gray wants for her life, so why should I want something different.” I stalk past her. “Enjoy your fucking Christmas tree. And get your shit packed. As soon as the sun rises, I’m taking you to the nearest town.”

***

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” As soon as I get out of bed and throw open the curtains, I can see there’s no fucking way I’m taking Arabella anywhere.

It’s snowing up a fucking storm outside, and while I could risk the road and drive into town, there’s no way Arabella will agree. That means I’m stuck with her until it’s safe enough to drive. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she fucking planned this.

Throwing on sweats and a t-shirt, I walk out into the hallway and down to the living room. It’s empty and dark, which means she’s still in bed. I contemplate waking her up but decide against it. This way I can have my morning coffee in peace, and maybe get out to my art studio before she rises. If I can lock myself away, it means I won’t need to speak to her until nightfall.

Except when I try to open the front door, it won’t move. I tip my head forward to rest against the wood.

“Fuck my life.”

We’re completely snowed in, and the sheer volume of the white stuff has frozen the front door shut.

“I’m ready.” Arabella’s voice reaches me.

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