by Ania Ahlborn
Lauren rolled her eyes at him.
“Don’t you think they should make a movie like that?” he asked her.
“Like what?” Lauren asked. “A movie about an outhouse?”
“Exactly. And every time one of the characters goes outside to use it, they end up being killed by a werewolf.”
“A werewolf?” Sawyer bit back a laugh. “What the hell, why a werewolf?”
“Lauren loves werewolves,” Ryan told him.
“I’ll give you the grand tour,” Jane told April, too nervous to enjoy the back-and-forth banter.
“Sawyer doesn’t need a grand tour,” Ryan told her. “Sawyer needs to come outside and unload his crap.” He nodded toward the door they had entered through. Jane watched the boys shuffle back out onto the deck. Looking back to April and then Lauren, she lifted her shoulders up to her ears with a smile. Boys.
“So, Jane looks good,” Sawyer confessed, leaning against the back bumper of his Jeep as he lit up a smoke. “For being married, I mean.” He knew it wouldn’t come as a surprise to Ryan that Sawyer had checked his sister out; Ryan was, after all, the person who’d supplied him with updates about Jane for the past ten years, something Sawyer was sure would creep Jane the hell out if she ever found out. Sawyer had tried not to ask about how Jane was doing for a while, and he actually held out for a good few years, but not asking had stilted conversations with Ryan to the point of embarrassment. Ryan was the one who eventually caved, giving Sawyer the occasional scoop without being asked: Jane was getting married; Jane was getting divorced.
“Yeah, well…” Ryan joined Sawyer against the Jeep’s bumper, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. “April’s more attractive than I imagined.” A droll grin spread across his mouth, and Sawyer laughed with a shake of his head.
“Yeah?” he asked, smoke curling past his lips. “You thought she was going to look like Oona?”
“Hey, Oona’s majestic.”
Sawyer pushed away from the bumper and walked a few steps ahead before turning to face the cabin, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “So the old man is really selling this place?” he asked. “Why don’t you just buy it? You’ve got the money.”
Ryan snorted at that.
“Spent it all jet-setting?” Sawyer asked. “Let me guess, you’re already a quarter mil in debt?”
“I wouldn’t buy this place if it was free,” Ryan confessed.
“You know that’s bullshit.”
Ryan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms coiling across his chest.
“What?” Sawyer asked. “Like I don’t know this is a sore subject?” Growing up as practically the third twin, Sawyer knew Michael Adler well. “He still running around with that Italian chick?”
“Oh yeah,” Ryan scoffed.
“Buzzing around on one of those tiny scooters. Circling the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”
Ryan cracked a cynical smile.
Sawyer straddled the air, riding an imaginary Vespa, his cigarette clinging to the swell of his bottom lip as he lifted his right hand, pageant-waving to an invisible crowd of tourists. “Ciao, bellas,” he said, bringing his fingertips to his lips and releasing the kiss into the air.
“I’m sure that’s totally accurate,” Ryan said. “Totally.”
Sawyer shrugged. “Is there anything else to do in Italy? Or in Switzerland, you asshole?”
Ryan ignored the dig. “What, other than look like a day-tripper? You’d fit right in,” he said. “Constantly smoking that shit like some hipster.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Europeans are known for their love of nicotine. Just wait until you move into your fancy loft in Zurich, traitor. I’m a lightweight compared to their carton-a-day habit.” Sawyer freely admitted that a pack a day was extreme, but it was a vice he couldn’t seem to shake. “I didn’t smoke on the way up here,” he confessed. “It was glorious. You would have been proud.”
“April making you quit?” Ryan asked as Sawyer took his final drag, grinding the butt against the sole of his boot.
“Please, she can take my life, but she can’t take my smokes.” Reaching into the trunk, Sawyer slung a Timbuk2 backpack over his shoulder. “She’s pretty low maintenance.”
“For now.”
“At least she’s hot.”
“There is that.”
“What’s with Janey’s blonde friend, what’s her name…”
“Lauren.”
