Chapter Twelve
I’m shivering by the time I reach the path to my cabin, the silky material of
my dress clinging to my body, my face no doubt streaked with black
mascara, from the tears or the rain, it doesn’t matter.
Great. It sounds like there’s a party going on inside. That steady beat
of music is going to be a problem. Then again, maybe it’ll help drown out
my sobs.
The moment I step inside the cabin, I know I won’t be curling up or
sleeping any time soon. The smell hits me first; booze, clean sweat, and a
muskiness that I now recognize as sex—arousal and slick bodies grinding
against each other.
I gasp in shock as I take in the sordid sight of strewn clothes and
tangled bodies.
Ronan is shirtless and standing with his back against Katie and
Rachel’s bunk. His jeans and boxers are pushed down his thighs and his
fingers are tangled through a kneeling Rachel’s bleach-blonde mane, his
hands moving in time with her bobbing head as she sucks him off. Rachel is
completely naked.
As if that’s not enough, Katie is sprawled out on top of pillows on the
floor in front of me, her enormous fake breasts sitting perfectly upright, her
legs spread and her bare pussy on full display. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s
Katie. I can’t actually see her face given it’s buried between Rachel’s legs,
her fingers gripping Rachel’s hips as she tongues her best friend’s slit.
My roommates are having a threesome in the middle of our cabin, and
they clearly don’t care who might walk in and see it.
Ronan’s hooded gaze meets mine but he makes no attempt to stop
Rachel, his lips parting with his ragged breaths. He even scoops her hair off
to one side to, I think, give me a better view of his erect cock, sliding in and
out of Rachel’s mouth.
I’m frozen, wanting to turn around and run, but unable to move.
The music must have drowned out my entrance because Katie and
Rachel haven’t stopped, or covered themselves up. I would think they’d
stop out of respect, had they realized they were being watched.
Then again, they probably shouldn’t have started this here, out of
respect.
I’m still frozen, still telling myself to turn and run.
Still staring at them like a pervert.
Ronan’s heady gaze hasn’t left me, either, and he begins thrusting his
hips with each bob of Rachel’s head, his hands gripping her hair in tight
fists. He clearly enjoys having a spectator.
Rachel pulls away from him with a loud moan, her fist wrapping
around his erection to continue what her mouth isn’t doing, her free hand
stretching over Ronan’s firm, heaving chest, decorated in ink, as she looks
down at Katie between her legs. “God. Yes. Almost there. Yes!” Rachel’s
moans grow louder as Katie’s fingers disappear into her, and Rachel begins
grinding her hips. Moments later she cries out in ecstasy as she comes
against her friend’s tongue.
And I am still standing here, watching this!
Rachel aims her mouth for Ronan’s hard, protruding cock again but
he steps back, reaching for a foil packet that waits for him on the bed,
ripping the package with his teeth. “Turn around.”
He slides the condom on as she obeys, getting to her feet.
And that’s when she sees me, and Katie sees me, and both their eyes
flash with surprise.
“Abbi, I didn’t think you’d be back so—” Rachel begins, but Ronan
cuts her off.
“Don’t worry, she’s been here a while. She’s enjoying this. Aren’t
you, red?”
I can’t respond, because I don’t know. Am I enjoying this? Is that why
I haven’t bolted yet?
Ronan guides Rachel to her knees and, shoving his pants to his
ankles, he kneels behind her. With his hand on the back of Rachel’s neck, he
gently pushes her face between Katie’s thighs. And offers me a wry smile.
“You’re welcome to join.”
Rachel looks up at me once more, just as Ronan thrusts into her from
behind and the sheer ecstasy of it splays across her face.
The same look I saw in my own face yesterday, when Henry thrust
into me.
Henry.
My initial shock of walking into this debauchery has faded, replaced
by the raw realization that this must be what Henry is doing with those two
women right now.
It’s a gutting reality.
I turn and bolt out the door, down the slick path, fighting my tears, no
clue where I’m going. I can’t go to the lodge, or the hotel—not the way I
look right now. I run without aim, lost and alone and heartbroken.
Right into someone.
“I’m sorry!” I try to fumble past him, keeping my head down.
“Abbi?” He pulls his hood back to reveal his face.
“Michael?” Henry’s masseuse.
“What are you doing out here?” He pauses, frowns as he takes in my
face. “Are you okay?”
