by B. B. Hamel
I grin at him as I move my single army over onto Brazil, pushing his out of the way.
“I think I’ll hold onto mine for now.”
He blinks. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll hold onto it,” I repeat. “Save it for a better time.”
He groans. “You’re killing me here.”
I shrug a little bit, smirking at him. “You never specified a time limit.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, and I laugh lightly.
He takes up the dice, and we finish playing the game. He ends up winning, but it’s close. We kill most of the day like that, and when we’re done, he makes us both dinner.
We don’t hear anymore sounds, and I keep thinking about what I want to do with my dare.
12
Ethan
We spend the rest of the night watching movies until Mia decides to go to bed early. I can tell she wanted to ask me more questions for her story, but I just couldn’t concentrate on that.
Something strange is happening in my house, but I don’t know what it is.
Jones couldn’t settle down all night. I had to bring him into my bedroom, just to keep him from bugging Mia. I’ve never had to do that before. Jones usually sleeps like a log at night, and definitely doesn’t run around sniffing at everything. If some animal got into the house, that would make sense, but still. I don’t know what it could be.
I go to sleep and get up early. I head downstairs to make some coffee and breakfast. Mia comes down not long later, wearing jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt. I offer her some food and coffee and she thanks me, but she hardly touches the coffee.
I narrow my eyes at her as she eats. I haven’t seen her drink any alcohol since she’s been here, although I’ve offered, and I’ve been drinking. Maybe she’s not much of a drinker, which is fine, but still. I saw her have a few drinks the first night we met.
I don’t have time to think about it, though, because Mia’s back to the questions. “Have you always been an early riser?”
I shrug a little bit. “Guess so. But I’d never describe myself as a ‘morning person.’”
“Why not?”
“It’s a stupid phrase. I’m an all-day person.”
She laughs a little bit. “I can see that.”
“I’m my best at all times.”
“Including when you’re asleep?”
I lean toward her. “Especially when I’m asleep.”
She laughs lightly and puts her fork down. She didn’t eat all that much, but is fine. “Done?” I ask.
“Done,” she says, and I grab her plate to polish it off. “Oh, gross.”
“What?” I say, eggs in my mouth.
“You’re going to eat my leftover food?”
“Nothing better than scraps.”
“Ugh. That’s revolting.” She stands up and walks away from the kitchen as I laugh and shovel the rest of her breakfast into my mouth. I neglect to mention that we can’t waste anything out here right now, since supplies are limited and getting more supplies might not happen for a few more days.
“What’s the plan for today?” she asks me.
“I was thinking of having you shovel some more,” I reply.
She stares at me. “Come on,” she says finally. “That’s like, two feet of snow!”
“Little less than that,” I say. “It’ll be good for you.”
“Doubtful,” she grumbles.
I laugh at her and finish off my coffee. “Relax. I actually have something fun for us.”
“Oh yeah?” she perks up a little.
“Do you like to go fishing?”
The expression on her face is absolutely priceless.
“I just want to make it clear that I didn’t come out here for this,” she says.
“Duly noted. Can you hand me that auger?”
She makes a face at the tools I have piled on a little sled. “What’s that?”
“The drill looking thing.”
She grabs me the auger and hands it over. “Come on,” I say.
She hesitates as I walk out onto the ice. The lake’s been frozen for a couple weeks now, and I’m absolutely positive that it’ll hold our weight if the snow hasn’t cracked anything. I go slow at first, though, making sure that it’s nice and solid. About twenty feet out, I stop, and motion for Mia to follow.
She hesitates, but then she follows. I expected her to fight me more, and I’m impressed when she doesn’t. She trudges out along behind me, bundled up in some solid layers and wearing some old boots of mine. Everything’s way too big on her, but it’s the best we can do.
“Okay,” I say. “This spot looks good. Help me clear it off.”
We grab some shovels and clear the snow off the ice. We make a decent-sized clearing for ourselves, with the sled on one side, and two overturned buckets as chairs.
“What now?” Mia asks, looking nervous.
I stomp my feet. “Now we drill into this ice and make a hole.”
She glances around. “You’re sure this is okay?” she asks.
“Positive. I do it every year.”
She makes a face but doesn’t argue. The ice below the snow is a nice shade of blue, which I expected, since I checked it just last week. I start drilling with the auger until it breaks through. I pull out the auger and double check with a little measuring stick. “The ice is six inches thick, plenty thick for us,” I say.
That seems to help, but she still looks nervous. I smile to myself as I set aside the auger. The hole is about eight inches across, just enough for two people to fish. I grab the poles from the sled and bait them from the bait bucket I brought. I hand her one pole before sitting down to drop my line.
She watches me as I do it. I just lower the line into the water, deep enough that it almost hits the bottom. She sits and does it as well, letting her bait sink in.
“This is it?” she asks me.
“Yep,” I say. “Pretty much.”
“So we’re ice fishing.” She laughs a little bit. “Never thought I’d do it.”
“Welcome to the mountains.”
