Page 88 of Rough and Rugged
“You okay?”
“Baby girl, I got this.” My heart flips just as the nasty snow whips through the trees.
The cabin’s cold but gets cozy quickly if you light a fire. These 1930’s A-frame cabins were restored with my help over the last year. Thanks Camp Wakanda, for my arsenal of carpentry skills.
His yummy blond hair is sticking up. “The place is perfect. Jesus, I couldn’t have predicted this...” I grin proudly, knowing I designed it with him in mind, thinking he’d never see it.
Suddenly, the porch chairs fly past the window. “Fuck.” I hoist open the door and snow swirls around us. “Don’t go out there. I can grab the chairs.” A tree limb whizzes by, and I turn back to him.
I yell, “Snow squalls. Secure the chairs before the next band of wind.”
“I don’t know who you are,” he yells from behind me.
I turn and grin. “Monica 2.0.” I open the storage area and he passes me the Adirondack chairs. I heave them inside and he stares at me.
He’s yelling. “I know you’re bundled like some kind of rough and rugged warrior woods woman, but you look cute as fuck right now.” As if the very presence of Dax couldn’t set my core, heart and head on fire. Now he’s flirting.
“Get inside. NOW.” I kiss his icy cheek and lower my goggles, setting off to my cabin that suddenly seems too far from his yellow door.
Chapter Three
Dax
Thewindowrattlingisreal. I hope Morty’s safe. I spin around, taking in the small whimsical details of carved googly-eyed animals and translucent gummy bears sculptures. I’m here to immortalize her in my book and move on, but now I’m surrounded by her. I skim the first page and put it back down. Why was I nice to her? She ghosted me while I slept and never talked to me again. Christ, I’ve fucking missed all of her.
I’m not smooth verbally like Hayden or Law. I’m too filtered and reserved. My words are for paper and pen. I rifle through my backpack to find and overstuffed padded envelope full of Post-its, crumpled notebook paper, hotel stationery, backs of receipts and printer paper scraps. All the things scribbled to her over the years. Things I never knew how to say or where to send them, so I tucked them away. Even when we were just friends, I wrote to Monica. She left behind the lingering scent of sweet peas, and I try to ignore it.
I stare at the padded envelope. Then I lace my boots and bundle up for the snowy 150 feet to my destiny. I’m a fucking idiot who might die because I’ve got to know why this woman, who has imprinted my soul, doesn’t want me.
The ice bites my cheeks and there’s zero visibility. A thunder-like boom startles me as snow viciously swirls. I think of her smell, the feel of her skin and that damn throaty laugh as I trudge through the tornado of ice. Glass shatters, as a tree falls in a deafening crash through her roof. Now I only hear my heartbeat speeding up as I run.
I’m not this guy, but I become him to get to her.
Chapter Four
Monica
Smokebillows,emberssizzle,wind and snow lash around me. I’m pinned under a beam that bounced off my bed as I tried to duck under it. Injury isn’t the problem, it’s the exposure because I’m wearing pajamas.
I assess. Phone on the counter, injured ankle, wiggling toes. The cold stings my cheeks and numbs my fingers. I won’t cry or die. That’s a depressing mantra. I should come up with something catchier. No tears, no fears. Dammit. Now the 80’s songShoutis stuck in my head.
I search for something to free myself from under this beam. I wedge a piece of the roof under it. My knee and lower leg are fine, but my ankle is twisted. I heave the makeshift lever and it snaps. I scream as I attempt to cover myself with the throw rug. The worst part about dying right now is he’s the last thing on my mind. He’s all my thoughts. I’m going to die without telling him I love him.
My body’s shutting down to protect me. I sing out. “Shout, Shout, Let it all out...” My voice is weak. I wish my thoughts of Dax were not backed with a Tears for Fears soundtrack.
I’m done after just ten minutes. I’m physically and mentally strong, but the elements rule out here. I surrender to the shivering and shaking. There’s a crash. Something else destroying my home and life. I hear his disconnected voice before I freaking die here in the woods. “Monica! Monica! Oh, shit.”
There’s howling as I succumb to the black and cold.
“Why is she in pain? What do I do? There’s red spots on her shoulder. Her ankle is twisted. Just swollen, but I didn’t want to put ice on it because she’s fucking cold.”
I cry out like there are sharp icicles in my veins. I flex to get the blood flowing. I’m disoriented and my face is under a soft comforter. It’s peeled back and he’s there. He kisses my forehead with his warm lips.
“Shh. I have you.” I cry, and he catches all my tears. The bed dips and I’m in his lap cradled like a baby, wrapped in so many blankets. I rest my head on his chest and sob to his constant sweet chorus of, “My sweetest girl. Baby girl. My Monica. Shh. SweeTart, it’s ok. I mean your ankle is fucked, but the rest of you is ok. Thank. Fucking God.”
I calm down, and he joins me under the cover cocoon to warm me up. “Come here.” His arms hold tight and I melt into his body and soul unable to conjure reservations. His tenderness chases all the chills away. “Monica, I’m here.” He kisses my hairline, sweet words daring me to believe them.
Chapter Five