Snowed in for the same amount time she told her cousins to wait. Will her call get through? Which cousin will she choose as her lifeline?
I watched Makayla grip my phone tightly; her fingers tense around the edges as if it might slip away from her. She hadn’t hesitated to take it but angled slightly away from me now that the call was connected. Not completely—just enough to make it clear that whatever she was about to say, she didn’t want me hearing too much of it. That alone made my suspicion grow. I pretended to focus on the fire, running my fingers through Pockets’ fur as he curled in my lap, but my attention remained sharp. Makayla let out a slow breath, then finally spoke. “It’s me.” No greeting, no explanation. Just two simple words, clipped and low. A beat of silence. “I know. I ran into complications.” Another pause. “I’m fine.” The words were quick, too quick. They were a reassurance meant to put someone at ease, but something in the way she said them felt forced like she was saying it more for her own sake than theirs. I studied the curve of her jaw, the slight twitch of her fingers against the blanket,
The fire crackled softly, filling the silence between me and Lilac. But my mind wasn’t in the room anymore. It was stuck on the phone call, on the sharp edge of Reese’s concern, on the way she’d immediately pieced together that something wasn’t right. She always had been the most intuitive one in the family. I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as I replayed every word. “Thank you for calling Bob’s Crematorium and Barbecue Pit! You kill ‘em, we grill ‘em! How can I help?” Reese’s Bostonian accent greeted me. I forgot that she gets a kick out of answering unknown numbers in weird and crazy ways. That is just another reason she’s my favorite girl cousin. Any other time, I’d have gone along with the joke. However, I had to be selective in what I did and didn’t say with Lilac sitting beside me. I’m trying to keep her as far away from this situation as possible. She was kind enough to save my life. The least I could do was keep her out of this mess with Stacey.
I shuffled the deck of cards in my hands, feeling the worn edges glide smoothly between my fingers. The fire crackled behind me, casting a warm glow across the room, but I barely noticed. I focused on Makayla, watching me with cautious curiosity from the other side of the small coffee table. “All right,” I said, setting the deck down. “We’re not just playing Go Fish. We’re playing Go Fish… and Tell.” Makayla raised an eyebrow. “And that’s different how?” I smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Simple. Whenever you ask for a card, you must ask a personal or fun question. If I have the card, I answer. If I don’t, you ‘Go Fish,’ and answer your question instead.” She tilted her head, considering. “So, it’s like truth or dare, but just truth and fishing?” “Pretty much.” I grinned. “Oh, and if you get a full set of four cards, you can ask a wild card question. Anything you want.” Her lips twitched like she wanted to smile but was holding back. “And let me guess—you’re going to ask quest
I shut the bedroom door behind me with a quiet click, pressing my back against the wood as I exhaled sharply. My lungs felt too tight, like I couldn’t quite get enough air like the walls of this damn cabin were finally closing in around me. Lilac Ray. Lilac Sherbourn—except, no. She wasn’t a Sherbourn. She was a Ray. Why? I rubbed my hands over my face, forcing myself to breathe slowly and evenly. I had been thrown into impossible situations before. Hell, I lived in impossible situations, but this? This was the universe laughing in my face. Lilac was Stacey’s sister. Stacey. The woman I had spent the last several months meticulously gathering evidence against. The woman I had once loved, trusted, defended—only to discover she was capable of things I couldn’t ignore. The woman who had looked me in the eye and lied so convincingly that I’d doubted myself for weeks before I finally woke up to the truth. And now, her little sister had been the one to pull me from the wreckage. The w
I sat frozen, my fingers tracing the edge of the worn photo album in my lap, my heartbeat steady but heavy. Across from me, Makayla stood stiffly, her arms crossed tightly as if physically holding herself together. Her breaths were slow and controlled, but I could see the conflict raging beneath the surface—see how her fingers twitched and her jaw flexed like she was trying to bite back the storm of emotions inside her. She was unraveling, and I didn’t blame her. I had spent years untangling myself from the damage Stacey had done, from the betrayal of realizing my sister had erased me, erased our father, and rewritten our entire existence to suit the perfect, untouchable image she wanted to project. Makayla was just now discovering that the woman she had once trusted, maybe even loved, had been playing God with her own history. She let out a sharp, bitter breath, shaking her head. “This…” she exhaled, voice shaking before she forced control back into it. “This doesn’t make sense.”
