Snowed in with the Firefighter (Shadow Creek, Montana)

by Victoria James

  She rubbed her lower back and eyed the treadmill. Maybe she’d just stick with running. Running had always agreed with her. It was a perfectly acceptable way to relieve stress. Maybe yoga and all that stuff was just overrated. She could drink decaf tea if she needed to relax.

  Or she could just not exercise at all…and just mope around on the house all day, avoiding Christmas movies. She sat up a little straighter and rolled her shoulders. She could drink coffee, put on a warm sweater, and pretend that she wasn’t running away from life. She could eat all the comfort food she’d brought and not worry about achieving any kind of goals other than brushing her teeth and showering. Yes, she could totally run away from life.

  Except life was upstairs—in very fine form, thanks to Finn. Staring at the treadmill, she went back and forth about exercising and realized this was the first time in her life where she was avoiding it. Normally, she used it as a way to stay strong and energetic in a demanding job or for stress relief. She didn’t need that anymore. Who cared if she was strong and energetic? Stress? She had none now.

  She stood and stared at the treadmill. She didn’t want to go on it. She could hear her mother’s voice telling her not to put on weight like Addie, telling her if she ever wanted to be as thin as Molly she’d have to put in the hard work. She crossed her arms and turned her head from the treadmill. Brushing away the disappointment in herself and the guilt, she turned off the lights and headed back upstairs. It was okay to take a break from everything every once in a while.

  “Finished already?” Finn said as she entered the great room. He was sitting at the island with his laptop open and drinking coffee.

  She didn’t want to tell him that she hadn’t worked out at all. Normally, that would have sent her into a spiral of guilt and self-loathing. Melody didn’t quit, and Melody didn’t run away from hard things. Until now. She shrugged and made her way to the coffeemaker. “Just a bit under the weather today,” she said, pouring a cup, keeping her back to Finn.

  Finn was going to be another complication for her. He was chatty and pleasant—well, he was before, and she assumed that even if he wasn’t the same now, he was probably more social than she was. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. She didn’t want to answer why she hadn’t worked out. She just didn’t want to. She’d had to answer to her mother her entire life, to be told that no matter what she did, it wasn’t good enough. She’d been set up to compete with Molly—only Molly had no idea. But their mother had pitted Melody against her, using Melody’s desire to have her mother’s affections as a way to fuel a one-sided competition.

  But Melody had learned the truth two years ago and had been left reeling. Her entire life had been one big manipulation. She didn’t even know who she would have been if she hadn’t been forced in a certain direction. Would she have even been a doctor? Or had she really done all of this to please her mother? She had turned away so many opportunities for a social life, true friends, guys, everything because she had been so focused on her career goals—but she didn’t know if it had just all been to prove to her mother that she was good enough. How could she have not seen that until two years ago, after reconnecting with her sisters?

  Finn and his older brother were so close. He would never understand the kind of sister she’d been to Molly. Melody had been jealous and resentful of Molly. She’d let herself be manipulated by their mom, and when Molly needed her most, she hadn’t been there. She would never forgive herself for that. He and Ben were well-rounded and perfect. It was hard to be around people this well-adjusted. She would make sure she didn’t use the Vitamix until later in the morning, though. She’d felt really guilty when he’d walked in with circles under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept enough.

  “You okay?” Finn asked, his deep voice laced with worry as he shut the lid on his laptop and gave her his full attention.

  She took a sip of coffee and avoided facing him. “Yeah. Just burned out. I figured there’s no point in pushing myself. I’m supposed to be here to relax. I might just spend the day on the couch.”

  “Well, this is a good place to recharge. There is literally nothing around here for miles. No interruptions, no drop-in guests, no noise. It’s perfect. Sometimes, I see deer. Most mornings, actually,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows and glanced out the window. “That’s a nice way to start the day. I could get used to that.” With a smile, she turned back to him. “How will you ever go back?”

  He shrugged and stood. “It won’t be easy. But I guess I’ll know when the time is right. I can’t stay here forever. I’ll have to get back to regular life. I’m not actually sure I’ll be going back to Shadow Creek, though. I haven’t exactly committed one way or the other.”

  She held onto the mug a little tighter, wanting to know more about his plans, because right now never going back sounded like the perfect plan. “Really? You would give it all up?”

  His jaw clenched. “Some days, I don’t think I have a choice. I don’t know if I’ll ever be what I used to be. Other days, I think it will just take time and I need to learn how to be patient. But no matter what, if I go back to Shadow Creek, I’ll have to face everyone at the fire station, and it’s not something I’m prepared to do. Because if I’m not physically able, seeing everyone there will hurt like hell,” he said, bracing his arms on the counter and looking out the window.

  Her heart squeezed with sympathy. But she understood the pressure and the need to stay away. It dawned on her that he was much better at articulating his feelings than she was. He was also better at sharing. He and Ben came from a normal family, though. Their dad had been beloved by the town and his family, and he was good-natured and loving. Their mother, Marjorie, was a total sweetheart, and she knew both Finn and Ben adored her. There had been so many secrets and betrayal in her own family that she hadn’t realized how dysfunctional they all were until she was an adult, and even then, she hadn’t discovered the true extent of it.

