Page 9 of Collision of Winters
When I’d been released from jail, Chris had been there to hug me tightly, smack me upside the head, and say that the whole ordeal was over and done with. Wade had spent the past three days asking questions about my time in lockup. Mostly to see if I had any trauma from it. But I couldn’t say that I did. I’d kind of expected nightmares and reacting to new sounds and structures, but I just hadn’t spent enough time behind bars.
This new prison in Alaska didn’t have bars. That was something!
I wanted to talk to Dad, though. At least I’d been able to do that in jail. He’d demanded a daily check-in. Perhaps I could ask Wade if I could reach out somehow.
First things first, a repeat from yesterday—a freakishly cold scrub-down in the stream. Because that was what Wade had pointed to, with a smirk, when I’d asked how to get clean.
Jackass.
He’d recommended washing off in the evenings instead, but one, I was used to my morning shower, and two, showering in the evening only made sense if you’d been useful during the day.
I headed out with a towel, the bar of soap he’d laid out, and my best attitude. I was only wearing a pair of sweats, so this was gonna be quick and painful.
If a bear attacked me now, I wouldn’t even put up a fight.
It took me a whole hour to warm up.
Fuck this fucking nonsense.
I was rethinking being nice to Wade, but…
Dealing with the aftershocks of my dick-shrinking dip, I moved my stuff to the living room in between shivers and curses. The couch was a sectional, so I made one end my bed, the one that was against the wall, because then I wouldn’t have to remove the bedding every day. Wade could sit on the other half. He read a lot…
I just missed my cartoons and comic books. I’d only brought one comic book, thinking I was gonna be too busy catching up with my brothers.
Joke was on me.
After moving his stuff back into the bedroom, I was getting really hungry, and I’d played with the idea of baking something yesterday. I had one recipe from Yaya that I knew by heart because I’d made it so much, and maybe Wade would appreciate bread with his eggs later?
I found all the ingredients. Flour, dry yeast, oil, olives, spices, and water. So this was happening. I had no idea how the oven thing worked in the woodstove, but I could let the dough rest until he came back, and then he could show me.
The counter was big enough that I didn’t need a bowl, so after soaking the yeast, I put the dough together on the woodentop, and I started humming to myself. Because it was nuts to go without music!
Maybe I danced a little too.
I felt good, okay? This was fun. And it wasn’t like I was gonna tell Wade I was enjoying myself.
I felt way warmer now too, so I shed my hoodie. Sweats and tees worked for me.
Once the dough was ready for resting, I covered it with a dish towel, washed my hands, and then chopped the leftover olives from yesterday. I’d add them before the loaf went into the oven.
Then I heard athumpcoming from behind the cabin, and I froze.
Bear? Is that you?
Oh my fuck. It better not be. It couldn’t be Wade, though. When he’d described his morning routine, he’d spoken as if it was written in stone. This was his time with the dogs.
The sounds continued, both thumps and loud rustling, like someone was digging for something back there.
I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid.
Could it be a thief? Did thieves exist out here?
I swallowed my nerves, or tried, and went for the shotgun by the door.
At least Dad and Chris had taught me how to shoot.
My aim was…decent.
