Page 1

CHAPTER ONE

“ T hat your old man?”

The voice echoing from across the room startles me, and I jump, the springs in the old mattress beneath me groaning. I look up from my phone to find Julian in the kind of outfit that lumberjacks probably have wet dreams about. His jeans are comfortably fitted and the flannel he has on is buttoned nearly to the top, revealing just the slightest bit of curly black and white chest hair.

Julian Estevez is that special breed of attractive that gets on everyone’s nerves because of how casual he is. Like, you could catch him after a 12-hour shift at Dad’s office and he’d still look good enough to risk it all for. It takes a second to recover from the sound of his voice, but when I do, I say,

“Yeah, I’m trying to get a hold of him.”

I was supposed to keep Dad updated on our trip up here, but between the anxiety of leaving the house and the lulling level of carsick I always feel on road trips, I’d been pretty preoccupied. For the past twenty minutes I’ve been trying to reach him on the phone, and it’s turning up the heat on my paranoia just a bit. What if the stomach bug he has is something more serious and not just a case of food poisoning? Or, what if he’s not answering my texts or phone calls because that awful stomach thing has already taken him out?

Stop it.

The stern voice in my head is my own. It’s the one that keeps me from my nastier habits of catastrophizing and letting my worst fears snowball. All that can wait until I get back from these mountains with all of dad’s employees.

“Hope you hear from him soon. I know Randy. He’s probably worried sick about the trip up here.”

Ah, so that’s where I picked up that tendency…

“Yeah, hopefully. Uh—thanks for driving me up here, by the way.”

Julian cracks a smile and shrugs one shoulder lazily. “Don’t mention it. Glad to have you around. Some of us were actually starting to think you didn’t like us.”

News to me. Any time I hung out with Dad and his friends, I tried my best to be more outgoing—more than I ever was naturally. I didn’t wanna seem like some pretentious millennial that was too good to talk to people Dad’s age.

“Why would you think that?”

“You’re quiet. They’re not. They think when someone’s shy, means they’re standoffish. I don’t think that, though. I know you’re cool.”

I nod slowly, grateful. “You’re not so bad either, Julian.”

He lays a hand over his heart. “I appreciate it, kid.” His smile is as perfect as everything else about him, from his windswept salt and pepper locks to his trimmed beard. A moment passes before he continues. “You getting settled in okay? You were quiet on the ride up here.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” It’s easier to just keep it brief than to go too into details about everything. The last thing I need is Julian looking at me with the same sympathy as my parents. “Carsick,” I lie. “Long rides aren’t great for my stomach.”

“I got some medicine for that in my stuff if you want,” he offers, starting for the door.

“No, that’s alright. I brought some too. Can never be too prepared.” I reach down for my bag on the floor and dig through all the supplies Mom packed. Next to all the first aid shit, there’s a bottle of antacids that should help. When I pull it free, an orange bottle comes with it, hitting the floor with a smack and rolling towards Julian.

“Shit,” I mutter, practically jumping from the bed to grab it quickly.

Julian’s faster, and he bends down to scoop it up. He glances at it then tosses it back my way. The pills inside rattle when I catch it, and I stuff it down inside the bag like it’s going to explode.

“My sister takes that,” Julian informs me.

I want to be anywhere than here right now. Mom knows I’ve been debating even trying that shit. I don’t know what made her think sneaking that into my bag would be a good idea.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Julian nods, and I stare up at him, fighting back the bile in my throat.

Not this. Not now. Please, God, not now.

My prayers are answered when he drops the subject all together and instead says, “Like I was saying, I’m glad you could make it up to the trip with us. It was a nice surprise finding out you were coming.”

Truth be told, I shouldn’t even be here right now. Had Dad not gotten violently sick from seafood he ate on Wednesday, he’d be up here instead of me. Dad already paid for his portion of the trip, and not wanting it to go to waste, insisted that I take his place and ride with Julian. Even nauseous and uneasy on his feet, he’d loaded me into the van and sent me on my way. Mom, the overprotective one, surprisingly encouraged all of this.

I have my suspicions that this was all an elaborate rouse; he’d fake an illness and she’d insist I go on the trip in his place, both of them working together to force me out of my bedroom for the first time since my depressive stint began. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’d even roped Julian into all this, telling him about my hesitation with the prescription so he’d try to normalize it.

Stop.