Jones barks somewhere nearby. Mia looks up, but I don’t bother. He probably found a squirrel den or something like that.
I have to skim ice chips from the opening, but mostly the fishing is easy. We sit side by side, raising then lowering our bait, waiting for the fish to bite. I’ve caught stuff in the past, and it all depends on how hungry the fish are, and how active.
“How often do you do this?” she asks me.
“A few times a year,” I say. “It’s a lot of work and not that fun when you’re alone.”
“I thought you loved it?” she asks. “Why are we out here then?”
I laugh a little. “I wanted you to experience real ice fishing.”
“I’m very impressed. Can we go inside now?”
“Not until we catch something. Unless you want to use your dare?” I raise an eyebrow at her.
She quickly shakes her head. “No, thanks. You’re not getting out of it so easily.”
“Fair enough.” I grin to myself, but I’m mostly watching Mia.
Although she’s complaining, she’s taking to this pretty easily. She’s watching her pole like a hawk, clearly engaged. Part of me thinks it’s because she’s just a competitive person, and wants to beat me at this, which is fine. But I also think there’s a natural excitement and curiosity about her that I find very, very attractive.
It’s hard to find people that get excited about things. It’s easy to think things are stupid, or boring, or not worth your time. Negativity is easy. Mia may make comments, but she dives into things with both feet, and she engages with whatever we’re doing. I think that’s so important in a person. It shows she can do new things without judging it prematurely, even if she’d rather be inside and warm by the fire. I can’t really blame her there.
I suddenly feel something nibble on my line. I pull it up and start reeling, but there’s nothing on my hook. “Took my bait,” I grumble.
<
br /> “Sucks,” Mia says. “I’ll catch him and avenge you.”
I laugh as I put on new bait.
“There it is!” she shouts, jerking her pole and reeling. She brings up a nice-sized fish, a bluegill from the looks of it, laughing her head off.
I head over with an empty bucket. I get the fish off her hook and drop it into the bucket.
“Good job,” I say. “Caught the first one.”
“Does that mean I win?”
“Sure does,” I say.
“What’s my prize?”
“You get to fish some more.”
She pouts. “Boring.”
I smirk at her. “I can give you a more interesting prize, but I think we’d have to go inside for that.”
She bites her lip and turns back to the hole. I laugh as she awkwardly baits her line and drops it back in.
I toss the fish back and sit down. I drop my line and we sit there, side by side, lines in the water, waiting.
I have to admit, this feels good. I know ice fishing isn’t exciting or glamorous, but there’s something beautiful about being out on a lake like this. The landscape is pristine, absolutely untouched, with not a single other person for miles. It really is beautiful out here, even if it’s cold as hell and everything’s frozen.
“I get why you live out here,” she says softly, and it surprises me. It’s like she read my mind.
“Oh, yeah?”
“This is nice. I mean, it’s like a vacation.”
I laugh a little bit. “It’s not a vacation for me.”
“I know. It’s your prison.” She meets my gaze. “Why do you call it that?”
I look away from her, not answering. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about that, to give her the real reason why I don’t think it’s safe for me to be around anyone.
But I want to tell her so badly. I’ve been keeping this secret inside for so long, for much longer than she even realizes. It’s been eating me up, and I’ve finally started punishing myself for my stupid decisions. Those decisions led to the deaths of seven men, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that fact.
I keep forgetting about it. With her. In my house, I feel less haunted. I don’t hear the screams, the heat of the fire, the earth-shaking shattering of the building crumbling. When she leaves, all of that will come back. But right now, it’s not so bad.
And I want to share the burden. I know I shouldn’t, since she’s a journalist and she’s writing a story about me, but still.
“I made a mistake when I was young, just starting out,” I say softly.
She perks up, but doesn’t say anything. I can tell she’s listening intently. I can’t look at her.
“I got involved with some people… they were the ones that gave me the money to get started. I shouldn’t have taken it, but… I thought I could just pay off the debt, and be done with them.”
I stare at the ice for a while then, remembering. I thought I could trust these men. They knew my father, back when they were all younger. My father was a prominent political activist, something of a communist in the sixties and seventies. He grew out of that and disavowed the whole thing, but he made a bunch of contacts. I thought they could be trusted, and maybe they could, back then.
Things change, though.
“Who were they?” she asks me finally.
“Nobody,” I say. “It’s nothing.”
“Ethan,” she says. “You can talk to me.”
I meet her gaze finally. “You can’t write about this. Do you understand? I told you too much.”
“Ethan,” she says again, but I’m done listening. I reel in my pole and toss it back on the sled. I toss my bucket back on as she reels in her line.
I grab the sled and start trudging back to the house without another word. I hate myself for being so fucking weak that I can’t even keep my darkest truth to myself.
But really… I’m afraid of myself. It’s not my weakness that scares me, but my desire for Mia. I shouldn’t want her, shouldn’t want to be anywhere near her, since she’s a journalist and can ruin me completely. Maybe I want her to ruin me. Maybe that’s the absolution I’m seeking.