Three simple words. A simple question. But for some reason it
crushes my resolve, and I break out in a fit of sobs.
Michael quickly wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into
his broad chest. “Come on, let’s get you back to your cabin.”
I shake my head frantically. “Can’t.... My roommates.... Sex....
Ronan....” I can barely get the words out.
“Okay, okay. Shhh.... Come on. My place is just over there. I can’t
promise mine aren’t too, but they’re probably doing it somewhere else right
now.”
Cocooning me against his body, Michael leads me along the path to a
cabin on the opposite side of mine, swiping his key card to unlock it.
The cabin’s empty.
I hear a soft “Thank God,” under his breath. He pushes the door shut
and leads me to the far wall. “Bottom bunk is mine. Here, let me get you
something. You’re shivering.” Michael rummages through a drawer while I
do my best to stifle my sobs. He hands me a plush white towel. “Just did
laundry.”
I press it against my face to smell it, inhaling the scent of the fabric
softener. That’s always been a calming scent to me. Only when I pull it
away do I remember my face is streaked with makeup. “I’m so sorry!” I
cringe at the black marks I’ve already left.
He reaches over his head to yank his sweatshirt off, his t-shirt lifting
just high enough in the process to show me his stomach, the ridges of his
abs hard and defined, the trail of blond hair turning darker as it disappears
below the waistband of his black dress pants. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just
a towel. That’s what bleach is for.”
Still, I must look a disaster. “Do you mind if I use....” I gesture toward
the small powder room.
“Of course, go ahead. But I make no promises about what shape it’s
in. There are six guys and who knows how many girls using it.”
My eyes drift around the cabin at the strewn about clothes and shoes,
trashcans overflowing with candy wrappers, and the empty beer bottles
stacked next to them. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I don’t have much that will fit you, but you really should get out of
that dress before you get sick.” His eyes drift over my frame, and I
instinctively tug on the skirt, wet and clinging much higher on my thighs
than it should. Ducking his head, he rummages through the dresser again,
pulling out a t-shirt and boxers. “Best I can do, but it’ll be more
comfortable.”
I collect them from his hands with a small “thank you,” and make my
way into the small powder room, trying to quell my shivers as I close the
door behind me.
A homely girl stares back at me from the mirror, her face streaked,
her hair clinging to her scalp, her eyes bloodshot, her teeth chattering
noisily.
The dim lighting in here sure doesn’t help.
Stripping down to nothing—everything is soaked right through—I
quickly towel myself off and wash my face with the bar of soap, doing my
best to ignore the condom wrappers that spill out over the trash can. At least
the makeup comes off easily enough, leaving me with a fresh, albeit puffy
face. My hair is an entirely different story. Nothing short of a hot shower
and conditioner is going to tame this mess, but I pull the elastic and pins
out, and finger-comb the tangles.
Thankfully it’s still just us when I emerge. Michael has kicked off his
shoes and socks, and changed into track pants, and is sitting on the edge of
his bed, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s turned on the small reading
light affixed to the side of the bunk to cast some light into the little nook.
“A little bit better, at least?” He nods toward the clothes I slipped on.
The t-shirt reaches midthigh and I have to hold up the boxers to keep them
from slipping off.
My smile is weak, but genuine. “Yeah. Thanks. Do you have
somewhere I can hang this?” I hold up my wet things.
“Right behind you.” He’s on his feet and coming around to help me,
reaching over me to get the wire hanger off, the faint smell of soap and
cologne wafting from him. “We’ll hang it above the heater.”
I quickly hook my dress and undergarments. There’s no hope for
modesty with my panties and Katie’s bra dangling, but Michael doesn’t say
anything. I guess he’s learned how to be respectful of people’s
vulnerabilities, given his profession.
“You’re still shivering.”
I fold my arms over my chest, trying to still my body. “I’ll be okay.”
“Get under my covers. That’ll help.”
I merely nod and comply. After the day I’ve had, I’m beyond caring
that I’m crawling into a guy’s bed. I pull the blankets up to my chin,
reveling in how safe and comfortable they feel.
“Do you mind?” Michael gestures toward the bed.
“Of course not. It’s your bed.”
He eases in beside me with a groan, forcing me close to the wall to fit
both of us. The bunks are wider than the ones I remember as a child, but
they definitely weren’t designed to sleep two grown adults comfortably.
