He would be so mad if that happened. He’d bring me back from the dead just to kill me again. But if I didn’t find somewhere to wait out this storm, I was going to die of exposure before I ever found out who had sent him marshmallow flavored lube, and that really didn’t seem fair.
Picking the direction I thought was most likely to take me back to the driveway, I set off, trying to pull the neck of my sweatshirts up over my head, to cover my ears, without simultaneously exposing my lower back to the biting cold. The sky was a blank white box, and the snow just would not stop, and holy fucking shit, my feet were so cold and wet, trudging through the drifts.
After five minutes, I stopped again. I had no idea if I was getting closer to the driveway or farther from it. Nothing around me looked familiar, not that I could see more than a few feet in any direction. In fact, all I could see was a mass of bushes to my right, weighed down by heaps of snow, and some gray mass in front of me that was either a pile of boulders or a small herd of elephants.
Except, wait.
Boulders—and elephants, for that matter—didn’t have doors.
With a cry of relief that was immediately lost to the storm, I rushed forward—or moved as fast as I could, anyway—against the wind. With a final gasp, I threw myself against the gray mass, which turned out to be some kind of hut. I yanked the door open, my muscles shrieking in protest, and stumbled into a small, rough-hewn room lined with shelves, gardening implements, and an unfinished floor.
It was dark inside as soon as I pulled the door shut. The windows were mostly covered by drifts of snow, and I didn’t see a light switch anywhere, but I didn’t care. I was out of the wind, and for that, I was willing to offer prayers to any and all gods that might be watching.
I took a step forward and crashed down onto the floor, landing on my shoulder with a cry of pain. Fuck. I twisted to see what I’d tripped over.
A large shovel lay under my shins and I glared, kicking at it futilely. Now that I was down, I wasn’t sure I had the energy to get back up. With a final flailing motion, I dislodged the shovel from under my legs and let myself collapse more fully, my head resting on the wooden boards.
I’d found shelter. I was still fucked, very much so, and I knew I needed to get up and see what else was in this hut. Something I could use to light a fire or, well, anything. But I was exhausted, and I just wanted to lie down for a minute.
Just one minute, and I’d—
I couldn’t even finish the thought before exhaustion swept me under.
10
Holden
I sat in my studio and glowered at my computer, trying to work up the energy to turn it on.
Well, no.
If I were being honest, I wasn’t trying to do that. I wasn’t even really staring at my computer. I was staring at Hadley’s basket, which I’d brought in here.
To be completely truthful, it felt like the basket was staring at me, and like I could hear Hadley’s voice emanating from its tissue-paper vocal cords.
Feel better now? the Hadley-basket asked me, its handle arching like an eyebrow. Feel nice and secure behind your walls, now that you snapped at Gus and made him feel terrible over something that really wasn’t his fault?
Feel safer, knowing that he not only didn’t get a chance to learn anything about your past, but you’ve probably hurt him so much he doesn’t want to know anything about your present either?
Feel better, knowing that the first chance you had in seven years to connect with someone who’s not employed by you, you shut down out of fear and kneejerk assholery, because you can’t keep a hold of your temper?
I glared at the basket.
The basket glared back.
“It’s not my fault,” I protested. I felt ridiculous, talking to a piece of wicker in an otherwise empty room, but was unable to contain myself. “He shouldn’t have pried. Just because Daisy said it was okay didn’t mean it was. He should have known better.”
The basket didn’t respond, but I was pretty sure the tissue paper looked skeptical.