  She took another sip of her coffee, knowing she should say something. Her gaze trailed the strong lines of his body, and it was difficult to imagine that he might not be physically able to be a firefighter again. He was obviously in top shape, but she knew that the damage to his leg had been severe. Surgery could only do so much. “Time can do a lot, Finn. I know it’s hard to be patient, but it might take a few more months to get you to where you need to be. You can’t give up and think you’ll stay at this point forever.”

  He hung his head. “I know. I also can’t live in hope. I love having this time up here, away from all the pressure and just able to concentrate on getting strong again, but sometimes I think it’s useless. Progress is so damn slow. What if it takes five years of just concentrating on myself? I can’t do that. That’s not a life, not the one I want. I haven’t not worked for so long since I was in school. I don’t really know how to take this much time off.”

  She could understand that. On so many levels. Her injuries weren’t physical, they were emotional, and right now it felt like there was so much she needed to do to feel whole and confident again that it wasn’t realistic. It would be easier to just quit. She finished her coffee and placed her mug in the dishwasher. “You and me both. I get it. This is the first vacation I’ve had in…like forever.”

  He turned around to face her, folding his arms across his wide chest and leaning against the counter. “What happened?”

  She shut the dishwasher, avoiding his intense stare. She wasn’t used to sharing her mistakes. Growing up with her mother and having her mother involved even when she was an adult meant never making mistakes like a normal human. As a child, any grade lower than a ninety was seen as failure and another indication of how she’d never be as brilliant as Molly. It’s a wonder she, Molly, and Addie had ever reclaimed their friendship.

  What had happened in that OR room would haunt her forever. She had never expected it to hurt so much, which was why she’d spent the last
few days forcing it into a tiny box in the dark back corner of her brain. It was something she never wanted to unbox, let alone speak of to anyone. She had never been able to admit her mistakes to her mother without being ridiculed and belittled. Those memories had twisted her up so completely that she lived in constant fear of opening up. Never let anyone see you fail had been her MO since childhood. “Uh, just, work stuff. I think I’ve just been pushing for too long and it caught up with me.”

  If he knew she was lying—and she suspected he did—she was grateful that he didn’t call her out on it. Especially since he’d been so open. Instead, he cleared his throat. “We all get that, I guess. I hope you’re able to work out what you need to up here. I think I’ll head down to the gym if you’re sure you don’t need it.”

  She shot him a smile, relieved that he’d dropped the subject and was now leaving. “Yeah. I’ll try harder tomorrow,” she said.

  Something flashed across his blue eyes, and his face softened. “It’s okay to not be a superstar every day,” he said, his voice gentle and without judgment as he crossed the room.

  She didn’t respond as he left because she didn’t know what to say. No one had ever told her that. Do better, try harder had been her life motto. With one sentence, he made her feel like it was okay to not always be the best.

  She just wished that could be enough.

  Chapter Three

  Melody sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding, her brain still foggy with sleep. Something had woken her up. A bad dream? She had no memory of any kind of dream. She sat still and listened. Just as she was about to lay back down, she heard something akin to a moan or a cry.

  Finn.

  Her heart pounding, she scrambled out of bed. It was just after midnight. She crossed the room, opened her door, and stopped at the threshold to the hallway. All the lights were off in the house, and it was silent again. Maybe she’d been hearing things. Maybe she should just go back to bed. Finn was fine. Maybe he was working out or something. But after glancing in the direction of the darkened basement, she knew that wasn’t the case.

  This wasn’t any of her business, and they barely knew each other. Part of sharing a house meant giving each other privacy. So, she should just turn around, shut her door, and crawl back into her nice, warm bed.

  A low, deep moan, resonated through the hallway again, and she knew she couldn’t just ignore it and sleep peacefully. She hurried down the hall to Finn’s room. The door was closed, and now it was quiet again. She couldn’t just barge in there. But it had sounded like a painful moan. She placed her hand on the doorknob and waited for that sound again. But moments passed with only the sound of her heart beating like she was about to commit a crime.

  It would be an invasion of privacy. Go back to bed. She turned around to do just that when a dreadful groan froze everything inside her and made her forget any reservations she had about walking into his room. She did knock, though. And wait. She tried to psyche herself up to walk in but felt like she’d be crossing into personal territory. But what if he was really hurt? Or what if he had the flu and his leg was preventing him from getting out of bed? Just go in there. You’re a doctor—he might need your help.

  Then Finn made some kind of noise that sent a shiver down her spine, and she opened the door, poking her head through. The room was dark, and only a faint ribbon of moonlight glowed through the window. She could make Finn’s form out. He was lying in bed, on his back, his eyes shut. So maybe he was sick. “Finn?” she whispered, though her voice sounded loud to her ears in the quiet room.

  No reply. Her heart pounding painfully in her chest, she slowly tiptoed across the room to get a better look. When she reached his side, she noticed the beads of sweat on the side of his face and forehead. His hand was clenched, and his eyes were squeezed shut. He made that awful moaning sound again, his legs kicking off the sheet. Her mouth went dry as he laid there with nothing but boxers on. But that jolt of awareness disappeared when she noticed the visible scars from the skin graft surgeries he’d underwent. Her heart squeezed and her throat closed up. He’d been so close to death. He’d been through so much, and he was alone, hiding here from everyone as he tried to heal.