She catches up and tosses her rod and bucket onto the sled. She doesn’t talk as we head back to the house. Jones catches up with us halfway there and trots around Mia, playing with her in the snow, making her laugh.
That’s it, right there, that laughter. It’s so fucking dangerous. It’s making me forget why I’m here, but I remember now. I’m a dangerous man, and she shouldn’t be anywhere near me.
When this snow thaws, I’m taking her into town and making sure she never comes back to see me again. As much as I hate the thought of her leaving, I can’t let her stay. I can’t risk losing another person for my own selfish reasons.
Maybe she’ll understand, or maybe she won’t, but it doesn’t matter either way.
13
Mia
Ethan is distant and strange for the rest of the day, and I don’t try to bring him out of it.
I can tell he went too far out on the lake, or at least he thought he did. I can’t stop thinking about what he said. He got involved with bad people when he was starting out, and they probably gave him money to open his lumber business. That explains a lot, since I’ve always wondered where the initial investment came from. His story of working hard and saving up never really made sense.
So he got involved with bad people. What does that have to do with the accident years later? And why is this his self-imposed prison?
These thoughts roll through my head all afternoon. He disappears into his room, and doesn’t come back out until dinnertime. I pass the day watching movies and reading some books that I find in another spare room.
We eat together, but he’s distant. We chat about the movies I saw, but when I try to move onto a more personal subject, he shuts down. Clearly, telling me about his past earlier today is really weighing on him.
As we finish dinner, he stands up. “I’m heading to bed,” he says. “Make yourself at home. See you tomorrow.”
He turns to go. “Ethan, wait,” I say. “Hold on.”
He looks back at me, face blank. “Yeah?”
“Look, about earlier. I won’t write about anything you tell me, okay? It’s just… if you want to talk about something, I’m here for you. Off the record, I swear.”
“Thanks,” he says. “But I’m okay.”
He turns and leaves, disappearing back upstairs. And leaving me with the dishes.
I sigh and clean up. Jones hovers around me, clearly waiting for scraps. I let him lick the plates before I put them into the dishwasher, which seems to satisfy him. Ethan gave him dinner just before we sat down to eat, so I don’t have to worry about that.
The fire’s starting to die down, so I add a log the way Ethan showed me. I reflect for a second that I’ve never added a log to a fire in my whole life, and now I’ve done that plus gone ice fishing in just a few days.
I thought Ethan was going to be different. Part of me expected just another rich guy, living a rich life, but he’s not exactly that. Sure, his house is incredible and expensive, but he also chops his own wood, goes ice fishing, does all his own chores, lives totally cut off from civilization, plus who knows how many other things. There’s nothing lazy about this man. He may be rich, but he’s not just another rich guy paying people to do his laundry for him.
I stay up later than I intended, reading a cheesy romance novel and thinking about what to do next. The snow’s done falling, although the temperatures are still pretty low. I don’t know when it’s going to thaw enough for us to get back into town. Part of me is afraid that it’s going to take a month at least.
But I can’t stay here a month, even if part of me wants to. I don’t have any clothes, for starters, and I’m sure Ethan is ready to get rid of me. I thought we had something, but he’s been distant these last two days, ever since we slept together.
It’s after midnight by the time I finish
my book and decide to turn in. Jones has been sitting next to me this whole time, and when I stand up, he jumps up to attention.
“Want to go out?” I ask him, and he wags his tail in response.
I take him out the garage door. It’s cold as hell outside, but he runs out into the darkness. I stand there, worried for a second that I just lost Ethan’s dog, but before I can really start to freak, Jones comes trotting back.
“Good boy,” I say to him, and he licks my hand and lets me pet his head. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
Before we can go in, though, suddenly there’s a noise from outside. I go dead still, and Jones suddenly tenses. He takes a few steps toward the driveway, his tail out straight, ears at attention.
The noise comes again. It’s like a banging toward the side of the house. Jones barks and sprints outside. I hear another bang, and what I swear sounds like a shout, plus more barking.
“Jones!” I yell. “Come back!”
I’m afraid he’s going to get attacked by a bear or something. It must be a wild animal out there, since there aren’t any people for miles. That can’t have been a person yelling, right?
I run inside, sprinting up the steps, heart hammering in my chest. I don’t really think about it, I just burst into Ethan’s room.
I know I’m not supposed to be in here, but I’m terrified. His room is big, bigger than mine. There’s a large bed toward one side, a desk with a laptop against the other wall, and a dresser. It’s pretty sparse, although I spot a few empty whisky bottles on the floor. And there are newspaper clippings hung up over his dresser, and some photographs propped up of people I don’t recognize, and…
“Mia?” Ethan sits up in bed, looking at me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s Jones,” I say, breathless. “I think he’s being attacked.”
Ethan jumps out of bed without a word. “Go downstairs.”
I do as he says. A minute later he comes barreling down, a gun in his hands, dressed in warm gear. He throws on some boots and runs outside, gun ready.