The negativity has gotten so fucking bad, half the time I wish I could shut my internal monologue up forever. Nothing but peace and quiet in this head of mine. That voice is incessant, always trying to plunge me into darkness and going above and beyond to stomp out any light. It’s like watching Dad lose his shit because his engine light is on, yet everything is working perfectly. Despite how little sense it makes to feel this way, there it is. There it always fucking is.

“Well,” Julian says, looking over his shoulder at the sound of voices somewhere else in the cabin. “The others just got here. You wanna come say hey?”

Julian’s smile seems like a peace offering, as if he can sense my lingering aura of unease ebbing through every inch of me. It takes me a minute to respond, yet another byproduct of spending so much time cramped up in my bedroom, avoiding contact from everyone else. I can hear Mom and Dad in the back of my mind, Mom’s voice smooth like silk and Dad’s gruff, struggling-to-emote white guy voice.

Just try it , he’d insist.

It won’t hurt , she’d promise.

“Okay,” I say, rising from the creaky old bed and stretching out my limbs. The first steps are made of lead, but it only becomes easier to follow Julian out into the living room. There, we find the others—two men who can’t be any more different.

I know Derreck Whittaker the same way I know my Uncle Rodney. That’s to say, I see them both on holidays and birthdays, always with a beer in their hands and an easy smile on their faces. Derreck’s the kind of man I always dream of matching with on one of the fiftyleven dating apps I’ve put off from deleting. Tall, well over six feet with a strong build, a trimmed beard, buttery brown skin, and copper eyes that don’t stop smiling, even when his full lips do. I’ve lusted after this motherfucker for as long as I’ve known him, and in those six years, he’s only gotten more attractive to me.

And where Derreck’s built for swimming, Sidney Mills would do well for rugby, a sport I’m pretty certain he played back in his university days. He comes equipped with the mouth of a sailor, the attitude of Scrappy-Doo, and a ginger beard he never stops fiddling with whenever he listens to people speak. Somehow, even the smattering of freckles across his smooth white skin seems to have an attitude. If a grumpy rock grew legs and started to stomp around, Sidney might have himself a twin.

“There he is,” Derreck says, rushing towards me and pulling me in for a hug. His embrace is like dark chocolate, warm and rich and deep. He does the same thing he always does, stepping back from our hug and cupping one large hand on the side of my face before saying,

“Goddamn, you gettin’ big, boy.”

And like always, I roll my eyes. Laughing, I give him a shove. “Shut up.” If by big, he means twenty-six and trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing with my life, then sure, I’m definitely growing.

“I fuck with this haircut, by the way.” He runs a hand over the buzzed side of my hair before tousling the short curls on the top.

“Thanks.”

“Shame about your daddy not being able to make it up here. You know how he likes to take his lily-white ass outside and get ‘connected with nature’ or whatever he calls it.”

“I told him not to get sushi from a two-star restaurant. ‘My body can handle it, boy.’ Look where that got him.”

“Always been a dumbarse, that one,” Sidney says, stepping up to squeeze my shoulder. His accent startles me every single time. Before moving to America with his mother at ten, Sidney had gone back and forth between London and Kilkenny, and as a result, he’d been left with an English-Irish-American collage of an accent.

“On the plus side, you all get to have fun without the boss being all in your asses,” I offer.

Julian and Sidney share a look that makes Derreck snort, and I feel like I’ve missed out on a joke told telepathically. Derreck gives my head a light shove.

“Watch when he finds out you was running your mouth about him,” he teases.

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Some fish took him out, you think I can’t handle my own?”

“Oh, okay, it’s like that.”

“Yeah, it is like that!” I laugh.

It feels foreign, this levity. For months, all I’ve been doing is anticipating the end of the world. Gloom and doom, fire and brimstone. Probably doesn’t help that the only person I ever see is my disheveled reflection in the mirror when I finally drag my ass from bed to go piss. So much of my time has been spent stewing in the filth of my own self-criticism and self-hatred, and just for this moment, it doesn’t feel like I’m drowning in it. Just…wading.

Sighing, Sidney drops his compact weight onto the sofa and pulls his phone out. “These fuckers still aren’t here. Think they’re okay?”

“They’re fine,” Derreck says. “They’re late to everything.”

Rocking from foot to foot, I clear my throat and ask, “Who?”

“Amir and Bradley. And now, Ian.” Sidney answers. “They usually stay in the other cabin with your da. Should be here by now.”

Julian steps up behind Sid on the couch and squeezes his shoulders, massaging him. “You worried about them? That’s sweet.”

“Fuck off,” Sidney grumbles, shaking the other man’s hands off. “If they don’t use their cabin, I’m moving all my stuff over there and taking it for myself.”