“You and her?” Sawyer asked. “You know…” He curled up the fingers of his right hand, thrusting the heel of his palm outward, knocking it against the chill in the air.
“Maybe, you never know…” Ryan smirked.
“She’s cute.”
“So are a lot of other girls.”
“You’ll have to settle down eventually,” he warned. “Scared shitless or not.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asked, hefting a duffel bag full of boarding gear out of the back. “Because that ended well for Jane, right? It’s the fucking Adler curse.”
“Yeah, well, nobody likes a forty-year-old bachelor.”
“You’re right. It’s better to get married and run around behind her back.”
“Now you’re talking.” Sawyer slapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Carry on the family tradition.”
Ryan gave him a look.
“Jesus.” Sawyer laughed. “I’m kidding, man. Come on.”
“I’m not carrying on any tradition unless I get a Vespa.”
“Dude, I’ll buy you a fucking Vespa if only to see the wind in your hair.”
They looked at each other, both of them deadpan.
“If it wasn’t for that stupid earflap hat,” Sawyer continued, “I’d run my fingers through your locks right now.”
“Tonight,” Ryan promised. “After the girls have gone to bed.”
“By the fire?”
“With Jane’s chocolate cake between us. I’ll whip us up a bearskin rug.”
Sawyer let his head loll back, the steam of his breath rising from his throat as he laughed. “Perfect,” he said. “Just don’t complain if I smoke afterward. That, my friend, I cannot help.”
Ryan tossed the bag over a shoulder. “It’s fucking cold out here,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Sawyer reached up to close the Jeep’s hatch when he paused, narrowing his eyes at the trees closest to the driveway. Something had shifted in the corner of his eye, a shadow drifting behind the trunk of a tree. Glancing up, he watched an army of clouds speed across the sky, the breeze making the trees creak and sway. The sun blinked on and off like a strobe, throwing the pines into shadow one second, brilliant light the next.
“Did you see that?” he asked, motioning to where he’d seen the shift.
“What?” Ryan asked.
“Something was moving around back there.”
“Deer,” Ryan announced. “Lauren and I saw a family wandering around just before you guys pulled up.”
“Just like old times. You sure you can let this beauty go?” Sawyer asked, nodding toward the cabin. “Good memories, great location…”
“I couldn’t buy the house even if I wanted to.”
“Don’t screw with me.”
“It’s already sold,” Ryan confessed. “I checked the listing on a whim, called up the Realtor because I was feeling nostalgic. Someone’s already bought it.”
Sawyer stopped where he was, blinking at his best friend. “So, what, is it empty inside?”
“Everything’s still there. They’re waiting to close the deal—but once they do…”
“So, wait a minute…we’re, like, staying in somebody’s house right now?”
“Technically, no.”
“Technically? Dude.”
“Don’t say anything,” Ryan warned. “If Jane finds out…”
“If Jane finds out she’ll fucking flip. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. What if someone shows up to look at the place? Maybe we should get a hotel or something, play it safe.”
“A ho
tel? You mean a motel—one of those roach-infested ones. You don’t think Jane will flip out there?”
“Maybe, but imagine her in a jail cell.”
“Nobody’s going to jail,” Ryan assured him. “Besides, it’s an honest misunderstanding. The dick didn’t bother to tell me, and I still have a set of keys. How was I supposed to know?”
Sawyer considered the plausibility of Ryan’s story, then raised his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s your ass, not mine.”
“We’re a million miles from anywhere,” Ryan said. “It’s just us and the trees. Nobody will know, because nobody knows we’re here.”
CHAPTER THREE
The guy working the ski lift held up his hands.
“Sorry, folks.” He tried on his best look of sympathy. “No more going up today.”
“Oh, come on!” Jake shoved the sleeve of his jacket up his forearm, checking the time. “It’s two minutes till four, man. We’ve got sixty seconds until the cutoff.”
