“Sounds like big shoes for Graham to fill,” I finally manage to say.
“Sure is,” Austen says with a grunt. “And with all that change, money has been tight.”
“I know Logan signed a nice contract.”
“Sure, but he doesn’t have most of that money yet. Besides, Graham’s too stubborn to let his baby brother sink any money into this place, no matter how much we could use it.”
Reaching into his pocket, Austen fishes out a box of matches, then crouches down again. Two or three strikes later, there’s a spark, and then it catches on to the drier bits of wood. Soon, the tiny glowing embers grow into a low, steady fire.
By the time he shoves back to his feet, I’ve finally worked up the courage to ask the same question I’m sure he’s asked himself a hundred times.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Our damnedest,” he says with a shrug, settling back onto the bench across from mine. “That’s why we started the whole craft-beer operation. We’re hoping that’s the ticket, the secret ingredient that will make this whole thing profitable.”
“Which is why Graham is so angry about Logan’s mistake.”
Austen smirks. “Now you’re getting it.”
The creak of a door interrupts our conversation, followed by the crunch of icy snow beneath furious footsteps. It’s Logan, stalking toward us wearing a mask of fury. It’s not till he gets closer that I realize his lip is split, and he’s sporting the early signs of a bruise forming on his right cheek.
I have to bite my tongue hard to keep from gasping. I remember what Austen said about arguments being normal when Logan is home, but it’s hard to believe violence is normal too. My stomach clenches into a painful knot.
“I think it’s pretty obvious I won’t be joining you tonight,” Logan says gruffly, dragging the back of his hand along his lower lip. “Just thought I’d let you know.”
With that, he turns and stomps back toward the house, and I’m right behind him. But once again, these darn boots betray me and slow me down. Logan is already halfway up the stairs by the time I step inside.
Most of the family has scattered, but Jillian is slouched over in the armchair, quiet sobs shaking her petite frame. After all the kindness she’s shown me today, it takes every bit of willpower not to hug her. As a human being, I want to. But as a professional, I can’t.
Instead, I just ask softly, “Are you okay?”
She looks up at me, her blue eyes red and brimming with tears. “Graham and Logan . . .” She bites her lip, choking back a sob. “Just a little fight, sweetie. Everyone’s okay. But Logan is going to stay in the cabin next to yours for the next few nights. The boys just need some space.”
Jillian is giving her son more grace than he deserves, but I can read between the lines. The look in her eyes says it all. Logan’s anger is out of control, and it’s not safe for him to be in the house anymore because he’s like a grenade without its pin, ready to go off at any time.
Logan appears moments later at the foot of the stairs, shouldering a duffel bag. The anger has mostly left his face, leaving a mix of sadness and uncertainty. He gives his mom a quick kiss on the cheek, then turns back toward me. “Are you going to your cabin or staying for the bonfire?”
“I should head back to my cabin,” I say, feeling a little weird about hanging out with his family if he’s not there.
He nods once. “I’ll walk you back.”
We trudge through the woods side by side without exchanging a word. So much for us talking tonight. Instead of answers, I have even more questions.
First and foremost, how am I supposed to help a man who clearly doesn’t want to be helped? He’s not just angry—he’s also violent. And not only with strangers, but with his own brothers, and I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle that. Which means ultimately, I’m going to let Les down, and even worse, myself.
“This is your stop.” Logan halts in front of my cabin but refuses to look me in the eye. That would make him human, and that’s something he doesn’t want to give me.
Being practically ignored by him makes me feel helpless and unprepared. I wait for him to say anything more, but he doesn’t. So I say good night and slip into my cabin, which is just as cold as it is outside.
Sure enough, my fire has gone out. Just another failure to add to my collection today.
A sigh of defeat pushes past my lips as I collapse onto the edge of the bed, burying my wind-chapped face in my hands. Every fiber of my being wants to break down, but I’m not risking freezing to death tonight without a fire. I start with the kindling as Logan told me, but after fifteen minutes, my hands are numb, and I still have no fire. With no other choice, I pull my phone from my pocket and call the main house.
Thankfully, Jillian picks up on the second ring.
“Everything okay, sweetheart? Need something?”
Her kindness makes my heart squeeze. Even with the night she’s had, this woman stands ready to lend a helping hand.
I explain to her that the fire’s gone out and it seems a lot colder tonight than last night. “Would you mind sending one of your sons down to help me?” I pause, then add, “Maybe not Logan.”
“Of course, dear,” she says, assuring me with her honey-sweet voice. “Sit tight, and I’ll have one of the boys there shortly.”
9
* * *
LOGAN
“Hey, Mom,” I say when I pick up my cell phone.
I almost didn’t answer because I figured she’s going to complain about me fighting with Graham, although I’d probably deserve it. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with him.
“Summer’s fire’s gone out,” she says instead. “Be a dear and go next door and get it started for her.”
I shift on the couch, straightening. “Why can’t Austen? Or Graham? Or Matt?”
Mom lets out a long sigh. “You know why. Now go.”
I groan. “Fine.”
There’s something about being around Summer that makes me feel on edge. And I know actually sitting down and talking to her in a counseling session would make me feel way too exposed. Even the whole honesty thing feels like too much. Sure, she’s a beautiful girl—gorgeous, in fact—and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to her.
What would she possibly understand about my life?
But it’s not fair to even think that. She’s dealt with just as much, if not more heartbreak than I have. She has no one, and the thought of a pretty, delicate girl like Summer with no one looking out for her makes my chest throb. No one to help her if her car got a flat tire, or with the task of starting a fire. No one to be there for her, or celebrate holidays with…
Fuck, that’s brutal. I shouldn’t have rushed through showing her this morning. I should have had her do it with my help, instead of just doing it for her. I’m still being an asshole, and there’s no way I can relax with the thought of her sleeping in her coat again. Especially with the temps dropping even lower tonight.
I grab my jacket and shove my feet into my boots without bothering to tie them, then I head outside, making the short walk next door. At the side of the cabin, I grab an armful of wood and then tap on her door with my boot.