Page 51 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

“Can’t throw it!” I scream so loud it tears my throat. He can’t make trips back down to get supplies because he’s valiantly keeping the rest of the roof from caving in.

“I’m coming!” I cry out, dropping all but a few bundles of thatching, and then scrambling up the ladder propped against the side of the house.

The climb is treacherous, the rungs slick with ice and snow. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus on each step. When I reach the top, I can see Varro’s face, strained with effort and streaked with snow.

“Hold the tarp edge,” he shouts over the wind as he grips part of the tarp and knee-walks on the solid stone edge of the cottage wall. I nod, grip harder, and brace myself against the roof.

Together, we fight against the elements, securing the tarp over thatching bundles then tying it down with rope. The wind howls around us, threatening to tear the materials from our grasp at any moment. My hands are numb, my face stinging from the biting cold, but I barely notice.

Throughout, Varro goes up and down the ladder several times, grabbing more bundles and bringing them back up. Finally, the last knot is tied.

“We need to get down,” Varro yells, his voice barely audible over the storm. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll hold for now.”

As we approach the ladder, Varro turns to me, his face etched with concern. “Let me carry you down,” he shouts over the howling wind. “It’s too dangerous. Icier than when you climbed up. You might slip.”

I shake my head, ready to argue, but the determination in his eyes gives me pause. He’s right. The ladder looks more treacherous than when I climbed up. The thought of falling terrifies me.

“I’ll be fine,” I insist, but Varro’s already moving toward me.

“Please, Laura.” His voice softer now. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

The raw emotion in his words catches me off guard. I hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Okay, but don’t hurt yourself.” I jokingly mumble, “Even if you are ‘Varro the Invincible’,” assuming he won’t hear me, but he flashes me a killer smile that makes my heart contract.

Varro scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder. I can feel the strain in his muscles as he descends, each step careful and measured. The wind whips around us, pelting us with snow and ice, making the journey even more perilous.

About halfway down, Varro slips, but immediately gets his foot back onto the rung. I heard him grunt in pain, but don’t want us to waste a second in our descent by asking what’s wrong. He grits his teeth and continues, his grip on me never faltering.

When we finally reach the ground, relief washes over me. But as Varro sets me down, I see him wince, one hand reaching to soothe his lower back.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice shaking as we hurry inside.

He nods, rubbing his back. “I’m alright. Just strained something on the way down. Let’s get inside before we freeze.”

Once in the relative warmth of our cottage, we stand for a moment, dripping and shivering, just staring at each other. The back corner of the cottage is awash with melting snow andsome of the Christmas decorations lie in a ruined heap. Without warning, Varro laughs. It’s a deep, rumbling sound that starts in his chest and builds until he’s bent over, hands on his knees.

I can’t help it—I join in. The absurdity of our situation, the adrenaline crash, it all comes out in slightly hysterical giggles. We laugh until we’re gasping for air, our gazes connected. He looks even more handsome than usual. Must be that smile.

As our laughter subsides, I notice Varro wincing again as he tries to straighten up.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay? That climb down looked painful, and now your back…”

He tries to shrug it off, but I can see the pain in his eyes. “It’s fine. Just a bit sore.”

“I don’t believe you for a second.” My voice is gentle as I guide him toward the bed. “Sit down. You just did most of the work in gale-force winds and carried me down a slippery ladder. I’m going to stoke the fire, hang up our wet clothes, heat yesterday’s stew, and when we’re done eating, I’m giving you a massage whether you like it or not.”

Varro hesitates, a flicker of something—fear? uncertainty?—passing over his face. I immediately regret my forceful tone. After everything he shared yesterday, I should know better than to order him around.

“I’m sorry.” I backtrack quickly. “That was forceful! I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just want to help, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his dark eyes searching my face. Then, slowly, he nods. “Okay.” His voice sounds doubly soft after all that screaming. “Thank you.”

As I put wood on the fire, my heart races. Despite the chaos of the morning, or perhaps because of it, I feel closer to Varro than ever. His insistence on carrying me down the ladder, risking his own safety for mine, speaks volumes.

How can I share this cottage and not fall deeper in love with him with every passing day? I don’t know what will finally cause me to break, but as surely as I know it’s cold outside, I know I can’t keep my walls up forever.

Chapter Forty-Four

Marcus Fabius Varro

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