Tara stood uncomfortably next to Jake, rubbing the back of her neck with a gloved hand, her eyes fixed on the board strapped to one of her feet. They were coming up on their two-year anniversary, but she still hadn’t gathered the nerve to tell him she hated snowboarding—hated everything about it, from the bitter cold to getting off and on the lift. Every minute spent standing in line to get on that confounded thing gave her an anxiety attack, because getting on the lift meant getting off, and getting off meant eating it at the top of the hill. This was only her second season, and she already knew boarding wasn’t for her. But there was something to be said for keeping up appearances, especially for a guy who was as fanatical about winter sports as Jake.
“Hey, let’s just go to the lodge,” she suggested. “Get something to drink; I want cocoa.”
But he wasn’t satisfied with her suggestion. They’d paid good money for their lift tickets and he was determined. “I have a better idea,” he said, pulling the glove off his right hand and shoving it into the pocket of his waterproof pants. “Here.” He held out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Get yourself a beer, huh? Let us on.”
The operator frowned at the money, hesitating, and eventually gave in with a sigh. “Fine,” he said. “But up and down, all right?”
Jake held up his hands, as if to say the operator had his word. Tara shut her eyes, trying not to groan. She’d have done anything to get that snowboard off her feet. Her pinkie toes had gone numb inside her boots hours ago. Jake grabbed her by the elbow and slid into place, both of them craning their necks backward, waiting for the chairlift to scoop them up.
Tara winced as the chair slammed against the backs of her thighs. The safety bar came down across their laps and she ducked into the scarf wrapped around her neck. It was cold, the sun having dipped just beyond the crest of the mountain, leaving the entire ski area in frigid shadow. And to make things worse, the slush of the day was starting to freeze into a slick of ice. She could hardly maneuver on fresh powder, let alone on hard-packed permafrost. The idea of catching the edge of her board and flying headfirst down the hill twisted her stomach into knots—but an injury wouldn’t have been so bad. It would have put her out for the rest of the season. A broken wrist almost seemed worth it.
Jake was the first to launch off the lift. Tara always hesitated, calculating the least terrifying, least treacherous trajectory to take. But no matter how much she steeled her nerves or planned her dismount, she always ended up on her back, and this time was no different. She crashed a few seconds after shoving herself off the chairlift, clenching her teeth behind the woven wool of her scarf. At least there wasn’t another group of boarders behind them to see her fall; at least the hill was completely devoid of people, all of those right-minded skiers at the base of the mountain, packing up their gear and getting out of the cold. Jake came to a stop a few yards away, snapping his left foot into his board as he waited for her to get up and join him. She sighed, shoving her boot into her binding.
“It’s too icy,” she called out to him. He lifted his hand to his ear, shaking his head at her. Pushing her scarf away from her mouth, she made a face at him. “It’s slick. I’m going to kill myself.”
Jake looked away, and she hoped he was considering the steep downgrade ahead of him. The hill was an intermediate blue, interspersed with a handful of well-camouflaged moguls—ones that were virtually invisible in the shade. If it had been a green trail it wouldn’t have been so bad, but naturally he had to make their last run count.
“We’ll take a detour,” he told her, motioning to a line of pines. “There’s a side trail just beyond those trees. It’ll be less hard-packed there.”
“Off the trail?” She shook her head. There was no way she was going off the trail, not when the slope was empty like this, not when there weren’t any people to help them if they got into trouble. Jake looked away again, and she could feel him rolling his eyes at her. If worse came to worst, she’d unstrap her board and use it like a sled, sliding all the way down the hill until she was safe and sound in front of the lodge. Hell, that might actually be fun.
“It’s a trail,” he told her. “It’s on the map.”
“Are you sure?”
“Babe, come on. I’m sure.”
“Goddamnit,” she whispered, securing the strap of her binding before rocking onto her feet.
The trail wasn’t a trail.
Tara nearly screamed when she found herself knee-deep in a snowdrift. Jake was hopping in front of her, trying to dislodge his board from an impossible depth of powder while she silently raged behind him. After a few minute of fruitless effort, she was the first to throw in the towel.