  “Finn,” she said, though he didn’t show any signs of hearing her. She could put a hand on his forehead, as a doctor, of course, just to see how hot he was. She wasn’t even going to entertain the pun in her mind. Reaching out, she lightly placed a hand on his forehead, and he bolted upright with a blood-curdling roar. She screamed and jumped back, losing her balance and falling on her butt on the floor.

  Finn put his head in his hands, his breath coming out in audible gasps.

  She scrambled up. “I’m so sorry, Finn. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, standing beside the bed now, feeling stupid. Clearly, he wasn’t ill because he was sitting upright. But he did look disoriented. Or sad. And if he’d been anyone else, she’d say he looked like he needed a hug. Obviously, she wouldn’t. That would be…awkward. She wasn’t sure she knew how to really give that kind of comfort to anyone. She’d probably be stiff, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t welcome that kind of affection. Way too awkward. They were friends. In-laws.

  “What the hell?” He ran his hands through his hair and frowned at her.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly self-conscious about the pajama T-shirt she was wearing without a bra. “I’m sorry. You were making all this noise, and it woke me up. You were…you didn’t look well. I just touched your forehead to check your temperature. I thought you had the flu. And come to think of it, you should probably be thanking me, not frowning at me, because you’re the one who woke me up and scared the crap out of me. I even fell on my butt.” She backed up a step, wondering at what point in her life she’d developed the habit of talking too much when she was nervous.

  He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t look like the Finn she knew, and the room felt small and stifling and way too personal for her comfort level. He also wasn’t trying to apologize. The silence was intolerable. She made her way to the door, desperate to get out of there, to give him his privacy. He must be dying for her to leave. Who wanted to be caught in the middle of a complete loss of control? She wouldn’t.

  She heard a muffled curse and had almost reached the hallway when he called her. His voice was hoarse and raw, and something tugged at her heartstrings as she turned around.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry, Melody. I’m not mad at you. Thank you for checking in on me. Do you, uh, want a drink?”

  She slowly turned around. That moment, with Finn, sitting on the edge of the bed, his forearms on his thighs, his gaze on hers, she realized not only was he fighting his own demons, his own nightmares—he was doing it all alone. And that was uncomfortably familiar. He was trying to recover from trauma on the job, and in her own way, so was she. But he wasn’t shutting her out like she shut out, well, everyone.

  Even if he was uncomfortable, he wasn’t turning away contact. He wasn’t pushing her away; he was actually inviting her into his world. Her heart raced at the intimacy of the moment, of seeing him vulnerable and having him reach for company instead of solitude.

  That’s where they were very different.

  Drinks would mean more sharing, more intimacy. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. They were just supposed to be sharing a cabin for the holidays, not becoming…friends. Would they still be friends back in Shadow Creek? If they ever made it back to Shadow Creek. Then there was the whole prom date memory that always lingered in the back of her mind. It was something that reminded her of how insecure she used to be, how easily she had been able to toss her pride aside in order to make her mother happy. Finn had been there to witness all of it. But if she really thought about that moment, about that girl she was, she’d remember the sting of his rejection. She’d laid in bed that night, wondering if she’d been prettier like Molly, or thinner like Molly, or had perfe
ct skin like Molly—all of the things their mother liked to point out—if he’d have said yes. None of that stuff mattered to her anymore, and she’d stopped that kind of superficial thinking, but that girl hid out sometimes, way down deep, wondering what he thought of her now.

  Right now, this little place in the woods was the only place she could just be. She didn’t want to leave anymore, and the idea of having a drink him with him was…better than being scared. There wasn’t anyone else in her life right now that would understand the barriers she’d put up—except him. And maybe she did want to know him better. She always had. And up until now, she’d thought that was one-sided. “Uh, sure.”

  “I’ll meet you in a minute,” he said, standing and clutching the nightstand.

  “Are you okay?” She resisted the urge to walk forward to help him, because she really didn’t think he’d welcome that.

  “Yes,” he snapped.

  She frowned even though he wasn’t looking at her and turned to leave the room.

  She heard a curse, then, “Sorry, Melody. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, walking into the hallway. She understood pride. She was the epitome of proud, and she knew just how destructive of an emotion it could be. She hated to see that despite looking fit and strong, he was struggling—more than he was letting on. Probably more than he’d told his family, which was why he was still at this cabin instead of recovering in Shadow Creek.

  She left the room quickly and walked into the kitchen. She’d pour some water for him. Her heart was still racing, and she had no idea what was wrong with her. Okay, maybe she did. It was almost the middle of the night, and she was going to be sharing a drink with the man she’d had a crush on most of her teen life after she’d walked in on a nightmare. That kind of interaction required more intricate social skills than she had. Would he want advice? Small talk? Or for her to help analyze his nightmare? She blanched at the thought. Maybe he just wanted a silent drinking partner. She could do that.