My body makes every attempt at holding onto the peace, but it doesn’t last. A buzzing breaks the trance. It’s sharp, persistent. There’s a phone tucked somewhere on the floor beneath discarded clothes, vibrating against the hardwood like it forgot we aren’t supposed to have service up here.
I don’t open my eyes right away. I let the hum of it coil in the back of my mind, hoping maybe it’ll stop if I stay still enough, but it doesn’t. It keeps going, insistent, like a reminder that we don’t live here in this sliver of sunlight forever.
He shifts beneath me, tension returning to his body, like even while sleeping he knows something’s reaching for us.
I finally lift my head from his chest. The room feels different now, like the air itself knows the spell we’ve been under is breaking.
This must’ve been what Cinderella felt as her dress returned to rags.
“It’s my phone,” I whisper. “Everyone’s probably worried about me. I didn’t call or update anyone after I left the wedding. I thought we didn’t have service up here.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just cracks one eye open, lashes still heavy from sleep. “We don’t. You’re probably getting a random ping off the tower to the north. Don’t matter either way. Lay back down. We don’t give a fuck about any of that shit.” There’s no tease in his voice, no smirk playing on his lips. There’s just possession. Possession wrapped in the softest comfort I’ve ever felt.
I kiss his chest gently and slide up out of the bed, half tempting punishment, half asserting my independence. Also, I really should check-in with everyone back in town. At this point, I’m sure they have half the police department out looking for me.
Cool wood wakes me up as my feet pull me back to reality. Each step, a sad reminder of what the outside world is like.
“Clearly, you want more punishing,” Red groans from the bed, his voice still husky with sleep.
“I do.” I glance down at my phone before slipping back under the sheets. I regret looking at the screen.
“You good?” He turns toward me, the pad of his thumb brushing against my face as though he’s picked up on the frustration that’s settling into my chest.
“Yeah, I just… my ex. He’s called like three times and left two voicemails. There’s a load of texts, too.”
Red takes the phone from my hand as though it’s his problem to fix, then scrolls through the messages. “He’s worried?That’s rich considering he was screwing another woman… don’t you think?” His jaw clenches not waiting for an answer before clicking the voicemail message.
“Mae, call me back. This is out of control. You didn’t have to disappear like this, okay? Everyone’s worried about you. I’m sorry for everything. Let’s just talk. One night shouldn't erase all our time together. People are worried. I’m worried. Please. Come home.”
The silence afterward is deafening.
I want to scream… or cry. Maybe I should just throw the phone across the room. But instead, I stare at the glowing screen like it might offer different words if I wait long enough. I’m not sure what those words might be, but I’m thinking something a little more consistent with his actual personality.
“He’s got a lot of fucking nerve,” Red mutters, his voice like gravel and smoke. “Cheats on you, then plays the victim? Leaves you standing at the altar, and now he’s worried?” He scoffs with a sharp exhale. “Nah. He doesn’t get to call you‘home’anymore.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m half-numb, half-enraged.
He turns his head to me, his eyes dark, sharp, and deadly serious. “Tell me you’re not considering it.”
“I’m not,” I whisper, but it comes out fragile like it needs proving.
He stretches out of the bed, his carved, bare chest on display as he paces, then stops. “If he tries coming around you again, I won’t just send him away. I’ll make sure he remembers why he should’ve stayed gone.”
It should terrify me, that anger, but it doesn’t. I can feel what he’s not saying beneath the surface.You are not going back to someone who broke you, not while I’m here…and that feels good.
I sit on the edge of the bed, heart thudding like a warning bell. “He doesn’t know where I am.”
“You better make sure it stays that way,” he growls before softening a little.
“So what, you’re going to hold me hostage here for the rest of eternity?” Part of me likes the idea of being trapped up in this old mountain cabin forever with a big, rugged biker who’d clearly kill for me. The other half knows that’s not realistic. As small and pathetic as it is, I have a life to get back to.
He raises an eyebrow, his half-wicked smirk twisting at the edge of his mouth like smoke curling off a match. “If it were up to me,” he says, pacing toward me barefoot on the worn wood floor, “I’d lock the damn door, throw the key into the river, and keep you wrapped up in my flannel until the end of time.”
God help me! A part of me wants that too!
He stands still for a long beat, eyes locked on mine like he’s working through something heavy. “Tell me you’re sta—”
A faint knock hits the door, and I jump back as though I’m afraid of the sound. It’s the truth, I am. Whatever’s on the other side of that door can’t be good. Not up here, not this early in the morning.
