by Lex Martin
Kendall chides me in mock shock. “Those could be collector’s items!”
“I’ll replace them. Right now we need fuel.” I crumple up the pages, set them in the fireplace, and then lay a bunch of logs on top. A scavenging trip to a utility closet reveals lighter fluid and a few flashlights. I return with everything, strike a match, and set the whole pile of wood and paper on fire.
Thank God I don’t burn down the house.
After a moment, the magazine articles crinkle, consumed by the licking flames, and the logs start to catch. I look back at Kendall, grinning with my accomplishment.
With the burgeoning warmth from the fire, her legs emerge from where they were tucked inside her shirt, and she relaxes. Shazzy pads over and sits next to her, like a Sphinx. A self-cleaning Sphinx. She pets him and says to me, “Maybe you are a mountain man.”
“I’m full of hidden talents.” Or at least not the nitwit she thinks I am.
“Uh-huh. That’s it.”
The rattling of the pan on the stove alerts me that the water is boiling, so I grab her mug and make tea. When I return, she clasps the hot drink with reverence and sniffs it gratefully.
“Thank you.” Her pretty, slim fingers wrap around the cup. If she could step inside it, I think she would. My eyes catch hers, and she gives me a huge smile. Then she goes to take a drink, but her eyes widen, noticing the state of my clothes. “You’re all wet. You need to get those pants off now.”
I smirk. “You want me that badly, huh?”
She rolls her eyes with a laugh. “You know what I mean. Go change so you don’t freeze.”
Picking up my duffel, I take off to find my bedroom, but I only locate one, total. Perplexed, I go back, open the few doors in the hallway, but they either lead outside, to a bathroom, or to the garage.
There must be more to this place. Maybe there’s another cottage. Throwing my bag in the lone bedroom, I undress, pull on black track pants, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and dry socks, hanging my wet clothes in the shower. Now that I’m comfortable and have a moment to think, all the stress of driving up here on the slick roads floods me, and my body sags in exhaustion. I sit on the bed.
What. The. Hell?
And what the what? Why doesn’t the electricity work? Why isn’t everyone else here? How long is this storm going to last? Can I shovel us out and get us back soon? Where were Josh and Evie thinking we’d all sleep if there’s only one bedroom?
That said, it’s a sexy bedroom, with mirrors, a huge king-size bed, and a now-dimming view of the trees.
I decide to make the best of what’s going on here. And with Kendall in the other room, her claws retracted, the best is pretty freaking good.
When I reenter the living room, Kendall’s moved to the couch. She’s curled on some cushions, stroking the cat behind his ears while she sips her tea. The fireplace thankfully puts out some heat. Kendall’s eyes widen at the track pants slung low on my hips and the shirt clinging to my waist. I grin to myself, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she muses, “I wonder whether Josh and Evie are going to make it.”
“They will. Josh has four-wheel drive.” I plunk down on the couch beside her, stretching my arms along the back of the couch—and behind her back—finally taking a load off. The only light now is coming from the fireplace. I toy with a lock of her hair. “You feeling better?”
A smile stretches her lips as she turns toward me. “Yes, thank you.” She tilts her head. Her face is flushed, and her eyes sparkle from the fire.
I squeeze her shoulder. “My pleasure.” I open my mouth to say more, and she does the same thing. I shrug and gesture at her. “You first.”
“Just,” she says quietly, picking her words and saying them into the mug. “Thanks for getting us here in one piece.” She looks up and again, her startling clear eyes cause a chain reaction behind my ribcage. I watch her lips as her words come out haltingly. “I appreciate you looking out for me. Especially after the history we’ve had.”
“Not a problem. I kinda like looking out for you.” The admission rushes out before I can stop it.
Her cheeks redden, and the flustered expression on her face makes me want to plant a kiss on her furrowed brow.
After a stretch of silence, she blows out a breath. “Look, you seem different, and I’m worried that I’ve maybe misjudged you.”
