Page 83 of On Edge

“Then you can go out and chop the wood.”

I look around, startled.

Troy stands in the doorway, arms full of logs, watching me with those chartreuse eyes of his. All at once, I feel like I might spontaneously combust. I force myself to look back at the fire. Ben huffs under my stalled hand, so I make my palm move, continuing to stroke him. But it feels weird with Troy watching me.

His boots are loud on the hardwood, dropping mud in clumps as he crosses the room. Was he just outside chopping wood? And he’s still in his wet clothes; he must be freezing.

“He likes you,” Troy huffs, seemingly annoyed by that. “He doesn’t usually let anyone else close.”

Like me or not, Ben soon abandons me for his master, his added warmth disappearing. I’m left sitting alone on the rug, arms wrapped around my knees, trying to look anywhere but at Troy as he crouches by the wood basket, filling it, pausing to give his dog’s head an easy rub.

I wish that were me.

Oh my god. Where the hell did that thought come from?

Hopefully, it was Nell, because the thought came from nowhere, and it can’t be mine. I hate this man with every bone in my body.

I shoot Troy a look in case hecanread minds. But he doesn’t react; he carries on stacking the logs, his hands moving, placing each one with deliberate care. The same hands that had me senseless on those stairs, that pushed me into the lake. The silence stretches until I can’t stand it.

I draw in a breath. “Why?”

Troy doesn’t seem to hear, still piling logs with precision. After what feels like a long time,too long, he answers.

“Why what?”

“Why did you…?” I can’t say it.

He turns, his eyes meeting mine. Then, I swear I can’t breathe. My eyes betray me, dropping to his mouth, and then his scarred chest under that wet shirt. I catch myself, but it’s too late.

When I finally look up, his face is unreadable.

“Tip the boat? You know why.”

“I meant the other night on the stairs.”

“Oh, when I kissed you?” He says it like he’s commenting on the weather. It was more than just a kiss.

“Um, yes, that.”Heat creeps up my neck.

“We’re getting married.” He returns to his task, his tone indifferent, each log laid carefully so they don’t fall. “Seemed inevitable.”

Inevitable.Like catching a cold.

I hug my knees tighter, my breath quickening. “I see. So it was just?—?”

“It was nothing.” He cuts me off. “Don’t read into it.”

“I didn’t…that’s not…” My words get messed up, spilling in staccato from my mouth, my face too hot from the fire. WhatI want to say, all my carefully rehearsed words from sleepless nights fall like leaves, scattering.

Disappointment lodges thick in my throat. I wasn’t expecting him to say it meant something. Of course, it didn’t. I should be angry that he kissed me.Touched me.But I’m not.

Instead, I feel ill.

And I want to crawl under my bed and stay there until he’s gone.

But then…he’s looking my way again. His eyes cold and empty and I can’t feel my legs.

“You certainly ran fast enough afterwards.” His eyes flicker with something I can’t place.“Did you not like it?”