I needed air. Not that it would help—trapped inside this cabin, buried under who knows how many feet of snow with no escape in sight—but I needed something. Space. Distance. A way to clear the suffocating pressure building in my chest. But there was nowhere to go. The cabin walls felt smaller than before, and the flickering firelight was too warm and still. I sat rigidly on the couch, my pulse a slow, heavy drum in my ears, and my fingers curled into the thick fabric of my sweatpants. I had spent the last few months digging into every skeleton in Stacey’s closet, unearthing corruption, lies, and betrayals. I had prepared myself for the worst—backroom deals, criminal connections, and the skeletons I knew she had carefully hidden. But I never expected to find out she was the skeleton. The perfectly polished politician. The daughter of a man I’d shaken hands with at campaign dinners. The woman who had spoken about her father with such certainty, such ease. All that to find out by co
Pockets let out a soft whine, curling against my leg as I sat motionless on the couch, staring at the closed bedroom door. The cabin was too quiet, and the air felt thick with the weight of everything that had just happened. I had meant to distract her, not throw her deeper into the storm raging in her mind. I exhaled slowly, raking a hand through my curls. Damn it. I had been so careful, trying not to add more to the tangled mess of emotions Makayla was already battling. But then she’d asked that question, and what was I supposed to do? Lie to her? No. Stacey had done enough of that. Still, that didn’t make it hurt any less. Makayla looked gutted, like I had reached inside her chest and ripped something vital out of her. And maybe, in a way, I had. The Stacey she had known, the one she had convinced herself she understood, had been slipping through her fingers since the moment she crashed into my world. But now? Now, she was realizing she had never known her at all. I glanced at
The moment Lilac’s lips touched mine, my brain short-circuited. I should have stopped her, but I didn’t. I kissed her back, not thinking, just feeling. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging, sending me a slow, burning ache. I should have pulled away, but instead, I leaned in, craving the solid realness of her. Her body pressed against mine, soft yet insistent, kissing me like she meant it. Like she wasn’t afraid. And God help me, I needed this. I needed her to anchor me, to pull me from the spiral my life had become. Her lips were softer than I expected, but nothing was soft about how she kissed. She kissed purposefully, like she had decided she wanted this and wasn’t about to hesitate. A small, involuntary sound escaped my throat, and Lilac took that as encouragement. She deepened the kiss, parting her lips just enough to brush her tongue against mine, tasting me, teasing me, setting every nerve ending in my body on fire. My fingers dug into the fabric of her sweater, pulling h
I hadn’t slept. Not really.Not since I walked out of that penthouse and slammed the door on the most exquisitely curated betrayal money could buy. I’d stripped off my coat, kicked off my boots, fed Pockets his kibble, and then just… sat. For hours. My laptop glowed on the desk across from me. I hadn’t touched it.Until now.A ping split the silence like a shot across a battlefield. [URGENT: Incoming - Countermeasure Filed]The subject line punched the breath out of my lungs. I lunged for the laptop.The message was from Reese. Short. Clinical. Deadly.'Stacey filed in three jurisdictions—Colorado, DC, and New York. Civil defamation, data tampering, unauthorized surveillance. She’s moving fast. The press release paints you as an unbalanced hacker ex with a grudge. They’re calling you emotionally volatile. Obsessive. Possibly dangerous. Her lawyers are leaking it already. We’re prepping the response, but Mak… we need something decisive. She’s playing dirty. You need to go nuclear.'My
I knew something was wrong when we left that shiny, cold building. At least we left behind that horrid human. Stacey was never right for my human. I’m glad she finally did something about it.Makayla didn’t say a word. Not one. She just opened the car door like it weighed a hundred pounds and slid into the driver’s seat with that quiet sort of stiffness that only meant one thing: she was hurting.She smelled different now. Not like the warm cinnamon and snow she usually did. No. Now, she smelled like firewood that burned too long. Bitter. Sharp. Grief and something else I didn’t like. It clung to her skin even when she rolled down the windows and let the mountain air in. Like she was trying to breathe something that didn’t hurt.I jumped into the seat beside her, turned in a tight circle, and then sat with my back pressed against her thigh. She didn’t look at me or scratch behind my ears like she normally did when we got in the car. She just sat there with her hands on the wheel, knuc
The Aurora Ridge shimmered like a mountain jewel, its grandeur built on arrogance and wealth. The snow sparkled on the archway as I parked the rental, the engine quieting with a sigh, bracing for what was to come. The morning sky was pale, but everything around gleamed like it had never faced a storm. I turned off the engine, my breath fogging in the still air. Pockets stirred in his seat. I checked my phone for the time and for any message from Reese. “Going in,” I had texted her an hour ago. No reply necessary. She understood. I lingered a moment longer, hands gripping the steering wheel. My reflection was calm and cold, the type that cuts deep—no makeup except dark eyeliner, hair up, dressed in black—a frostbite of resolve. “You ready?” I murmured, glancing at Pockets. He wagged his tail once. Just once. Enough to tell me he knew something serious was happening but that he was still with me. Still mine. I opened the door. The cold bit through my clothes, but I barely felt it a
