Page 6

GRACE

I'm starting to think Mother Nature has a personal vendetta against me. Or maybe she's just got a twisted sense of humor. Either way, I'm not laughing.

"This is not happening," I mutter, staring through the windshield of my truck as we head up the driveway to a possible cabin Blaze mentioned.

The wipers are fighting a losing battle against the downpour, and ahead of us, an enormous pine tree blocks the entire road.

Behind us, the water has washed away the dirt driveway we just traveled, leaving nothing but a muddy ravine.

We're trapped about halfway up the driveway to this cabin.

Blaze is already out of the truck, rain plastering his hair to his head as he examines the fallen tree.

I roll down my window just enough to yell at him. "You think you can move that alone?"

He turns back to me, rain streaming down his face, and flashes that infuriating grin. “Not sure. Though I know I can't move the damn road, either. But I know there is a dry cabin just up the way."

"Of course you do," I reply.

But my options are limited to either trusting him or spending the night in my truck while the storm rages. I grab my jacket from the back seat, take a deep breath, and step out into the deluge.

The rain hits me like a cold shower, soaking through my clothes in seconds. Blaze is already gathering our bags of supplies and a case of water from the truck bed.

"We can come back for the rest tomorrow," he shouts over the wind. "Once the storm passes."

I nod, locking the truck and pocketing my keys. "Which way?"

He points to a barely visible trail leading into the woods. "Follow me. Stay close."

We trudge through mud and undergrowth, making the walk feel like miles.

The rain seems determined to drown us, and twice I nearly slip down an embankment.

When it happens the second time, Blaze's hand shoots out to steady me, strong fingers wrapping around my upper arm.

He doesn't let go right away, and I don't pull away as quickly as I should.

By the time the cabin comes into view, I'm soaked to the bone and shivering. It's a small, weathered structure nestled among the pines. The kind of place that looks like it's been there forever.

"Please tell me it’s unlocked," I say through chattering teeth.

Blaze gives me an apologetic look. "Not exactly."

He leads me to the front door, then kneels down and feels along the bottom of a nearby rock. Nothing. He tries under the welcome mat, then above the door frame.

"Who are you looking for, the key fairy?" I ask, hugging myself for warmth.

"These cabins usually have a spare somewhere," he explains, moving to a window. "They're used seasonally. No one's been here for months."

After a few more minutes of searching, Blaze sighs. "Plan B," he announces, and before I can ask what that is, he starts pulling at the windows until one by the door gives and he's able to open it.

"Breaking and entering. Great." I shake my head. "Add it to your rap sheet."

"I'll leave cash for the stay," he says, as he starts to climb inside. "Besides, it's this, or hypothermia."

A moment later, the door swings open with a creak, and I stumble inside. The cabin is small. It’s just one room with a kitchenette in the corner, a wood stove, a small table with two chairs, and only one bed just big enough for two, pushed up against the dark wall.

Blaze immediately moves to the wood stove, checking if there's anything inside. "We're in luck," he says, pulling out matches from a nearby drawer. "Dry kindling and logs. This'll warm us up."

I drop my bag and look around. Dust covers most surfaces, but it's clean enough. More importantly, it's dry.

"Check for some blankets in that chest," Blaze points as he works on the fire. "You should get out of those wet clothes."

I raise an eyebrow at him.

He rolls his eyes. "I'll turn around. But seriously, you're shivering."

Even though he's right, I'm not about to admit it. I rummage through the chest and find several thick wool blankets that smell musty but seem clean. When I turn back, Blaze has the fire going, orange flames licking at the logs.

"I'll step outside while you change," he offers.

"In the pouring rain? Don't be ridiculous." I grab a blanket. "Just turn around."

He does, and I quickly peel off my soaked jacket, shirt, and jeans, wrapping the blanket around me like a toga. My clothes make a sad, wet pile on the floor.

"You can turn around now," I say, and he does, his eyes carefully staying on my face. "Your turn."

I face the wall while he changes, fighting the urge to peek. The sound of wet fabric hitting the floor makes my imagination work overtime.

"All clear," he says after a minute.

Turning around, I find him with a blanket wrapped around his waist, his chest bare.

I've seen plenty of shirtless men before, but something about the way the firelight plays across Blaze's skin and across his tattoos makes my mouth go dry.

I look away quickly, focusing on hanging our wet clothes on chairs near the stove.

"I found some tea," Blaze says, holding up a dusty tin. "Probably ancient, but it's something."

He fills a kettle with water from a jug we brought from the truck and places it on the stove.

I sit on the edge of the bed, blanket pulled tight around me, watching him move around the small space.

There's something different about him here.

No cameras, no audience, no image to maintain.

Just a man making tea in a cabin during a storm.