“Aw, you don’t wanna sleep with us over here?” Derreck asks.

“Can hardly stand to look at any of you at the office.” Sidney only keeps a straight face for a moment before it cracks and he smiles slightly.

“Drop the dickhead act, Sid. We’re on vacation. Live a little.” Derreck turns to me and says, “I’m making drinks in the kitchen. You want something?”

“Sure,” I say, shifting on my feet.

“Let’s see if you can outdrink your da,” Sid says, trailing behind us as we head into the kitchen. I glance back to find Julian squatting near the fireplace, shaking his head. A moment later, he grumbles to himself and heads to the pantry in the kitchen.

“Drinks aren’t there, Jules,” Derreck says.

“Not looking for drinks.” He pulls an axe free from between the broom and dustpan and places it on his shoulder. “No firewood. We’re gonna need some tonight. It’ll only get colder during the weekend.”

“You know this motherfucker thinks he looks so cool right now,” Derreck says softly, nudging me with his elbow. I crack a smile with him, and Julian shoots us both a glare on his way out. When we’re the only three left in the kitchen, Derreck claps enthusiastically and says,

“Alright, you’re gonna be my junior bartender today. Think you can handle that?”

“Pfft,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. It’s way more confident than I actually feel, but it seems to do the trick for the others, so I keep the bit going. “Let’s get to it. Show me what to do first.”

To my surprise, the art of mixology is more complex than I ever imagined. The only time I usually have a drink is when I need to blackout, and a simple bottle of Absolut typically does the job pretty well. I don’t have to concern myself with shaking and stirring and when to add what juice to make it all change colors. Thirty minutes and a big-ass bottle is all that’s needed.

Still, it’s kinda fun concocting new mixes, and even more fun when I get to watch Derreck and Sidney taste my work. Sid even seems surprised, which to me is high praise considering that grump hates pretty much any and everything. As we drink, I fall quiet, listening to them tell stories about adventures with Dad and the other guys that are on their way up right now. How they unplug and relax, reuniting with nature in ways that don’t feel at all pretentious. It’s just…real. Authentic.

Exactly the change of pace I’ve been wanting.

Needing, even.

The conversation shifts about fifteen minutes later, and I can only listen to the sound of grown men arguing about sportsball for so long. After my third drink, I excuse myself, wandering through the cabin.

It’s gorgeous out here. The perfect setting for a holiday rom-com, or a seasonal slasher I’d put on for background noise. All the furniture seems to be handmade, crafted by someone with years of experience. While nursing my cocktail, I stand in the living room, wondering what kind of a person it took to be able to create all this. Someone disciplined. Determined. Motivated to see a project all the way through and not give up before they even started.

Someone so different than me.

I swallow the last of my drink and place the glass on the fireplace mantel, pausing to look out through the frost-dusted window to take in the scene. Snow will come in the next few weeks, that much I’m certain of. The air has that crispness to it, like Christmas morning in my childhood neighborhood.

Across the way, I spot the second cabin, presumably where the others are staying. There’s no movement inside, nor are there any cars parked outside. Still running late.

What I do see, however, is Julian putting all his effort into cutting wood. With intense determination, he steadies his axe in his hand and bites down on his bottom lip. I’m frozen in awe as he swings down in a beautiful arch, splitting the log in half. Either piece falls to the dirt, and Julian wastes no time replacing the stump with another. Over and over, he splits them until finally dropping the axe and stepping back, clearly spent. The curls of gray and black that frame his face are damp with perspiration, sticking to his forehead. Julian slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and a moment later, his gaze meets mine.

Shit.

Busted being a creep.

But Julian only smiles at me, gesturing with the jerk of his head for me to come outside and join him. Instinct tells me to run back to my room and avoid human contact, but I grab my coat from the rack instead and step into my boots. Grass crunches under my feet as I approach Julian, who now stands with his hands on his hips, huffing and puffing.

“You’re so dramatic,” I tease, biting back a smirk.

Though he’s clearly tired, he shoots me a toothy, exhausted smile. “If I was being really dramatic, I would’ve taken off the shirt instead of doing all this in goddamn flannel.”

I can imagine it clear as day, like it’s happening right in front of me. The bulge of his muscles as he brings down the axe. The glittering sheen of sweat coating his unruly chest. Even the flash of armpit hair each time he arches his arms back. But being horny isn’t the main goal of this trip. I’ll have plenty of time to beat off to these mental images when I’m back in the safety of my home.

