Page 5 of Collision of Winters (Hillcroft Group #4)

“Don’t you miss music?” I huffed and puffed as I carried in more firewood.

The woodshed behind the cabin had so much, but it needed to get indoors so it could dry properly.

“I do,” he conceded. “But it’s good to take a break from all that from time to time. We don’t even notice how much information we force our brains to process when we’re surrounded by social media, movies, TV shows, music, phone calls, meetings—hell, just walking down the street.”

I chewed on my lip. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. I got overwhelmed fairly easily, and I could have the biggest headaches at the end of the day. But I wanted to exclude music from that list!

“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to get you up here,” he admitted.

“I checked your Facebook for a few weeks before you were arrested, and it worried me. You seemed lost—all while you were constantly out and about doing things. Parties, bar nights, kink events, arguing online, switching jobs—” He turned to me as we reached the porch steps.

“You went through three jobs in five weeks. How’s that even possible? ”

Well, crappity crap.

I squinted up at him and played things off with a shrug. “Rent’s due every month. If someone gets fired, they gotta find a new job.”

He smiled wryly.

I didn’t like this conversation anymore.

I hurried up the steps and got the door open with a twist and a shoulder-check.

Also, good thing I wasn’t much for posting photos online.

I mean, Wade and I were fairly open about having kink in common; we could speak about it in general terms, but it was best to draw the line there.

Rationally, I understood this. No matter how curious I sometimes got about his experiences and preferences.

I knew he was a Dom, and he definitely had Daddy tendencies, but that was about it.

In turn, he knew I was submissive—and that I hadn’t gotten the chance to explore submission in a proper relationship. I’d complained about it once or twice—that it was difficult to find someone for long-term dynamics.

After kicking off my boots, I went over to the fireplace with my hopefully last pile of wood. We had enough to last us several days now.

Speaking of kink, I did have a question for him. Something I’d been mulling over for months, if not longer.

“May I ask you a kink-related question?”

His eyes flicked with a bit of surprise, but he nodded, nonetheless. “Of course.”

Okay, so I had to phrase myself carefully here.

“It goes without saying that BDSM shouldn’t be used as therapy,” I said.

“But don’t you think a certain lifestyle can sort of replace the need to talk to someone professionally, as you put it?

” I removed the gloves I’d borrowed and shrugged out of my jacket.

“For instance, the whole reason I feel out of sorts—or the biggest reason anyway—is because I lack the structure I would get in a D/s dynamic.”

He nodded slowly, brows furrowed. “I’m listening.”

“Basically, my brain feels fried most of the time, and I get worked up over nothing,” I explained.

“Because I don’t have that factor that grounds me.

If that makes sense. So, in short, yeah, I can see why you and Chris would want me to talk to someone, but at the same time, I know how to fix it.

I know what’s wrong. Just like some people feel like they can’t find happiness without getting married, without having kids, without expressing their identity, I can’t find that calm without a Dom. ”

The furrow between his brows deepened, and he followed my lead when I left my gloves and jacket on the hanger by the door.

“Take Kate, for instance,” I went on. She was one of the women Yaya had taken in. “She worked her way up from nothing, but something was always missing. Until she met Dave. That’s kind of where I’m at, only Kate achieved way more in her career. I’m getting by on dead-end jobs.”

The furrow between Wade’s brows deepened, and he leaned back against the counter. “I didn’t know D/s was that essential to you.”

I wished it weren’t .

“I’ve tried vanilla relationships, and it’s just not the same.” I went to the kitchen to pour him a cup of coffee. “I’m not saying it has to be a twenty-four-seven lifestyle with a bunch of protocol. I’m not that heavy into it. Just a…”

“A grounding factor,” he murmured, accepting the mug.

“Exactly.” I nodded. “Also, asking a vanilla boyfriend for a beating or being forced to do things in general rarely goes over well.”

He coughed into the mug.

Had I said too much?

Honestly, I wished I’d admitted this to him before, because the topic was much easier than discussing my broken brain.

He had hesitation written all over him. “Are you a masochist?”

“Bigly,” I said. Although, that wasn’t necessarily correct. “Maybe more of a primal prey. It’s the adrenaline for me more than pain. Pain is the tool.”

His mouth twitched with a hint of humor, and he took a sip of his coffee. “You make good coffee.”