I hadn't slam the door to my bedroom, though I wanted to. I closed it with slow, deliberate finality—the soft click more satisfying than any burst of anger could’ve been. I hadn't wanted another fight. Not tonight. I needed space. Quiet. And a plan. The leather-bound notebook was clutched tight in my hand, the ridged corner pressing into my palm like a reminder that this wasn’t a dream. It was real. Every word. Every scribbled name. Every threat my father had tried to keep tucked away on a dusty shelf like time would bury it for him. I sank onto my bed, still wrapped in the same oversized sweater I’d changed into that morning. The room hadn’t changed since I was nineteen. The same faded concert posters that were curling at the edges. The same worn quilt on the twin bed. The same air that smelled of cedar, old paper, and forgotten ambition. But I wasn’t the same. Not anymore. I set the notebook down and reached under my bed, tugging out the fireproof lockbox where I kept my backup so
The conference room's windows were nearly black, mirroring the snowy Aspen streets outside and my mood within. I tugged my dark turtleneck down, feeling the cold clinging to me despite the heat indoors. I set my laptop on the glossy table and connected to the secure video link. Reese’s face filled the main square, flanked by a journalist from The Intercept and Denver civil rights attorney Karla St. James, whose piercing gaze commanded attention even over Zoom. “Makayla,” Reese greeted with her usual calm professionalism, though I caught the tightness around her eyes. She was in her Boston office, a towering wall of books behind her, a mug steaming beside her elbow. “You look like hell.” “Thanks,” I muttered. “It’s my new aesthetic: blizzard-chic.” Karla chuckled faintly, but the journalist didn’t react. He was already reviewing the shared documents on the screen, flipping between pages of scanned contracts, metadata reports, and audio logs I’d decrypted weeks ago. “Before we begin,
I had been back in my father’s cabin for less than a day and felt suffocated. Everything looked the same—the creaky floorboards, the pine-paneled walls, the old plaid couch smelling of cedar and winter air. But I wasn’t the same. I boiled water for tea I didn’t want, changed into fresh leggings and an oversized sweater, and combed my hair in the narrow hallway mirror. Everything reminded me of Makayla, from the kettle to the quiet. I wanted to text her something stupid, but I didn’t have her number. I should've asked before I left, but Dad was looming nearby with the rescue crew. I felt too awkward and rushed to think of something so small but important as exchanging numbers. I stepped back from the stove, hugging myself. The room felt too quiet—no laughter or teasing, just the water whistle and heavy silence. Dad stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, lost in thought. After the conversation in the truck, he hadn’t said much, but now, as the kettle whined, he finally turned to me.
After my shower and the haunting memories of Lilac, I collapsed onto the hotel bed, Pockets curled into a warm donut at my feet. The heater hummed softly, but I couldn’t shake the chill running through my spine. My burner phone was finally charged. I’d kept it on battery-saver all morning, waiting until I was out of the mountains to call. Group texting was easy, but hearing a voice required strength I hadn’t had until now. I hit the call button for Reese first. She answered on the second ring. “Makayla.” Her voice was sharp, worried, and so familiar that I nearly broke down. “I’m okay,” I said quietly. “I’m okay, Reese.” “You better be, you absolute chaos magnet. Clay was ready to come storming the Rockies in a plow truck. No clue where he would get one, but he'd find one. The triplets were drawing straws for who would dig you out. Where the hell have you been?” Reese caught me up on the cause of her brother and our cousins’ reactions to the news I’d been snowed in somewhere.
I did not want to leave. The words weren’t on my lips, but they gathered at the back of my throat like a scream I was not allowed to let out. Not when Makayla stood in that cabin doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if she were hanging together by sheer willpower. Not when her smile faltered, but when she assured me it was okay. That she’d take care of Stacey. It wasn’t okay. It didn’t sit well. But I nodded anyway and stepped away from the cabin, the flickering fire, and the room that somehow became sacred—hers. I rode beside my father’s truck, my arms crossed over my chest, my jaw locked so hard my ears ached. The heater blew full blast on the windshield, battering the skim of ice already beginning to coat the glass, but the heat couldn’t chase away the cold lump growing in my chest. We had only driven for ten minutes, and I regretted leaving. Leaving her. Leaving Makayla. “You should’ve called,” my father grumbled, his voice low and gravelly as he navigated th
The instant Lilac vanished with her father, a shiver I couldn’t attribute to the storm crept into my marrow. I just stood there in the trampled snow in front of the cabin, Pockets alongside me, my arms tight around myself despite being bundled up in Lilac’s extra clothes. I couldn’t help but remember her parting look—worried but resolute—as she tied up her boots and said, “Since it’s what you want, I’ll take care of my dad.” It was as if she was trying to keep me from something and didn’t want me to know what he was. Or worse… who she had to be when he was around. I hadn’t interrupted her. I was the one who told her to handle her dad, so I said it was fine. I lied. The rescue crew eventually did get my battered rental out of the snow’s clutches. The front was worse crumpled than I imagined, the driver'sdoor had been left ajar from when Lilac rescued me so the interior wad fullof snow. When I dig enough of the snow out, I climbed in, disregarding the sleet that had frozen on the das