Page 8 of Pucked Mountain Man
“You tell me when it hurts,” she says.
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll know,” she says. “And I’ll put you in the penalty box. You’re not getting even more hurt on my watch.”
I huff a laugh. But my mind wanders to another time and place.
My skate catches a rut. Two hundred pounds of momentum slams in a beat later. I go down.
“Hey,” she says. “Eyes here.”
I look. Somehow she’s closer without moving. “What?”
“You don’t have to be the tough guy in here,” she says. “You can just be a guy who’s healing.”
“I don’t know how to be that.”
“Good news.” Her smile tilts. “I do.”
The alert chimes again. I blow out a breath. “We should stash water. Check the generator. Bring in wood.”
“We should do the smart things,” she corrects. “You should also put on a hoodie before I have to explain to Thatcher how you died from exposure.”
“Very special people get to tell me what to wear.”
“Good,” she says, backing toward the door, eyes a dare. “Guess I’m very special.”
She slips out. I stand there with the band biting my ankle and tell myself the thing I’ve been repeating since the airport.
She’s Thatcher’s sister. Hands off.
THREE
STEVIE
By the time we leave the gym, the seems to have given up. The sky has gone from a hazy gray to dark slate.
Snow and ice pelt the windows as the wind makes the cabin shake.
“Generator first,” I say, tugging on my boots.
Grady is in his customary sweatshirt with the hood up. He eyes my scarf skeptically.
“Are you headed into battle or what?”
“It’s called layering,” I say, winding it around my neck. “Unlike machismo, it keeps you warm.”
He almost smiles. Almost. “I’m not being a macho guy.”
“Mm-hm.” I grab the flashlight.
Outside, the generator sits under its awning. I pop open the panel, check the lines, flip the switch. It purrs to life.
“We are officially not freezing to death if we lose the power.”
“That’s a high bar for survival,” he says, but I catch the relief in his eyes.
We haul in wood making a couple of trips. When I catch him eyeing the heaviest log, I step in.