I beamed at him. “Thank you.”

He took another sip, then glanced out the window for a moment. He was studying the angry clouds rolling in, it looked like.

“Being forced, huh?” He didn’t face me.

“Yeah.”

“So…” He scratched his forehead. “You’re a submissive into consensual non-con.”

I might as well spell it out with the last one too. “And a Middle.”

“I see.”

I hoped I hadn’t made things awkward now.

He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the kitchen. “I’m gonna mull over what you said earlier, about the need for D/s. In the meantime, we should get started on dinner, and I’m gonna feed the dogs and take them out once more before I bring them in here.”

“Okay—I can cook,” I offered. “We could use the rest of the bread and make sandwiches.”

He flashed me a quick smile. “That sounds great.”

The edges of the storm reached us around eight o’clock that night.

The winds were so loud, at the same time as everything was incredibly peaceful in here.

It took half an hour for the ground outside to be blanketed in snow.

The dogs were sprawled out on the floor, Atlas and Cat by the door, and Tundra and Prince by the fireplace.

I was cozied up on my half of the sectional, with blankets, cocoa, and zero freaking anger in my body.

It was the weirdest feeling. I felt lighter, unburdened, but also…

melancholic in a way. Because I realized I needed more of this in my life, and I had no way of obtaining it.

Nobody listened to me like Wade did. No ex had been as patient with me.

I’d felt misunderstood most of my life, and at some point, it simply became easier to push people away than to try to explain to them.

Unfortunately—if I were completely honest—I hadn’t been fair to the Winters family, since I’d arrived to them angry. Even at nine years old, I’d had it with the accusations and assumptions about me. And I didn’t know how to undo my reactions to their wanting to help me.

These days, Quinlan was Dad because he’d more than earned the title, but I hadn’t told him the truth. I hadn’t been honest about why I’d failed in school, why I’d left basic training, and why I couldn’t keep a job. I’d taken his last name without committing to the family properly.

The Winters family was one of strong and proud traditions—but also with a lot of tragedy. Yaya’s older brothers—and their wives—had been murdered a few years apart. Arthur, the eldest son, was Quin’s father. Ares was Wade and Chris’s. Their little sister had died too.

For years, Yaya had kept the family together with those traditions.

Supper every Sunday was practically law.

Cooking was supposed to be an activity that brought people together, she always said.

Strength was also important. Being able to defend yourself.

And helping out. Helping was a huge deal.

Being there for each other, offering aid to anyone who needed it in a community.

If I could barely help myself, how could I help others?

I didn’t want there to be something wrong with me.

A loud crack went off not too far from here, and I sat up straighter and looked at Wade. It sounded like a tree snapping in half.

My heart drummed faster.

“We’re safe here, blue.”

Oh. It’d been a long time since he’d used that nickname for me. It was because of my eyes. They were light blue.

He’d closed the shutters, but I still heard the rain splattering against the cabin.

Wade wasn’t bothered one bit. He sat on his end of the couch—or, he was half lying down, with his feet on the table—and gazed into the fire as he sipped his coffee.

I wondered what he was thinking. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him just stare at nothing.

The other day, he’d read a book for a couple of hours, and then he’d put it down, remained seated, and simply stared off into space. Like a psychopath.

Either his mind was at utter peace, or it provided so much entertainment that he didn’t need anything else.

“How can you just sit there and do nothing?” I wondered. “Don’t you get bored?”

He lolled his head along the back of the couch and smiled faintly. “Who says I’m not doing anything?”

Um.

Next, he patted the spot next to him. “Come here. I wanna show you something.”

Okay!

I set my mug on the table and hurried over to him, bringing one of the blankets with me.

Not that I’d admit it so he could hear, but I loved being close to him.

I snickered at the thought of Chris being here instead. “Can you imagine if Chris had been in charge of this silly intervention? He would’ve been all, drop and give me twenty! Don’t just stand there, boy—chop wood faster!”

I plopped down next to Wade, and he chuckled warmly.

“And that’s why he isn’t here,” he said. “He doesn’t know how to approach you in the best way.”

“But you do?”

He peered at me, his expression open. “You’ve cooked, you’ve baked, you’ve made me coffee, you’ve helped out around the cabin, and you haven’t screamed at me yet. I’d say I’m doing a damn good job.”