Tossing the pillow down, I drop my blanket to the bed and pull off my hat, standing there for about three seconds before I just let my feet carry me. Drifting out of my room, I loiter in the hall, shuffling my feet for a moment before I disappear up Kaleb’s stairs. It’s only about three in the afternoon, and despite the tense talk at the breakfast table this morning, Jake and Noah are happily working in the shop, pulling together in Kaleb’s absence. How are they not more worried? I’m pissed at him, but it’s winter. He could die out there. What if he didn’t even make it to the cabin?
Turning the knob, I swing open his bedroom door, the room dark except for the light coming from the window, and step inside.
I close my eyes, inhaling his scent. The world spins behind my lids, and I feel dizzy. Why can’t Noah’s smell do this to me? He’d be so happy to have me in his arms tonight. He’s been good about not being obvious, but I know he wants to hold me. He wants me to look at him.
Walking farther into the room, I step over to the bed and pick up one of Kaleb’s pillows, his sheets rumpled and his blanket half hanging onto the floor. I press the pillow to my nose, the icy coolness of his pillowcase making me shiver before I can breathe him in.
I draw it in, not smelling anything at first, but then it’s there. Still there. The trees and thistles, wood and leather. And something else. Something you only get when you’re buried in his neck. Heat swirls low in my belly, and I sit down on the bed, weak.
It’s cold in here. Dark and dusty. The fireplace is black from years of ash, and even though he didn’t take anything that I would notice, it feels abandoned.
Walking over to the far wall, I stand at the picture window and stare into the woods, the snowy landscape beautiful and peaceful.
I’m still angry.
And if he walked through the door right now and wanted to make amends, I’d probably roll over and lap up any scraps he wanted to offer. He would win.
He’s winning right now. It’s been a week, and I’m right back where I was when I first came here. Making myself unhappy, because…
Because I’m only worth anything if someone wants to love me.
Just like with them.
The tears that have been perpetually burning at the backs of my eyes for the last week dry, and I draw in a long, deep breath, releasing everything and the weight on my shoulders along with it.
I’m bigger than this. I want to live.
Spinning around, I leave the room and close the door, taking one last look at his space before I do.
Then, I head downstairs and into the shop, turning the music the guys are listening to up as I get started on the armoire.
Noah smiles at me, I pull on my goggles, and we all get to work.
Tiernan
Twisting the handle, I rev the engine, the back tire skidding under me and making a half moon in the snow. I sit down, lock my boots on the pedals, and speed off, racing up the salted driveway as the dark clouds hang overhead.
I love this weather. It’s in the twenties, and while December and January were painful it didn’t take long to toughen me up. I barely wear a coat outside these days.
I’m not even sure what day it is, only that it’s February. I think.
I pull to a stop at the shop door and take off my helmet, hanging it on the handlebar as I climb off the bike.
“I love it!” I tell Jake.
“Want one?”
I smile, watching him wipe the grease off his hands. “Maybe something street legal, instead.”
He shakes his head, and I lean on the washing machine, kicking off my boots. The cuff of my beautiful Aran Islands sweater is unraveling, a wool string hanging over my hand, but it only feels good, because I know my clothes have now been lived in, worn for hours and days doing things I love.
Five pieces of furniture sit around the shop—two end tables, a headboard, another chest, and the wardrobe. I would’ve finished more in the past couple of months, but I completed all my coursework already, got my college applications done, and tried a ton of new recipes, using our perishable food while it was still good.
It’ll still be at least eight weeks before I can taste a fresh, crisp apple, though. I can’t wait to get to town.
But then some days, I hope the snow never melts.
There’s dirt under my nails, and I never need make-up because I’m outside every day, earning my rosy cheeks.