Silence hangs as he stares at the top of the bunk above us and I stare
at his profile. He’s really handsome in that high school sports-star way.
Short blond hair and a wide easy smile, framed by dimples, a jutting
Adam’s apple to define a long, thick neck. His jaw is coated with just the
slightest amount of blond stubble, which I’m sure will be shaved off before
his shift tomorrow.
If I weren’t so enthralled by Henry, Michael is the kind of guy I
would have noticed walking by. Probably would have watched shyly.
Henry....
I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the lump that’s flared once again.
“Where are your roommates?”
“A couple of them are working the night shift. The others are
probably partying in the lodge.” He turns to settle big blue eyes on me. “Is
whatever you walked in on in your cabin what made you so upset?”
I shake my head.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what I walked in on?” It was shocking, yes. It was depraved,
yet, if I’m being honest with myself, I wasn’t completely turned off by it.
Ronan’s naked form doesn’t elicit feelings of disgust, that’s for sure.
But that’s definitely not something I’m admitting to Michael.
He chuckles. “I was in the lodge earlier, with Katie, Rachel, and
Ronan. The three of them left together after a bunch of drinks and I have a
pretty good idea about what you would have walked in on back there. So,
no, not that. Do you want to talk about what had you burst into tears like
your heart’s been broken?”
My heart is broken. Again. Because I’m a stupid farm girl who can’t
see things that are right in front of me.
I shake my head. I can’t talk about any of it, because it would mean
divulging details about Henry.
Michael heaves another sigh. “Okay, I understand. But if you change
your mind, I’m here to listen. And you can stay as long as you need to.”
“Thanks.” I offer him a weak smile as one of those ragged post-sob
sounds escapes from my lungs. This feels like the safest place for me to be
right now.
Voices flare just outside the window.
“Shit,” Michael mutters, reaching behind him to grab hold of the
privacy curtain. He has it drawn all the way around the bunk just as the
door opens to loud laughter.
“Dude, I wouldn’t last ten seconds with that girl’s lips wrapped
around my cock.”
I recognize that voice but I can’t place it.
“Like you’re gonna get a chance. She’s been polishing Buckey’s knob
every night for the last week. Bastard. They went into the tool shed last
night and she let him go bareback in her ass.”
“Lucky fucker. I need to find myself one of those. I’ve been yankin’ it
too hard lately, with all James’s pussy comin’ through here.”
Michael’s body tenses beside me. “Guys.... Watch it.”
“Yo.” One of them calls out, and a moment later. “Oh! Sorry.”
They must have seen my clothes hanging by the window. At least they
have the decency not to talk about women like that while one of them is
here.
There’s some whispering, and then feet shuffling, and then the door
opens and closes.
And we’re alone again.
Oh my God. My cheeks flush with realization. They left to give us
privacy. They think we’re having sex.
Michael smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that. Miguel’s got a foul
mouth but he’s harmless.”
Miguel? “The line cook in the staff lodge?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
That’s where I’ve heard his voice before. “I met him on my very first
night here.” I smile. “Seems like so long ago.”
“The days here are long, aren’t they?”
I sigh. “The longest.”
Michael shifts to his side, propping his head up by an elbow. “Here.
Roll onto your stomach.”
“Why?”
I tense as he reaches over to prod the muscles in my back with his
strong fingers. “Because your muscles are tight. I can help with that.”
He once offered to give me a massage. I declined, all because Henry
asked me not to go anywhere near him. A tiny spark of anger flares in the
pit of my stomach. Henry doesn’t get to demand things like that. Not
anymore.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, rolling over to face the wall,
tucking my arms along my sides.
He sweeps my long, damp hair over and begins gently kneading
between my shoulders with one hand, ignoring my words. “Are you happy
you came to Alaska?”
A soft, embarrassing moan escapes me, the strength of his fingers
against my muscles soothing. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment about it.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Working directly for Mr. Wolf can’t be easy.”
I don’t want to think about Henry Wolf, or what we had and don’t
have, or how he used me, how he lied to me. How he’s screwing those two
women right now.
“Relax, Abbi,” Michael murmurs, his voice deep and soothing.
“You’re as tight as a wire.”
Henry liked to tell me how tight I am.
I close my eyes and focus on Michael’s large, strong hand instead.
“This must be the last thing you want to do right now, after doing it all day.”
