Page 54 of Little Bird
Do I need something?
Yes. I need her more than I need breath.
And it’s the worst idea in the world, because if I take one more step forward—if I let myself lean into her and claim her mouth, claim her soul—it could end up destroying both of us.
And Taryn, always capable of looking right through me, knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Do it,” she whispers. “Stop being so afraid. We’re not kids anymore. All in, right? We don’t have to hide.”
“My whole life is hiding,” I say. I know it’s cryptic and will just lead to more questions—and rightfully so. She’s my best friend, or at least she used to be. She deserves a real answer.
I just can’t give it to her.
My hand spasms on her cheek like it’s got a mind of its own and is fighting to hold onto her, but I tear it away and let it drop to my side. I watch her eyes go from warm and hazy and hopeful to cold, hard, and jagged.
And I know I’ve lost her. Again.
“Coward,” she mutters.
She’s turning and walking away, following my father’s tracks, before I can say anything else, and I let her go. I should go after her, tell her she needs to take the ATV, but I don’t move. She’ll be okay, and if I keep talking, I’ll just make things worse. I know it. I can’t tell her what she wants to hear.
So I keep quiet and watch as she leaves, my heart breaking along a thousand familiar lines once again.
Taryn
When I wake up the next morning, something’s wrong.
I lay very still in bed for several moments, trying to figure out what it is, before I realize that the house is far too quiet. I can’t hear the sound of anyone else rattling around downstairs in the kitchen or down the hall in the bathroom. No chickens clucking outside or axes hitting wood.
And none of the background noise that I’ve grown used to in the house. The random creaks and groans that happen when the earth moves under us, or some part of the house decides to settle. No wind rattling the shutters or moisture falling on the roof.
Just pure, dead silence.
The moment I get out of bed, I see why. Outside, the world is buried in snow. I can see the tips of some of the trees in the driveway and in the distance, but many of them are completely submerged, and when I look down, I see the snow has covered the patio that runs the length of the house. It’s piled along the house and reaches to within a couple feet of my window.
And it’s still coming down.
I dress as quickly as I can, brush my teeth and make sure I look at least somewhat presentable, and then hurry downstairs. It’s darker down here, like it’s secretly nighttime, and I see that the curtains are pulled on the windows, the doors all secured with boards. Some of the lights are on and a hot fire roars in the fireplace, with a new stack of wood sitting next to it. The lights on the Christmas tree are on, and the room smells of pine needles and firewood.
I look around like I’m seeing it for the first time, which is stupid when I’ve been living in this house for a week now, and then turn to find Gunner and Gabe in the kitchen drinking coffee.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Gabe gives me a look that says he thinks I may have woken up without my brain. “It’s snowing,” he says slowly. “A lot.”
I make a face at him. “I noticed that, asshole. What does that mean?”
Gunner pushes himself off the counter, coffee cup in hand, and strolls toward the fireplace, where he stands with his back to the flame, warming himself. “It means,” he says, “that we’re snowed in. Snow’s nearly up to the second floor and still coming down. All the vehicles are buried, and even if they weren’t, no one plows the roads up here. We’re stuck. Snowed in.”
Snowed in. The phrase makes me feel immediately panicked, though I don’t know why. I’ve been snowed in here before, when I was younger. Not often, but a couple of times over the years, and it always felt like an adventure. Like we were explorers stuck in a cave somewhere in the forest, having to make our own way in the world. Gabe and I always thought it was hilarious. I know the rules for being snowed in: We live on what we have, make sure the animals are safe, and do our best to dig our way out. We wait for the snow to melt enough for us to leave, and until then, we entertain ourselves with what we have.
No big deal.
So why does it suddenly feel like a situation that might explode on us at any moment?
Within an hour I know why it felt explosive. My instincts were screaming at me that this was going to go sideways on all of us, and they were right. Gabe and Gunner seemed to have come to an understanding yesterday, and even teamed up to attack me in our little snow war, but now Gunner, at least, has forgotten about their truce. The men are at each other’s throats, arguing about everything, and when Gunner gets on the phone and starts arguing with someone else—I presume Gabby, based on what I hear—Gabe snorts in disgust and goes outside, saying he’s going to start trying to clear some snow.
I don’t know what he’s going to do when it’s still snowing out, but decide I’d better not say anything and head up to my room to try to make myself scarce. Before I can get up the stairs, though, Gunner puts his phone on speaker so I can hear the whole conversation.
