Page 4 of After the Fade, Vol. 1 (Asheverse: B-Side)

Inside the cabin, I sat with my feet pointed toward the furnace, shivering inside a mountain of blankets. The blankets smelled dusty. My skin still had the sulfur trace of the hot springs. I was reasonably sure that my toes weren’t going to fall off, but I didn’t want to close the possibility yet.

I had been right: it was a three-room cabin. A bathroom; a main room with a galley kitchen and a pair of sofas; and a bunk room.

Emmett was in the bunk room. With Austin. Talking.

It had been Austin who answered my pounding on the door. It had been Austin wearing a UCSD sweatshirt that was about to pop open along the seams and mesh athletic shorts that did nothing to hide the fact that he was still missing a pair of underwear. Emmett’s clothes. Too small for Austin. It had been Austin who got me wrapped up in blankets and forced some hot tea down me. It had been Austin who got my feet propped up toward the furnace. Austin, Austin, Austin.

And I loved him for it. I did.

But what was going on with Emmett?

“It wasn’t him.”

“He’s a lying bastard. Of course it was him.” That’s how it sounded in my head; when I tried to say it, my teeth were chattering so badly that I almost bit off my tongue.

“He loaned me his clothes. I don’t think he’d do that if he were the one who stole our stuff.”

“He’s playing you.”

“Why would he lie? If he wanted to mess with us, well, mission accomplished. He’d just give the clothes back and laugh. He wouldn’t have stolen Sugar and Jimpson, though.” Something dark swam behind the turquoise of Austin’s eyes. “He doesn’t look like he’s anywhere close to laughing, Vie.”

“So what are we going to do?” Each word was broken up into fifteen pieces by my chattering teeth.

“He doesn’t have service up here, and he doesn’t want to drive back down. He looks—he doesn’t look good. He didn’t say this, not exactly, but I don’t think he can go home. Or he thinks he can’t go home. Something.”

I thought of the enormous, echoing vaults of Emmett’s house. The total frigidity of the place. It was so fucking cold that it made my naked snow dash feel like a good steam in the sauna.

“We’re not spending the night up here with him.”

Austin lifted a long, frozen tongue of my hair and bent it; it crackled stiffly. He raised an eyebrow.

“I know it’s cold outside. And I know we don’t have a tent or clothes—”

“Or Sugar and Jimpson.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry. I hadn’t even really thought about it. They’ve got to be ok, though. Right? I mean, somebody wouldn’t . . .”

“Steal a horse?” Austin’s voice was dry and light and totally, completely forced. “That’s kind of what the term horse rustling means.”

“Maybe the door got left open and they just kind of wandered off.”

“And our clothes just kind of wandered off? And the tent?” Austin shrugged; I waited for the UCSD sweatshirt to explode into tatters, but somehow it managed to hold together. “My dad’s going to kill me. Jake’s going to kill me. But I don’t even care about that. I mean, fuck. They’re my responsibility, and I love those horses too. If something happened to them—” He cut off and shrugged again.

“We’ll call the sheriff. Or the forest service. Or the FBI. We’ll find them.”

“Yeah.” Austin rolled his shoulders. This time, I was sure I heard a seam pop, and the gray sweatshirt pulled about four inches up his belly to expose flat, taut muscle. “I better go keep trying to talk Emmett down.”

“Talk him down?”

Emmett’s dark, thick eyebrows knitted into a line. “He’s currently insisting that you wear a blindfold the entire time you’re inside the cabin.”

The furnace ticked, and another wave of heat licked my soles. I said, “He’s fucking batshit.”

“Vie.”

“He’s gone totally around the moon, that kind of batshit.”

Austin took two fistfuls of my frozen hair, and it crackled in his hands as he gave a soft tug. “I’m going to talk him down. You stay warm.”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t come barging in there and rip his head off, ok?”

“I’m not a kid.”

“And don’t pick a fight with him when you see him.”

“You think I can’t control my temper?”

Austin sighed and gave another gentle tug, and then he pushed himself up. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I’m offended.”

“I think I know how to fix that.” He tugged on the too-short hem of the sweatshirt, exposing another inch of pale, muscled flesh.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

Austin laughed. He tugged on the gym shorts, exposing an inch of dark hair. Just an inch. It wasn’t the full picture, but it was enough that I forgot, for a minute, what we were talking about.

“That’s a good look for you,” Austin said, backing toward the bunk room. “Be a good boy while I take care of this.”

“I’m not your little sex kitten. You can’t distract me with—”

He tugged on the shorts again, a little lower, and I almost swallowed my tongue. Grinning, Austin disappeared into the bunk room. Emmett’s voice started, and then the door shut off their conversation.

As soon as the door closed, I was on my feet. I kicked open Emmett’s suitcase, which lay next to the sofa, and found jeans and a heavy sweater. I dragged them on. I found socks. Pulled them over my aching feet. I found his Sorels by the door and squeezed into them. Nothing fit: the boots were too tight, I couldn’t button the jeans, and the sweater sleeves stopped an inch above my wrists. But they were clothes, and they’d keep me warm. I grabbed Emmett’s heavy down coat, bundled up—as best you can bundle when the clothes are too small—and let myself out into the brilliant afternoon light.

By the stable, I found horse tracks. I wasn’t an outdoorsman by any means, but the snow was still deep in places, and the tracks were fresh.

I started walking.