Page 33 of The Bonds We Break
It’ll probably be dark by the time I get up there, so I’ll stay overnight.
It’ll make my life easier if I do that.
It won’t. I’ll have to deal with Rae.
Although my cock stirs in my denim at the ways we could kill time before morning.
Who knows why I get off on the idea of making out with a woman who doesn’t want me.
Although I think she does. There was something in her eyes, in the way she cried out when I stopped her from coming the other morning that makes me think she’s enjoying this game of ours.
She proved she isn’t going to run.
She could have last night.
She could have this morning.
And I kind of respect her ingenuity in speaking to the camera.
The weather and the stops to pick up supplies make the usually swift ride to the cottage take longer. I see the utility truck working on a power line that looked as though it was brought down by a tree branch, but it’s getting dark. Who knows if they’ll carry on the repair through the night.
When I pull up to the cabin, it’s pitch dark. I can see my own breath when I step outside. The news on the radio on the way here said it was rare to be this cold this early in December. I tug my jacket around my ears and pull up the flashlight on my phone.
I open the door and push it wide. “Rae,” I call out.
There’s no answer.
“Rae?”
Did she run? I should have checked with Vex that she was still here before I went through all this effort.
I turn slowly, pointing the beam of light around the room. Then I see her, sitting in a chair by the window. There are several blankets piled on her, but one arm dangles over the side of the chair and ...
Shit, is she dead?
I hustle over to her and reach for her hand when two things happen simultaneously. First, I realize she’s not frozen. And second, she opens her eyes and lets out a terrifying scream.
“Rae. Shit. It’s me, King.”
It takes her a second. “Jesus,” she gasps and places her hand to her chest. She leans forward and puts her head to her knees. “Scare a woman to death, why don’t you.” The words are muffled by all the blankets.
“I brought supplies.”
“How very generous,” she says, still muffled by the blankets but not enough that I miss the sarcasm.
I stomp to the truck and bring in the bags of logs and kindling. A large part of me is pissed at her response. But when I catch sight of the time on my phone, I do the math. At nine this morning, she said she’d been without power for twenty-one hours. It’s now seven in the evening. She’s been without power for thirty-one hours. And the cottage doesn’t have an ounce of proper insulation.
Once everything is inside, I plug a lamp into one of my portable battery packs. Rae doesn’t say a word, but she does move seats to be close to the fire, anxious for me to light it.
She sighs when it crackles to life.
I bite down on the guilt I feel. Especially when I take in the mattress on the floor in front of the fire.
“It’ll take a while for it to get hot enough to cook on,” I tell her. I forage in one of the food bags and toss her one of the ready-made subs. “Eat this until we can cook.”
I’m about to go deal with the food, put it into the coolers I threw in the back of the truck, but she shocks me and reaches for my hand.
Her fingers are frigid against mine. Slender and soft.
