Snare (Falling Stars #3)

by Sadie Grubor

  "I have to go," I say, stepping into line at the rental car kiosk, "but I promise to call when I get to the cabin."

  "Okay." She's still sniffling. "Talk soon."

  "Soon," I confirm, and end the call.

  Behind the wheel of a silver all-wheel drive Subaru, I pull out all the information Julia sent me for the cabin—security codes, directions, and instructions. With a deep cleansing breath, I hook up my iPod and begin my fifteen-mile trek to Mt. Baker.

  The first few tracks are songs I can rock out to. I sing at the top of my lungs, making these my fuck you anthems. Drumming on the steering wheel, I stop at a light and see the first signs to Mt. Baker.

  I pick up my phone and do a quick search for a local store.

  Pulling away from the red light, Avril starts singing to me about losing her grip. With my hands at the ten and two position, I squeeze until my knuckles turn white. By the end of the first chorus, my voice rises over hers.

  Tears stream down my face, and I shout, "Why should I care?"

  It's more therapeutic than I imagined it could be, but I'm also sure I look like a fucking psycho.

  To my and the others in the store parking lot's benefit, the song ends before I pull in. I pause my GPS and climb out of the car.

  Bells chime above my head as I step through the small store's door. It's a group of genuine bells tied to the door, not an electronic bell. I smile and pull my eyes away, only to come face to face with a beast.

  Okay, so maybe it's a couple feet in front of me, but it's still a mammoth bear. A gold plaque at the base of the stuffed animal reads "Ursus Horribilis".

  At five-foot-four-inches tall, this bear is positioned so it's almost double my height. I know it's not alive, but I can't look away. The dead blackness of its eyes, the large claws…sharp protruding fangs.

  "It's a fucking Sasquatch," I whisper. "They found, killed, and stuffed him."

  "Don't you worry about that bear," a raspy female voice draws my attention from the beast.

  A small gray-haired woman stands to my left, pushing a mop in a circular motion.

  "Horus' been in that spot for over sixty years," she tells me, pausing her floor cleaning task.

  I look back up at Horus and inhale shakily. The thought that this thing was once alive and out in these woods causes me to shiver.

  "I hope he doesn't have any brothers or sisters out there," I proclaim, keeping my eyes on the bear.

  "Nah," she reassures. "We haven't had a bear sighting like that in years."

  "What about the ones not like him?" I turn, facing her.

  "Only on occasion, when they wander down here from Canada looking for food." The woman leans the mop against a nearby wall.

  "You passing through?" She gives a quizzical look.

  "Sort of," I respond, walking away from the bear. "I'm staying at a cabin up on the mountain."

  I grab a pushcart for supplies and direct it down the first aisle.

  "How long?" she presses.

  I shrug, not giving too much away. I've seen I Spit on Your Grave, The Cabin in the Woods, and The Hills Have Eyes, I ain't telling this stranger a damn thing. Glancing around the small store, I take in the faces of four other people and commit them to memory for the police sketch artist I suddenly see in my future.

  "Well, how can I help you decide how much you need if you won't tell me how long you're gonna be here?" she asks, stepping closer.

  "I made a list." I lift up my phone, flashing the list I made during my flight.

  "Well, all right, but be sure to buy extra. There's a storm coming in and it's going to be a big one." She jerks her head toward the large storefront window.

  Great. February in the mountains, what a brilliant idea this is.

  "Duly noted." I give one sharp nod in return before going about the store.

  My should-have-been thirty-minute shopping stop turned into forty-five, since the store lady, Mrs. Reeves—no relation to Superman, I totally asked—wouldn't let me check out without matches, extra batteries, two flashlights, candles, and more canned food items. My one hundred dollar food budget escalated to almost double, but I couldn't tell the sweet woman no.

  With the Subaru loaded, I start the final twenty-five miles up the mountain. Halfway, my phone beeps, and announces, "Signal Lost."

  Snatching the cell off the dash, I glance at the display.