“So do I get a second chance?”
She shrugs. “You’re obviously trying here, so I want to as well.” She studies her mug again. “So yeah, thanks for not leaving me on the side of the road, or, you know, in your trunk or a ditch.”
We both laugh.
“Glad to be marginally competent,” I say. “Well, now that we’re here, want something to eat?”
She glances over my shoulder at the kitchen. “I can’t imagine there’s more than stale crackers and condiments.”
“No, ma’am. We are hooked up.” I rise and gesture to the box of goodies I brought in with our luggage. “My grandma wanted to make sure your friendly neighborhood diabetic could eat at Thanksgiving dinner, so I’ve got everything from green beans with almonds to sugar-free pumpkin pie. Let me make you a plate. And then we need to talk about our sleeping situation.”
9
Kendall
What did he say? Sleeping arrangements and what?
“You’re diabetic?” The health nut in me is triggered, and all I can think about is the myriad ways he’s abused his body since I’ve known him.
When he nods with a somber expression on his face, it starts to make sense. “That’s why you got in shape.”
“Yup.” He pats his now taut belly. “Certainly not because I enjoy Brussels sprouts.” He sets a giant cardboard box next to the coffee table and returns to his seat on the couch next to me.
“Oh, Drew. All that partying…” I bite off the reprimand. He doesn’t need a lecture. His face makes it clear he knows he behaved like a dumbass. And it’s obvious he’s trying to recover. I attempt to redirect my tone before he takes this the wrong way. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Something had to have happened. Drew is the world’s biggest party animal. For him to get in shape to the degree he has means whatever went down was scary.
Now that I think about it, I can’t remember seeing him drunk recently. Josh and Evie’s wedding maybe? Around the time Tristan and I started our PR firm.
Drew winces and rubs his hand along his jaw. “Yeah. Three days in a diabetic coma has a way of making you see the light.”
I gasp. “Jesus, Drew. When?” How did I not know about this?
“Early March. A few days after Josh and Evie’s wedding. One minute I was downing the best mojito north of the Rio Grande, and the next I was face down in my own puke. Or so I was told. All I remember is waking up with fifty wires taped to my body, a godawful taste in my mouth, and a nurse named Ronnie jamming a tube up my dick.” He laughs ruefully. “There’s nothing like the indignity of pissing in a bag. I’m lucky to be alive, I guess. Trying to look on the bright side. You know, not dying.”
“That sounds terrifying.” To my dismay, my eyes fill with tears, and I blink them back.
I try to tuck that emotion behind feeling indignant no one told me Drew was in a fucking coma.
But why would they have? You’ve only professed your hatred for this man since the moment you met.
His brows lift under that blond mop of hair that’s now hanging in his eyes. He sweeps it back with his palm.
“Aww, Kenster, I’m okay now.” He grabs my hand to comfort me. With his other hand, he pets Shazam, who’s returned to his lap and is now kneading his stomach.
I scoot back because this is getting weird. I’ve known Drew for two and a half years, and this road trip is the first time we’ve ever talked about anything serious. And then I find out he had this major trauma that reminds me so much of what my family went through when my dad got sick that I need a minute to collect myself.
“Sorry. Um. I…Uh…” Very eloquent, Kenda
ll. Are you sure you own a public relations firm? Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “I’m sorry you were sick and went through so much.” I motion toward him. “But you must be doing well now because look at you. You’re an Instagram phenom with razor-sharp abs.” And some very enthusiastic fangirls online. His inbox is probably a porn hub all on its own.
He chuckles. “Why, KK, have you been checking out my posts?”
“I’m in PR. I look at everyone’s posts.” So I might’ve sought out his specifically a time or two since I ran into him at the hotel, but I’ll never admit it.
In fact, I looked at Drew’s Instagram right after I scoped out my ex and his perfect little wife and their perfect little baby and wished I wasn’t still hurt that he’d moved on to the next woman like a G6 heading down the runway after we broke up. It made me wonder if he’d been seeing her when he was with me.
