Page 21 of Curvy Cabin Fever

RHETT

I t’s quiet in the cabin now, too quiet. Even the fire has settled into a low crackle, the occasional snap of wood giving way to a stillness that weighs heavily on my shoulders.

Right now, it’s just me and him.

Morgan .

I try to focus on anything else—the snow falling past the window, my thumb tracing the edge of my coffee mug—but it’s his presence that pulls me back under. The weight of him standing there, too near for someone who’s supposed to be leaving me the hell alone.

But Morgan doesn’t leave me alone.

He never has.

He leans against the counter like he hasn’t got a care in the world, shirtless in this freezing cabin, like he doesn’t know what that does to me.

But he knows.

Christ, he knows.

Maybe he’s always known.

I grit my teeth and rinse my mug at the sink. I need the familiar motion to keep my hands busy, to keep them from doing something I can’t take back.

But it’s not enough.

Tension grows tighter between us. Seconds stretch like the build of a storm I can’t outrun. I should say something—a threat, a dismissal, one of those gruff warnings I’ve used my whole life to keep people away.

The words won’t come.

There’s nothing left to hide behind, not after what I admitted.

I shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have given him that piece of me. It was too much. Everything.

I’m still trying to believe I said it at all. But it’s true—seeing him with someone else breaks me until I’m nothing but raw nerves.

“Rhett,” Morgan says behind me, his voice lower now. No teasing or smugness.

When he says my name like that, like it matters, like I mean something to him—it wrecks me.

I swallow, but it does nothing for the burning in my throat.

I should tell him to stop, to leave me be, to go back to whatever we were before this got so complicated I can’t breathe anymore.

But when I turn, when I face him, the world narrows.

He’s too close to me.

He watches me with that look—the one I can’t pretend doesn’t undo me. His dark eyes are soft, searching, patient in a way that twists my insides.

“I’m right here,” he whispers.

For him, maybe it’s simple.

Not for me.

Everything I built, every wall, every hard edge—it was never meant to keep him out.

It kept me in.

My hand moves before I decide to let it, sliding up the back of his neck. My fingers stroke his dark hair, and it’s like touching fire.

His breath catches. Mine too.

I’m not thinking anymore. I can’t. There’s only the pull toward him that I’ve fought for too long.

I close the space between us because I have to.

My mouth meets his, rough at first, clumsy. But Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He meets me halfway, hand curling around my waist, steadying me as I fall apart.

The kiss deepens without thought—slow, consuming, terrifying.

I’ve never felt this, never been wanted like this. It’s just me and him.

His lips warm against mine, patient when I fumble.

God.

He tastes like sex and peanut butter and everything I shouldn’t want but do.

My heart pounds against my ribs like it wants out.

When I pull back, it’s not because I want to. It’s because I have to. Because if I keep doing this with him, I’ll die.

I don’t move far. Our foreheads rest together, breaths mixing in the kitchen’s cool air.

I close my eyes.

“It’s so fucking hard,” I whisper, the words a confession I never meant to make.

Morgan stays still, but his thumb traces my jaw. “What is?” he asks, barely audible.

My hands tighten. “This,” I admit, voice breaking.

For a long moment, there’s nothing. Then I feel it—the shift between us. It’s not possession or jealousy. It’s need.

Maybe he’s known all along.

When I look up, his smile is soft, his eyes kind.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rhett,” he assures me.

For him, it’s that simple. It never has been for me.

But standing here with him, raw and exposed, I wonder if maybe, for the first time, I want to believe him.

I should step back. I should walk away while I still have whatever scraps of pride I’ve managed to hold on to tonight.

But I don’t move.

I stay pressed against him, my hands curled in his shirt, like if I let go, I might lose my footing entirely.

I’ve never stayed before, not like this. My whole life has been about walking away first, keeping my distance, building walls, pretending I didn’t care when I cared too much.

But Morgan doesn’t pull away—he lets me stay. His hand rests against my waist, thumb brushing small circles into my side. Nothing rushed or demanding. Just him and me at this moment.

It’s quiet—so quiet I hear the faint hiss of the fire, the occasional groan of the cabin settling into night.

His breath warms my temple, grounding me more than I want to admit.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Morgan murmurs, his voice rough at the edges like it’s hard for him to keep calm, like he’s fighting every instinct to push for more but won’t do that with me, especially when I’m this vulnerable.

I exhale, feeling the sharp edges of tension ease beneath his touch—not gone, not erased—but dulled for now.

“I wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

Morgan hums, a low sound in his chest that I feel before I hear. “Nobody ever is.”

That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. Because it means I’m not broken. I’m just me, and maybe that’s okay.

Eventually, I loosen my grip on him—not because I want to, but because I have to. If I stay here any longer, if I let this go any deeper tonight, I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull myself back together.

Morgan lets me go without hesitation, without disappointment, without any of the things I’m used to seeing on people’s faces when I pull away. He just lets me step back, his hands falling away slowly, his eyes holding mine like I haven’t just confessed something I’ve never said aloud before.

“You wanna sit with me for a while?” he questions, nodding toward the worn couch near the fire.

There’s no pressure or expectation, just an offer. And somehow, that makes it harder to say no.

“Yeah,” I respond, my voice rough. “Yeah, okay.”

Morgan doesn’t look like he’s won something or like this is a victory. He just nods—like he’s glad I’m still here at all.

We settle on the couch; the fire sends a soft glow across the room, making the world outside feel distant, less sharp somehow.

I sit on the edge, elbows on my knees, hands steepled in front of me.

Morgan drops beside me, giving me space but staying close enough that I feel the heat radiating from him.

We don’t talk for a while. There’s no need, since sometimes silence says enough. But eventually, I glance over, finding him watching the fire.

I wonder how long he’s felt like this, how long he’s been waiting for me to catch up.

“How did you know?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Morgan glances over at me, one brow lifting slightly.

“That it was me,” I clarify, my voice quieter now. “That I was the one you…wanted.”

He gives me a secret smile, like he knows exactly what I’m trying to ask without saying it. “I didn’t,” he replies simply. “Not at first.”

That surprises me. “You didn’t?”

He shakes his head. “I just knew there was something about you I couldn’t stay away from.” His eyes meet mine again, holding steady. “And eventually, I stopped trying.”

It’s a simple thing, but it knocks the air from my lungs all the same. Because he’s right. There’s been something between us for years—years of quiet glances, of standing too close, of words unspoken because neither of us were ready.

But now I’ve kissed him. Now I’ve admitted the thing that’s been clawing at my insides for longer than I’ll ever say out loud.

And maybe I’m not ready to fall all the way yet, but I stayed tonight. I didn’t run. And that feels like something.