  "Great, no bars," I mumble to the empty car.

  I sigh and slide the phone back on the dashboard mat.

  Luckily, it's not difficult to find the small bridge I'm supposed to turn onto, and the bridge ends at the bottom of the long drive up to the cabin.

  I park, shut off the engine, and take in my temporary home. What Jackson and his friend call a cabin is more like a three story house set into the side of the mountain. The bottom level, which I assume is the finished basement Liza mentioned, doesn't have any visible doors, but I can see three large square picture windows. The middle level has a wraparound porch, glass doors, and two full-length windows. The top level has a balcony and two large glass panels. From my vantage point, I also see a large pile of chopped wood to the far left of the porch and a garage to the far left of the cabin.

  Audibly exhaling, I unlock the door and step out into the mountain air. A breeze whips around me with a sharp bite of chill.

  "Fuck, that's cold," I say with a flourish, wrapping my arms around my body.

  Leaning back into the car, I reach for the cabin information, my tote, and carry-on bag out of the passenger seat. Items over my shoulder and in hand, I make my way across the snow covered ground, the cold wooden stairs protest my climb to the middle level, and I stop at the double doors to punch in the access code.

  The pad beeps and the little light turns green.

  Inside, wood lines the walls and a stone fireplace sits on the far right of the large, open-plan room. A coffee table made from a tree stump sits in the middle, with an oversized u-shape couch wrapped around it. Two dark brown, overstuffed chairs sit opposite the couch, and the largest beanbag chairs I've ever seen are piled up near the fireplace.

  "Holy shit," I whisper, taking in more details of the room as I walk over to the couch. I set my things on it and spin in place.

  A large grin strains my cheeks. The moment I spy the wooden stairs, I run for them like I'm being chased.

  The stairs lead to a loft style hallway. Four doors line the wall opposite the inside railing, with a set of double doors at the end.

  Having read the information packet from Julia, I know the double doors are locked, along with the two before them. These are the private rooms for the family who owns the place. I want to respect their privacy, but it's really not in my nature. Resisting the urge to break into those rooms, I enter the door across from the stairs.

  The décor is similar to the living room, but in place of tans and browns, light blue accent colors make up the room. I find a decent sized closet with extra pillows and linens and a bathroom. The bathroom is adjoining to the other spare bedroom, which is a replica of the first. Coming out of the bedrooms, my eyes catch on a built-in docking station.

  "This place has a built in sound system," I moan, a little turned on at this discovery.

  With my exploration of the top floor complete, I head back to the stairs. I pause on the first step, contemplating what's behind the double doors, but shove aside my curiosity after a moment and make my way back to the rental car to unload and settle in for the first night of my heartbreak holiday.

  Returning with my things from the car, I locate the main level docking station near the kitchen, insert my iPod, choose a playlist, grab the remote control, and start organizing.

  After placing my things in the bedroom at the top of the stairs and putting away the groceries and other supplies in the kitchen, I explore the bottom level of the house—which turned out to be more couches, a pool table, flat screen TV, and decent sized bar.

  Making my way back to the main level, I start a fire in the giant hear
th.

  My parents made us go camping, in a tent, almost every summer when I was too young to object. So, thankfully, I learned how to start a good fire.

  The worst part about this fire was carrying logs in from the pile outside. I even earned a brand new bruise or two to add to my current collection.

  I drag a large beanbag near the fireplace and grab a blanket and throw pillow. Before getting comfortable, I grab my Surface tablet, a glass of wine, and a bag of pretzel knots.

  After settling into the comfort of the beanbag, I pull up the Wi-Fi and log in. It's a satellite connection, which is okay, but not preferred.

  I bring up my free texting app and message Mom.

  I made it, but don't have cell service in this backwoods shanty. Luckily, I don't hear any banjos. Talk soon. Love you. Kiss Dad for me.

  Hitting send, I wait for the screen to return and bring up Liza.