“You’d do all that without an audience? That’s dedication to the lumberjack fantasy if I’ve ever heard.”

“Wanna give it a try?”

He raises the axe and points it in my direction. When I don’t make an immediate move to grab it, Julian’s head tilts, and the look that appears on his face is dripping with something akin to a challenge.

“You don’t have to be strong to do it. Just fast.”

“Did you just…?” My words fade, and I narrow my eyes at him. Julian gives the axe a shake for emphasis, and I reach for the handle, snatching it away from him. I practically shoulder him out of the way, sending him stepping back and laughing as I set down a log on the tree stump.

“You don’t have to be strong to do it,” I mimic, rolling my eyes and steadying my grip around the tool. Julian’s chuckle, even if it’s at my own expense, warms my chest.

“I mean it,” Julian insists. “Takes surprisingly little?—”

I raise the axe and swing it down fast, cutting his words in half. The blade connects with the wood at an odd, diagonal angle, and I struggle to pull it free. With a few jerks, I manage to get it out and am settling my target on the wood again.

“Almost. This time, you’ll wanna?—”

“Mph,” I grunt, putting all my strength behind the second swing. I manage to hit the wood at a similar angle, but this time, I pass through it, chopping it off. A bit surprised, I crack a smile and lean in to admire my own work. The log looks like shit, but I’ve managed to get a piece of it separated.

I turn to Julian and give a little bow. “Voila.”

Amused, he nods slowly and scratches at his beard. “Mm, if only it were straight.”

“You sound like my dad when I was thirteen,” I say without thinking. It’s a joke better suited for my friends back home, but Julian’s laughter immediately soothes any potential awkwardness of an ill-timed quip.

“He’s not even here to defend himself,” Julian says somberly.

“Goddamn cheap fish.” I lean in and grab the sliver of wood from the dirt, examining it closer.

“He ever come around to it?”

“To what?”

“To you.”

I glance up at him. He stares at me with newfound intrigue. Like I’m a puzzle he’s nearly done piecing together. His index finger continues to stroke his beard while he waits for a response.

“Uh…yeah. It was a problem for a long time, but… He’s cool now.”

The silence is filled with the chirps of birds and hollow echoes of the wind.

Things are fine between me and Dad. I know he still loves me. I know he’ll always be supportive and caring. It’s just…different. There are parts of my dating life we don’t discuss. Descriptions are best kept brief, too uncomfortable to explain to my guy’s guy of an old man. Talking about that feels more natural with Mom.

“I always wondered what the change at work was,” Julian says. Prompted by my expectant look, he adds, “He, uh… He started changing things around the office. First, it was little shit. Calling out some of the guys in the other cabin over there for using offensive words, that kind of thing. Then maybe five or six years ago, we did our first pride month charity. Raised about ten grand.”

Dad hadn’t told me any of this. All this time, I’d assumed it would be uncharted waters with him. Something neither of us wanted to wade through. But clearly, he’s doing the work, and I can’t help but feel my Grinch heart grow in size.

“Oh,” I say, nodding and trying not to smile. “That’s cool.”

“Don’t tell him I just spent the past few minutes kissing his ass. I don’t need that motherfucker thinking I like him or anything.”

We share a laugh, and the tightness in my chest eases substantially. If I get anything from this trip, learning about this new side of Dad might actually make it all worth it.

“So,” Julian says, gesturing back to the axe in my hands. “You want me to show you how to properly swing that thing?”

I consider it. “Sure.”

He jerks his head, and I follow, stepping closer to him. To my surprise, rather than just taking the axe from me when I extend it his way, he wraps his hand around mine, turning me so that my back is pressed to his chest. I blink. It takes me a few seconds to catch up.

“Oh,” I murmur, laughing nervously.

“You wanna hold it like this. One hand down here, and the other…” Julian takes my left hand and guides it to the top of the axe. “The other goes right here.”

With his arms wrapped around me and his hands cupping my own, I’m suddenly made very aware of just how hot his body is from the work he’d done earlier. He smells of faint cologne, cinnamon gum, and natural musk. Weathered fingers hold my own steady, and Julian kicks one of my legs, spreading it out wider.

“Feet shoulders width apart.” I readjust, and he says, “Good boy.”

Jesus.

My stomach clenches in tandem with my grip around the axe, and I close my eyes to collect myself. I’ve been called that a million times before by Dad, but this time, it’s so different.

“Turn a little now,” Julian continues, like his words haven’t just rocked my entire fucking world. I shift to an angle and look back at him.

“Like this?”