God, that’s depressing. Where’s the wine when I need it?
I glance at Drew and realize I couldn’t enjoy a glass now even if I had one. It would be rude to imbibe in front of Drew when he’s trying to straighten out.
Listen to me. Here I am obsessing about my love life when this guy’s dealing with sobriety and diabetes.
“Drew, let’s dig into those snacks. Aren’t you worried about your blood sugar level? We drove for hours, and then you ran around the property with me hanging off your back.”
“Right. Food.” He snaps his fingers. “What time is it?”
I pull out my phone that still has zero bars. “Six.” In the last few minutes, the long shadows of evening have melted into twilight, giving the great room an ethereal glow.
He pauses, a frown on his face. “I’m not sure how Evie planned the meals. Don’t want her to go nuclear if we tank Thanksgiving.”
The Drew I know would’ve kicked his feet up on this coffee table and gorged himself on whatever was around, giving all of two fucks if anyone was inconvenienced.
Drew 2.0 is…sweet. And dare I say thoughtful? I like this new side to him. More than I care to admit.
Now it makes sense why he seems like a new person. Because he almost dropped dead from partying like a rock star. Talk about a come-to-Jesus moment.
“Drew, we’re stuck on the side of a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm. If your sugars get out of whack, you’re hours away from medical attention. I think that trumps Evie’s plans. As her best friend, I absolve you from any worry over that.”
“So if I ruin Thanksgiving, I get to hide behind your skirt, so to speak? Because I got a good look at what you got going on back there today when you were hopping through the window like a sexy cat burglar, and I don’t think it’d be a hardship.”
A wicked grin spreads across his face. Ah. So post-coma Drew is still a perv.
I shake my head, unable to keep my own smile at bay.
“Don’t think I didn’t know you were copping a feel when I asked for help. You might be reformed, but you’re still a menace, huh? Good to know.”
He leans close, so close that I can smell his cologne. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”
His green eyes go dark as his words settle over me.
I open my mouth, but the pithy comeback gets lodged in my throat when his full lips tilt in a flirty smile. What is happening here?
“Meow-ow-ow!” Shazam hops up between us and swipes at a dangling piece of my hair.
Startled, I jump back, my heart skittering in my chest.
“You crazy cat.” I pick him up and tuck him against my neck. “Where’s the love?”
Drew shakes his head with mock disgust in his eyes. “Cock-blocked by a pussy. There’s a first.”
I laugh. “Here I was thinking you were such a charmer.”
“Oh, I am. Don’t worry. I’m saving the big guns for later.”
That’s what I’m worried about.
* * *
Drew sits next to me on the floor in front of the low coffee table, and between us, candles flicker gently against the darkness that’s descended across the living room, our faces illuminated by the banked fire.
It’s terribly romantic.
I don’t know how I feel about this. One minute, I find myself giving in to Drew’s natural charisma, but the next, the voice of reason is screaming, This is Demerit! He once told you you’d be pretty if you unjammed the rod up your ass.
Shaking my head, I try to focus on the fact that he’s trying, and I’m a big believer in supporting someone trying to change. That made all the difference in my dad’s life during his health crisis, and it looks like it might in Drew’s life too.
Once Drew’s done laying out a few different dishes his grandmother made and a Ziploc bag of fresh veggies, he reaches into the big box and pulls out a bottle of wine.
“Pinot’s your favorite, right?”
With a nod, I frown. “But you can’t drink, can you? I wouldn’t feel right enjoying a glass if you can’t.”
“I wasn’t going to have any. This is for you. Though, technically, yes, I could have a glass if I wanted. I’d just need to check my sugars first.”
As much as I’d love a glass right now, I’m still wary.
He motions toward the bottle. “Have some if you’d like. I don’t even drink wine. It won’t make me struggle with sobriety or anything like that. Now if you were offering me a shot of vodka with a line of blow, I might have a hard time.”