  Made it, but if I get purged while in the middle of nowhere, I want you to make sure to clear out my toy drawer before Mom finds my collection. Oh, and you failed to mention the lack of cell service, Skankapotomus. XO Sid

  The message sends and I'm surprised by a receipt notification. I tap the icon and see my mother's reply.

  It's too cold for banjo-playing hillbillies. Stay in touch to let me know you aren't being eaten by mountain mutants. <3 Mom

  I snort at her message. And people wonder why I'm so crazy.

  Unlike other parents from her generation, my mom had no choice but to keep up with technology. Hell, I've been training her for a decade now. Not to mention my multiple FBI related hacking situations resulting in Mom putting herself into Computer Technology Basics night classes. My dad, on the other hand, still uses a goddamn flip phone.

  Remembering the first time Mom cruised my browsing history makes me sigh nostalgically, but at the time, I was thoroughly put out.

  A second message alert pulls me out of my memories.

  I never mentioned cell service. Besides, this means no calls or messages from the bastard barista.

  She has a point, but I'm not admitting it.

  You are a sneaky whore, Liza. It's why I love you. (.)(.) Sid

  I think the boobs are a nice touch and hit send.

  Setting the Surface on the floor next to me, I settle back into the beanbag and sip my wine.

  The music in the room switches to the next song. I tense the minute the first notes of Fireless by The Black Sheep starts. Focusing on the crackling fire, I stare unseeing.

  The heat radiating from the hearth forces me to blink. Taking a stuttered breath, I fight the oncoming sobs. I gulp down the last of my wine, set the glass on the floor, and try to hold off the tears for as long as I can, but heartbreak delay will not be denied its moment.

  Curling up into the beanbag, I pull the blanket over my head and cry. This time, it's a soul-cleansing cry. Before I drift off to sleep, I silently take a vow to boycott love.

  Xavier

  "Stupid ass weatherman," I grumble, driving through the heavy snowfall on the way to the cabin.

  The back end of the Hummer slides, just a little, but enough to irritate me. The Weather Channel said I had another goddamn hour before this shit was supposed to hit the mountain.

  I can't completely blame the weather for my annoyance. My mood's been shit since starting the fourteen fucking hour drive from Fort Bragg to Mt. Baker—since I took the girls to see Maria and Gil to spend time with them for the weekend, she broke the news that her body is rejecting the new heart.

  After three hours of trying to talk about outcomes, all she could do was discuss what she is sure will come. She's so fucking sure everything is over.

  "Last will and testament, custody, last wishes, final requests," I growl, keeping my eyes focused on what can be seen on the road. "Fuck," I shout, slapping the black leather steering wheel.

  On top of it all, it's four days until the anniversary of Ethan's death—a day already marred by the loss of a guy I loved like family, like a brother.

  Approaching the foot of the mountain, I reach into my passenger seat, shove empty bottles onto the floor, and grab my cell phone. Before I lose my signal, I make a call to one of my sisters—Ember, the one I'm closest to.

  "You almost there?" She doesn't bother with niceties.

  "Yeah," I clip out. "I need you or mom to—"

  "Gil already called. Mom and I are going to drive up tomorrow," she informs.

  "Thanks."

  "You have one day, Xavier. Then Mom and I are coming up there. The girls will need you."

  "Yeah." I keep my answers short, not wanting to take my mood out on her.

  I know my girls will need me and I'd do anything for them, but tonight, I need to be alone to process everything.

  "We'll see you Tuesday afternoon sometime," she says, like it's not up for negotiation.

  "Weather isn't good," I say. "Make sure to call the ranger and get the forecast from him before you start the drive up. It might take a couple days to clean these roads, even with your truck."

  She sighs loudly, then says, "Why the hell are you driving during a storm up there? That's fucking stupid, Xave," she says, whispering the word 'fucking'.

  My nephews must be close by.

  "Why are you keeping me on the phone in a storm?" I counter.

  "You're a pain in the ass and I'm telling Mom you drove up in the snow." She ends the call before I can respond.