"You're staring," he says without looking up.

"I'm observing," I correct him. "There's a difference."

He smiles, handing me a mug of tea. Our fingers brush, and I ignore the little jolt that runs through me.

"So," he says, settling into one of the chairs. "Looks like we're stuck here for the night."

"Looks like," I agree, sipping the tea. It's stale but warm, and that's all that matters right now.

The storm rages outside, rain pelting the roof and windows. Inside, the fire crackles, slowly warming the small space. We sit in silence for a while, the tension between us shifting into something more comfortable.

"Your brother," Blaze says suddenly. "Tell me more about him."

The question catches me off guard. "Why?"

He shrugs. "You're fighting so hard for his dream. I'm interested."

Staring into my tea, I let the memories surface. "He was stubborn as hell, but he believed in this town when no one else did." I look up at Blaze. "He taught me that some things are worth fighting for, even when the odds are stacked against you."

"Is that why you stayed? For him?"

"I stayed because it's home," I say. "But I fight because of him, yes."

Blaze nods, his expression thoughtful. The firelight softens his features, making him look younger, more vulnerable.

"Your turn," I say. "Why are you really here? I've seen the stories. You don't strike me as the save-a-small-town type."

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You mean the bad boy of rock isn't known for his charitable work? Shocking."

"I'm serious, Blaze."

He sets his mug down and runs a hand through his damp hair. "You want the truth? I fucked up. Big time. My manager thought some good PR might help. Small town, music festival, heartwarming story."

"So this is all just image rehabilitation for you?" The thought stings more than it should.

"It was," he admits. "At first."

"And now?"

He meets my gaze, his eyes dark and serious. "Now I'm not so sure."

The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I've been prepared for charm, for lies, for manipulation. But not for this raw vulnerability.

"I used to think being seen by millions meant I mattered," he continues. "Lately, I'm not so sure."

"What happened?" I ask softly.

He looks away, into the fire. "I got everything I thought I wanted. The fame, the money, the adoration. And it was... empty." He laughs bitterly. "Turns out you can be surrounded by thousands of people and still be completely alone."

The pain in his voice resonates with something inside me. That same loneliness I've felt in a town where everyone knows my name.

"The PR mess," I prompt. "What was it?"

He sighs. "A girl overdosed at one of my parties. She was fine, but it was close. And I realized I didn't even know her name. She was just... there. Like all the others. Disposable." He looks up at me. "That's what fame does. Makes everything and everyone disposable."

The silence stretches between us, filled with the sound of rain and crackling fire.

"I'm sorry," I say finally.

"Don't be. It was a wake-up call I needed." He sets his empty mug aside. "What about you? Always been the town savior?"

I shake my head. "I left for college. Was planning to stay gone, actually."

"What brought you back?"

"My mom got sick," I say simply. "Cancer. I came home to help, Mom got better, and then... my brother was gone, my parents left, and someone needed to keep fighting for this place."

Blaze moves from the chair to sit beside me on the bed, careful to keep space between us. "That's a lot to carry alone."

"Says the guy with the weight of fame on his shoulders."

"Touché." He smiles, and for once, it doesn't seem practiced or performative.

I'm suddenly aware of how close we are, of the heat radiating from his skin, of how the blanket has slipped slightly from my shoulder. His eyes drop to the exposed skin, then back to my face.

"Grace," he says, my name almost a whisper.

The air between us feels charged, electric. He's close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and can smell the faint scent of his skin beneath the wood smoke.

"I can't do this," I whisper. "Not if you're just going to leave."

He moves closer, his hand coming up to gently touch my cheek. "I'm not playing at this, Grace. Not with you."

And then he's kissing me, or I'm kissing him. I'm not sure who moves first. His lips are soft, insistent, and I feel myself melting into him, my hand finding his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath my palm.

The kiss deepens, and for a moment, I let myself forget everything. The town, the road, the inevitable goodbye. But reality crashes back, and I pull away, breathless.

"I won't be a temporary thing, Blaze," I say, my voice unsteady. "If you're going to run the second you get the call, don't start something now."

He rests his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my face. "What if I don't want to run?"

"You will," I say, pulling back further. "This town isn't your world."

He doesn't argue, and that tells me everything I need to know. Instead, he nods and stands, taking one of the blankets to the floor near the stove.

"You take the bed," he says. "I'll be fine down here."

I want to argue, to tell him the bed is big enough for both of us, but that would be a dangerous lie. Instead, I nod and lie down, pulling the blanket up to my chin.

"Goodnight, Grace," he says softly.

"Goodnight, Blaze."

I listen to the storm outside, to his breathing slowly evening out, and stare at the ceiling. I'd spent so long building walls. And one stubborn rock star was chipping at every single one.