He means it as a joke, but that’s a level of partying I’ve never known or wanted to know. Sure, I’ve smoked a little pot—with my parents, no less. Crazy, I know, but this is Oregon where it’s legal. But cocaine?
Drew must see the concern all over my face, and he sighs. “I haven’t done coke or anything like it since I landed in the hospital. I used it as an example so you could see your glass of wine is no biggie.” He gives me one of those somber smiles I’m getting used to, laced with regret. It makes me feel like a jerk for being a downer.
He leans closer. “Wanna hear a little secret?” I nod, wanting to change the tone of discussion. “I brought the wine for you. As a way to wave the white flag.”
Smiling, I reach for a baby carrot. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been trying to think of a way to apologize to you for all the shitty things I’ve said to you over the years, and I know you and Evie like the vino. So I bought you a case. Then I thought that seemed extreme—like, hey, your resident fuck-up brought you a case of booze—so I only brought a bottle this weekend.” He chuckles. “But if you like it, I have more I can bring you.”
“Oh, Drew.” What am I going to do with you? Over the years, he’s made me so nuts, I didn’t think strangling him with my bare hands was completely out of the question. “That was very thoughtful. Thank you. When you put it like that, I’d love a glass, but you have to swear to me it won’t be weird for you if I do.”
The last thing I want to do when he’s being so sweet is turn down his gift.
“Scout’s honor.” He holds up three fingers as he gets up and trots into the kitchen. After a few minutes of clanging about, he returns with an opener and a glass.
When he pours it a minute later, I ask, “Were you even a Boy Scout?”
“Yes.” He nods slowly. “With Josh. Until I got kicked out.”
We laugh, our voices cutting through the quiet of the room.
After he hands me the glass, I sniff the dark liquid, and it smells delicious. After a few sips, I grin. “This is the best wine I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
“You’re not just saying that? Because if you really like it, I gotta give props to my sommelier because I know shit about wine. My wine knowledge is limited to the ‘How merlot do you go’ meme.”
“I love it.” Boy, do I. It’s the perfect pinot with hints of cherry and blackberry, my favorite combination. I actually don’t know a lot about wine except what I like—nothing too sweet or too dry. Evie used to buy it by the box with the pour spout, so I wouldn’t say it has to be pricey for me to enjoy, though judging by the
label on this one, Drew spared no expense.
“I’m sure I would’ve loved whatever you brought me.”
Although the wine goes to my head quickly since I haven’t eaten much yet, it’s helping me relax despite the mountain of work I should be doing right now and emails I can’t check and messages I probably have.
“So what do you say about the truce? Do I get that second chance for real?” He hands me a plate of fancy cheeses and crackers and then settles in to slice an apple, which makes me wonder if he picked those up to complement the vintage.
Licking my lips, I nod. “I’d like to start over with you.”
A huge grin stretches across his face, and his body straightens like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
As though maybe my words have helped him.
I return his smile.
Truthfully, I’m tired of this weird animosity between us. I know it bothers our friends. How great would it be to get along with Drew? To be in on his jokes instead of the butt of them.
He did tell some mean ones about me.
My eye twitches again.
He clears his throat, and his gaze grows more intense. “I appreciate a do-over more than you know. I’m not in AA, but I understand the make-amends thing. I didn’t just want to apologize with a bottle of wine. I wanted to say it, too. For real. With words, I mean. God, I’m shitty at this.” As he looks away, his laugh is rueful and self-conscious, an emotion I’ve never seen from him before.
But then his eyes are back on mine. “Kendall, I am truly sorry about how abysmally I’ve behaved toward you, starting the first time we met.” He shakes his head and lowers his voice. “I barely remember that night at the restaurant, but the bits and pieces that come back to me are pretty horrendous. I was out of control, and I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you.”
I swallow past the strange rush of emotion. “I appreciate the apology.” I laugh awkwardly. “Yeah, it was a bad first impression.”