“Normally I’d say yes, but that’s definitely not the case with you.”
Is that his way of saying he’s interested in me? If so... it’s flattering,
but I just have no energy to even think about being with another man right
now. So I stay quiet and revel in the feel of his skilled hand as it works
along my shoulders and down my back, the pressure perfect, the motions
rhythmic. Even one hand is heaven. What would both feel like?
Michael seems like a genuinely nice guy. I eye the small ledge on the
wall—a design feature for each bed in each cabin, to house your personal
items. He’s tossed his wallet and phone up there, next to a small box of
tissues. And a strip of condoms.
Has Michael slept with someone here?
In this bed?
Do I even really care?
“Have you warmed up enough now?”
“Hmmhmm,” slips from my mouth, my eyes still glued to those
condoms.
He tugs on the cotton t-shirt. “Would you mind taking this off? It’s
easier against bare skin.” He must sense my hesitation because he quickly
adds, “I do this with clients every day, Abbi.”
“You lie in bed with clients every day?”
The bed shakes with his laughter. “Okay, maybe not that. But I’m not
going to try anything on you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
He does massage naked bodies all the time. I take a deep breath and,
before I can think too much about it, I’m lifting his t-shirt over my head and
setting it next to me on the pillow.
Goose bumps erupt all over my back and I want to pull the covers up
to my neck.
The weight in the bed shifts and Michael’s suddenly moving and
tugging at the covers, and I feel the soft cotton of his sweat pants brush
against my bare legs as he slides in next to me. “There. Now we can pull
them all the way up and keep you warm.” His fingers smooth over my back
from under the blankets and he continues kneading. “Perfect. I can get
deeper this way.”
My blood stirs at his words, even if I don’t want it to.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say any more, seemingly content to work away
all the stress and tension in my back and arms in silence, his hand touching
every square inch of my skin, his fingers never once wandering too far
down to graze the sides of my breasts, pressed against the mattress.
But this silence is a dangerous place for me.
Because in the silence, with Michael’s skilled hands on me, I’m
thinking of Henry.
Of what he’s doing right now.
Of what went wrong.
Of what, if anything, was ever real or true.
I can’t spend the rest of the summer around him, at his beck and call.
I just can’t do it. But I won’t go home. I won’t be stuck spending the
summer in Greenbank with Mama, listening to her go on about Jed and how
I need to win him back.
Why would Henry refuse to let me move to another department? Is it
a power thing? Why would he want to hurt me like that, when he’s already
hurt me so badly? Is he that heartless?
A fresh wave of tears stream down my cheeks again, these ones silent.
But somehow Michael knows immediately. He slips one of his long
muscular arms beneath my head and, with a gentle hand on my shoulder,
rolls me onto my side, until my back is against his chest. Adjusting the
blankets so they’re covering my bare front, he ropes his other arm around
and folds both in front of me, loosely hugging me. “It’ll be okay. Whatever
it is, you’ll be fine,” he murmurs into my hair.
I don’t know if he’s right but it feels good, hearing him say that. “I’m
so tired.” I really am.
“Then shut your eyes and go to sleep.” He reaches above us to switch
off the small reading light. The night-light that’s plugged into the wall
socket next to the shelf kicks on, casting a glow in the small space. Not
annoying, just enough to know where I am when I wake up.
I begin to believe that maybe I can just fall asleep here, in the comfort
of Michael’s arms.
That’s when the door bursts open and a woman’s giggle carries
through the cabin.
Michael heaves a deep, irritated sigh. I gather he’s not happy about
the additional company. “I can ask them to leave, if you want,” he whispers.
“No. It’s okay.” He shares this cabin with five other guys. They have
a right to be here, too.
There’s a series of stumbles and “ouches” and “shits” and more
giggles—they’re obviously drunk—before a bed creaks and a privacy
curtain draws.
“James! Stop!” The girl whisper-giggles. The sound of a slap follows,
then zippers being unfastened, and then the very distinctive smacking of
lips. Low music starts playing—over a phone speaker, probably. Not nearly
loud enough to drown them out.
“Do they know you’re here?” I whisper as softly as possible.
“I doubt they care.” Michael’s sigh skates over my neck. “And I’m
sorry.”
About five seconds later, the girl lets out a guttural moan and I
understand what Michael is apologizing for. We’re about to lie here and
listen to his roommate have sex.