  Great. That's all I need. My fucking mother will tear into my ass, regardless of my age. Almost thirty-eight years old and that woman still acts like I'm a damn baby, which my older sisters, Kami and Ember, enjoy using against me when it suits their needs.

  Tossing the phone back to the passenger seat, I grab the half-full bottle of whiskey and twist the lid off with my mouth. I take a large swig, draining the remaining liquid before dropping it to the floor of the car.

  Sure, I know better than to fucking drink and drive, and I held off for almost the entire drive, but once I got to town, I stopped. At the local grocery store, I greeted Patty Reeves, the owner, and bought a couple bottles to chase away the world. The intention was to drink them at the cabin, but thoughts of losing Maria and Ethan already being gone needed numbing.

  It takes double the usual drive time to reach the cabin.

  "Who the fuck...?" I ask no one, pulling in next to a silver Subaru.

  Every emotion imaginable rushes beneath my skin, heating my body. Sliding out of the Hummer, I slam the door and rush up the stairs. Almost falling on the snow twice only escalates the anger boiling inside.

  As I'm about to punch the lock code into the security pad, I see the door is fucking unlocked. It's the last straw.

  I grab the door, shove it open, and stomp inside. Soft music fills the room.

  "Who the fuck is in here?" I shout into the dimly lit space.

  A dying fire draws my attention. One of the beanbags sits in front of it. Stepping closer reveals a crumpled blanket and throw pillow. I twist my head and look up the stairs.

  "Someone better fucking start answering me," I yell, stalking toward the staircase.

  On the fourth step, I hear a commotion and look down into the living room. A dark shadow jumps up from behind the couch and runs for the door.

  I jump the banister, my knee protesting when I land on the hardwood floor.

  Ignoring the pain, I rush after the figure.

  They get out the door, but I catch up on the porch. Before the fucker can make it down the stairs to the cars, I snag their arm and yank them backward.

  "Let me go," they shriek, spinning on me.

  They land a kick to my thigh before trying to pull out of my grip.

  "Let go, hillbilly asshole!"

  The realization of a female voice takes me back just long enough for them to get a good swing and hit my eye. It knocks me off balance, causing me to fall into the pile of firewood. Her body crashes into my chest and I wrap both arms around her, breaking the fall with the side of my back. We're both still
and silent for a minute before she starts fighting my hold.

  "Stop fucking fighting me," I growl.

  "I don't think so, creeper," she shouts, shoving against my chest.

  Rolling, I pin her body beneath mine.

  "Oh my God, get off me," she cries. "You don't want to do this! I have STDs, a lot of them—like all of them."

  Holy shit, I know the voice. I press myself down against her to stop the squirming and recognize the body as well.

  "Sid?"

  Instantly, she freezes, her muscles tensing beneath me.

  "Stalker," she shouts and starts hitting, shoving, and squirming manically.

  "I am not a fucking stalker. Settle down, hellcat," I bark.

  She stills once more. Pushing off her, I stand, groaning. I hold my side with one hand and reach the other out to her.

  "Xavier?" she asks in a whisper.

  "Yeah," I confirm.

  Instead of taking my hand, she pushes herself up from the ground.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" she asks, accusation in her tone.

  "It's my fucking cabin," I explain.

  "You scared the shit out of me," she yells, slapping my arm—hard.

  "Quit hitting me," I warn, and then turn the question on her. "What are you doing here?"

  "Jackson…" she begins, but lets the explanation die. "That oversized art project will pay," she growls, and I can't help but laugh.

  My laughter's cut short when she wraps her arms around her body and shivers. The bite of the snow and cold mountain air start seeping into my skin as well.

  Taking her by the arm, I pull her toward the door.

  "Quit manhandling," she complains, stumbling along next to me.

  Back inside, I lead her to the fireplace and set her on the closest chair.

  I grab the throw blanket, toss it over to her, and turn my attention to stoking the fire.

  Once it's roaring with heat again, I take a seat across from her.

  "Now," I rub my face, "want to tell me why you are here? How you got in here?"