Julian, with one corner of his mouth upturned, says, “That’s perfect. Aim for where the log already looks weak. Cracks, splits, that sort of thing. As you raise the axe back, slide your hand at the top down to meet the other, and follow through with it. Wanna practice just swinging?”

“Yeah.”

I steady myself before I begin the motions, raising my arms high. Julian’s hands fall to my waist, fingertips brushing over exposed skin just above my hip bones. The touch is enough to send goosebumps racing down my body, and I falter with my first swing.

“Go slow,” he murmurs, so close to my ear that I shiver.

It’s nearly impossible to focus on what I need to do with Julian this close to me, and I squeeze my eyes tight, gathering all my strength needed to keep it the fuck together. I’ve spent so much time holed up in my room, I can’t remember the last time anyone’s touched me like this. I’ve almost forgotten how nice warm breath on the side of my face feels, or what desire does to my insides.

Worse is Julian’s response.

He still holds me here, far longer than needed and pressed as close as he possibly can be. The more I run through the motions, the more I raise my arms to pull back and bend over for the swing, the more I feel it. The lump forming in the front of Julian’s jeans. My throat practically aches from my inability to swallow.

Is this real? Is he really getting hard against me like this, out where anyone can see? Or am I imagining all of this, getting all choked up over his phone or wallet in his pocket?

Before I can ask about it, he steps away.

“Go for the kill,” he says.

And I do.

Letting loose a shuddering exhale, I swing the axe down with all the frenetic energy zipping through me, aiming directly for a crack that runs through the diameter of the log. With a satisfying crack, I slice through it easily, splitting the log in two perfect halves. Momentarily stunned, it’s the sound of Julian cheering that brings me back to the moment.

I feel a hand on the back of my neck, pulling me in for a one-armed hug. “See,” Julian says, ruffling my hair. “Just fast. It’s easy when you get the hang of it. You’re a natural.”

Despite the temperature, my face feels all hot with humility. I start to hand the axe back to him when Julian says,

“Nuh-uh. You’re clearly good with wood. Keep going, this old man needs to rest for a bit.”

“Alright,” I say, chewing on my lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool.

I toss the halves into a separate pile that Julian’s already started and replace them with another log. Like before, I take my time examining it, searching for the perfect spot to target. In a matter of minutes, there’s another log set up and ready to go. It’s almost easy to find my groove, to the point where Julian’s voice startles me.

“Why’d you come up to the cabin with us?” he asks casually, arms folded across his chest as he leans against a pine tree.

I give him a confused glance. “Dad got sick, remember?”

“No, I mean this cabin instead of the other one. Your old man stays over there every year. We figured you’d take his room.”

“Oh. Well. I dunno. I don’t know those guys. I know you all.”

Julian nods slowly, his gaze still heavy on me. “That all?”

I smile nervously. “Yeah?”

Whatever he’s getting at, I have no idea. I figured that if I was going to be spending so much time out of my element, I’d pick the group of guys I knew personally rather than some of Dad’s employees I consider to be strangers. And evidently that was the right choice given how the other men are running late and I’d have been all alone in the other cabin for hours. Being alone freaks me the fuck out.

“Okay,” Julian says.

It’s a simple statement, but I can’t help but feel like there’s more ruminating underneath all that fantastic hair of his. Julian continues watching me like before, seemingly trying to figure me out. I turn my attention back to the wood, cutting as much as I can until my muscles are screaming for me to quit.

Worn out and sucking in heaving breaths, I toss the axe to the side and look back at Julian. “Fuck,” I say, laughing. “That’s not as easy as I thought.”

“It’ll wear you out, that’s for damn sure.” From the glint in his eyes, I might wager he’s quite pleased to see me so tired. “That should be more than enough for the weekend. Wanna help me carry these into the cabin?”

“Sure,” I say.

He and I grab as much of the firewood as we can manage, heading back to the cabin, side to side. As we walk, the memory of Julian’s bulge crosses my mind again, and my eyes flick down to the front of his jeans.

Nothing.

“Eyes are up here, kid,” Julian says. I look up to find him staring back, smirking at me.

“Sorry,” I manage to whisper, humiliation strangling me with both hands. My face feels hot and my throat aches, and all Julian does is chuckle as we approach the front door. Before I can reach for the knob to open it, Julian stops me. He presses one hand flat to the door, keeping it closed.

He leans in closer, our noses practically brushing, and says, “Don’t apologize.”

Then, he pulls the door open and heads inside, leaving me standing there with my hands full of wood and my heart racing faster than it ever has before.