“This was on the map? I swear, sometimes you just…” drive me fucking nuts. She bit her tongue, trying to keep herself from boiling over. This wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t purposely led them into a snowdrift. She continued to echo his innocence inside her head, trying to keep her anger in check, but the cold was making it difficult to stay quiet. The snow, which had found its way into her boots and was now melting against her socks, was making it hard not to launch into a tirade that would end in a statement she’d been wanting to make since last season: I’m never going snowboarding again. She reached into the snow and unsnapped her bindings, struggling to step off her board without toppling over. “I’m walking,” she announced through clenched teeth, hefting her board up by its leash and tossing it onto her back.
“Are you serious?” He looked surprised, but his little laugh of disbelief only made her angrier.
“I’m serious,” she snapped, shoving one foot into the snow ahead of her, the knee-deep powder sucking her leg down like quicksand. Less than ten steps forward and she was already gasping for breath. She held back her tears, pressing on, determined to get off that damned mountain so she could never return.
“Look, we’ll just get back to the main trail, okay? It’s not far.” Jake unstrapped his own board, but rather than following her downhill, he turned toward the trees. She stopped, watching him waddle toward a thick grouping of pines, their branches bent low with snow.
“And if it’s deeper in there?” she asked. “People die in snowdrifts, you know.”
“Well, what do you want to do? Freeze up here?”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s exactly what I want to do.” Sighing, she relented, begrudgingly turning to follow him into the thicket. “This is…your fault…you know,” she said between gasps for air. “We…should have just…gone…to…the…lodge.” Each word punctuated another exhausting step, but Jake continued forward, not saying anything. After a few minutes she had to stop; bending at the waist, she tried to catch her breath. “Wait,” she said, lifting a hand to signal she needed a break. “I can’t.” Her lungs were on fire. Every inhale of icy air felt as if she were swallowing fire. Her feet ached with numbness. Her fingers prickled with pain. For a second she teetered on the brink of panic. What if they didn’t get out of here? What if they did get swallowed by a snowdrift as soon as they set foot in th
ose trees? There were signs posted along the mountain to stay on designated trails—there had to be a reason for those. What if people died doing this? “Hey,” she said, wincing against the pain in her chest. “Hey, maybe we should go back the way we came.”
“What?” He shook his head at her. “I thought you wanted to get out of here.” He hovered just beyond the trees, extending an arm outward to push a snow-laden branch to the side.
“I do,” she insisted. “I just…I don’t know. I have a bad feeling.”
“It’s called first-degree frostbite,” he told her, ducking his head to peer into the wooded area.
“Great,” she said as she continued forward. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“It looks fine,” he assured her. “Totally cool. We’ll be back on the trail in a few minutes.”
She looked up just in time to see him duck into the trees. And then he quite literally disappeared. Her eyes went wide as his snowboard stuck in the snow. “Jake?!” Her heart launched itself into her throat. She tried to run forward, terrified that her worst fears were being realized. It looked like he had fallen straight down, like the snow had swallowed him whole as soon as he breached the perimeter of those pines.
“Oh my god, Jake? Can you hear me?” No reply. Tears sprang into her eyes, hot against the bitter cold. Her board slid out of her grasp, sliding down the slope of the hill as she ambled forward, panic choking her every breath. But when she reached his snowboard, that panic bloomed into terrified confusion. His tracks ended abruptly. He was nowhere to be found.
She stumbled headlong into the woods, turning around in an attempt to face every direction at once. “Jake?!” His name was little more than a hysterical shriek. “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny!” But something about the situation assured her that this wasn’t a prank. It was too cold. She was too freaked out for him to pull a stunt like this. Catching the toe of her boot on something beneath the snow, she pitched forward and crumbled to her knees, her tears coming freely now. “I just want to go home,” she wept. “Jake, I’m cold and I want to go home.”