Page 1 of Curvy Cabin Fever

RHETT

T his is what I need.

Crisp, clean, cold mountain air. I inhale it deeply, enjoying the way the cold tingle creeps into my lungs, filling all the space held captive by city air, replenishing it until I feel human again.

The tension leaves my shoulders along with the breath, and I open my eyes and drink in the electric blue glow of the lake, the steam rising beneath the early morning sun.

I sip my coffee—black, hot, and bitter enough to kick me in the teeth—enjoying the way it zaps my senses, making my eyes wider and everything louder.

God, I love coffee.

I could stand here all day. Hell, I might.

My eyes sweep across the lake, soaking in how isolated and untouched it all feels.

Pines stretch along the shoreline, their dark tips stabbing into the low morning clouds.

Beyond them, the mountains rise—blue-gray and jagged, still dusted with last week’s snow.

No kids running and screaming. No cars honking.

No waft of fried onions and hotdogs, just the clean bite of pine.

A bird cries somewhere high above, and the wind moves through the trees in slow, deliberate sighs.

Only out here do I realize just how fucking stifling the city is.

No, I don’t miss New York at all.

Out here, I’m surrounded by the blue sky, the stunning lake, mountains for days, and all the fresh air you can breathe.

Two weeks of this is exactly what I need.

“Rhett, you want some pancakes?” a voice calls from behind me, interrupting the serenity I’ve been basking in. But it’s alright because it’s Morgan, and Morgan is…well, Morgan.

You can’t be mad at him for anything because he’s just so thoughtful and nice. Even though he doesn’t look it with the tattoos covering his entire body, his bulky muscles forcing anything he wears to strain like it’s about to rip. If the Hulk was attractive and not green, it would be Morgan.

I turn to see him frowning at me, probably wondering why I haven’t replied yet.

I hold up my coffee cup, and he blinks.

“Coffee isn’t breakfast, Rhett.”

I sigh, knowing if I don’t eat the fucking pancakes, Morgan is going to whine like a bitch, so I head back to the luxurious log cabin I call mine and grin.“With bacon?”

Morgan winks. “You know it.”

I follow him in, my thoughts still lost in the beautiful scenery. Listening to Morgan moving around the kitchen feels strange, as if we’re in some kind of domesticated bliss.

Ha.

“Are you missing the city yet?” Morgan asks with a knowing grin.

He knows I’m a workaholic, but when I fell asleep at my desk last month, I knew enough was enough.

I usually rent this place out; it does well in the summer.

People love having barbecues by the lake; there’s so much space for kids and dogs to run around.

My lips twitch, imagining a family here, and my heart pangs a little.

“No, but it’s weird having my phone on silent.”

Morgan laughs. “I don’t miss waking up at four a.m.”

I shake my head and look at my oldest friend in admiration. Damien and I used to hedge bets on whether Morgan would be a chef or a personal trainer.

Damien won.

“You chose that career, man,” I remind him as he sighs dramatically.

“The other option was a chef, and you know I’d have been one of those fat ones.”

I couldn’t imagine Morgan being fat. Even when we were kids, he was a skinny thing, like me. He’s around six foot, but Damien was the tallest even back then. Morgan has always been on the lean side even though his mother did her best to fatten us all up.

Morgan and Damien are like family to me. I have parents, of course, but they’re not my biological ones. I don’t know anything about them, nor do I care. They gave me up for adoption and?—

Breathe, Rhett. Ground yourself.

I sip my coffee and try to relax, but it’s fucking hard when you’re battling your own mind.

I breathe in, slow and deep, the way they taught me, and murmur the words under my breath like a ritual— You’re safe.

You’re here. Just breathe. It doesn’t fix anything, but it calms me somewhat. For now, that’s enough.

I drag my phone out of my pocket and check my emails on instinct, not realizing until I’m responding to one that I shouldn’t be online.

Christ.

How can I have a break from work if I’m constantly checking my emails?

I make a snap decision and power my phone off, waiting for the tension to leave my shoulders.

It’s a finance company; there are enough people to run it in my absence.

I think of my assistant and imagine him cracking the whip, making me chuckle.

Morgan looks over at me, and I shake my head slightly.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Just imagining Price running the show.”

Morgan frowns. “Is that funny?”

“No,” I say, moving closer to the counter. “But I imagined him cracking the whip, which made me laugh.”

Morgan smiles and nods. “He’s a sensitive one, that’s for sure. Hey, did you ever hire another assistant? You said you were thinking about it.”

I blink and study Morgan. How did he remember that? This is how he is, though; his memory is exceptional. He even reminds me to send flowers to my mother on her birthday, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah, I considered it, but Price manages okay alone.”

We chat business until Morgan starts to prepare pancakes, and I watch idly. I love watching Morgan cook; it’s almost therapeutic.

If only it were enough to calm my mind. Troubled by ghosts and shit I can’t put my finger on. Too much history and not enough present; that’s what my therapist said before I fired him.

And he was one of the best—which was the end of me and therapy.

I suppose I’ll have to make do with watching Morgan cook. There are worse ways to spend the day, I guess.