Page 4 of Snowbound
At first, it’s faint, almost swallowed by the wind, but it cuts through the stillness. She has enough firewood to last a couple of days, maybe three if she’s careful, but now that the electricity’s gone, she’ll burn through it faster.
The owners of this little cabin are useless. They depend entirely on their electric heat, the city convenience of it, the thoughtless assumption that the grid never fails. But I made sure the fireplace was in perfect working order.
I cut her power on purpose. Gives me a little control. Her electricity could still be humming right now, the place warm and lit, but I made damn sure it wasn’t. The snowstorm is my gift from above, and the blackout… well, that’s my own handiwork. It’s the kind of opportunity you don’t wait for but take.
It’ll be easier this way.
She’s trapped. Just where I want her.
But now, she’s crying, and Ihatewhen Emma cries. Always have.
I’m going to track down her fucking ex and beat him to within an inch of his life. Lowlife prick has had it coming to him for years. I flex my hand, imagining how satisfying it will be to wipe the feckin’ smarmy grin off his goddamn face.
Quietly, I step off the side of the porch she can’t see from her kitchen window and lean against the rough trunk of a spruce. My hands bury deeper into my coat pockets as the cold needles my cheeks and nose. The little window throws a fleck of amber into the woods, glowing against the darkness.
And there she is, framed in that square of light. Cross-legged on the couch, her head bowed over a notebook, hair spilling around her face.
She’s dropped her pen. Her face is in her hands.
Don’t cry for him, beautiful. He isn’t worth it.
I whisper it to the trees, to the cold air, to the part of me that aches watching her break over someone who doesn’t deserve to be remembered.
After a while, she straightens her shoulders, slow but steady, and picks up her pen again. She starts to write. I wasn’t sure she would.
Good girl. That’s my girl.Pride swells in my chest, heavy and possessive.He isn’t worth it. Move on, sweetheart.
My breath drifts in the cold, curling slow in the air. I’ve learned patience over the past five years. Nah, if I’m honest,it’s been much longer than that. I’ve wanted her since before it was proper, back when we were too young, and she was still innocent.
I’ve spent years breaking bones for the McCarthys when the job demanded it. And through it all, no one stripped me of this one thing: needing Emma.
I tell myself I’m only making sure she’s safe. But seeing her now, fragile, broken, something catches in my chest, sharp and unexpected.
Why thehelldid she ever let that arsehole in?
Was she that fucked up from her parents’ ruined marriage that she had to fall for the first loser she thought stable?
Why?
She doesn’t flinch when the wind howls. She doesn’t notice me on the porch. Did she notice the food I put in the fridge? The note I left tucked between the milk and the orange juice? I wondered if she’d recognize my handwriting. But it’s been years, and the poor lass is broken.
A part of me thinks I should be relieved. In my line of work, broken things are easier to keep. But all it does is make me want to touch her more.
CHAPTER THREE
Emma
Spoiler alert:Tomorrow does not greet me with productivity and inspiration, but with blinding light and a freezing room.
I blink, momentarily disoriented, reaching for my cluttered bedside table, expecting my half-toppled stack of laundry to be glaring back at me. It takes me a minute to remember I’m in a cabin. A tiny cabin meant for two, except the only thing I brought is myself, a looming deadline, and heartbreak.
Every day for the past month, I’ve hit the snooze button, crawled back in bed, and tried to sleep away my worries. But today, something has to change. I’m in a new place and told no one where I was going for a damn reason.
My head is full of fog, my limbs heavy. I shuffle to the desk in my socks, with my laptop under my arm. Outside, the sky isn’t blue but a pure, flat white.
Snow incoming? Probably. Do I care? Not really. I’m in the middle of nowhere. The only thing that matters is writing this damn book.
Coffee first. That was the plan. Coffee before all else.
