Page 26 of Conceal

But there’s always Google.

When Mik comes back out, still avoiding eye contact, with a sweet blush on his cheeks, but his body covered again in the loose clothing he always wears, I push any hard conversations aside.

“Okay, I think we should move the mattress into the living room and close off the rest of the house, so we only have to heat one room...” Mik takes this as his cue, while Lev goes outside to work on the generator.

“What can I do?” Roman asks, standing painfully from the couch.

I bite my lower lip. I really don’t want him doing anything, but I know him. He’s not going to sit idly by. It would be incredibly emasculating for him.

“Would you plug and fill the bathtubs, please? And I think I saw some mason jars and pitchers in the kitchen we could fill for drinking water?”

The corner of his lips tips up, and he throws me a mock salute. It feels good to be helpful, to be in charge.

I open every closet and linen closet and drag every available pillow and blanket and towel into the living room. The towels we’ll use to block any warm air from escaping around the door jambs. The lighter sheets we can cover the windows with, and we can use the comforters for ourselves.

I hear the roar of the generator, and a moment later it kicks off again. A few minutes after that, Lev returns, brushing flakes off his hair and arms.

“We’ve already got about six inches.”

Shit. That was fast.

“What’s next, boss?” he asks.

“Can you find all the matches and flashlights and batteries, and, if there are any, like... camping lanterns in the garage? Anything we need for light.”

He nods again and turns on his heel, doing just that.

“Next?” Roman asks.

I look to see Mik struggling to get an unruly mattress between the door frame, but I don’t want Roman hurting himself with that.

“Can you start the fire, please? Better now than later.”

The outside world is quiet... almost too quiet. Any wind or birds or insects that would have sounded have been quieted under the weight of the storm. It’s increasing my anxiety and anticipation of something bad happening.

Lev returns, looking at me for my next instruction. I really don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m terrified I’m missing something obvious, but I read down the checklist.

“Um... I guess we should all shower now and charge our phones in case we lose power.”

He holds out his hand for my phone, and I’m almost uncomfortable with how amenable he’s being, but I don’t have time to dissect it. “You got first,” he says, so instead of arguing, I hand over my phone and head toward the bathroom.

There’s one on either wing of the cabin. The wing to the left of the entrance is for the master, but that’s where we have Roman’s bed set up and an attached bath. On the other wing are three guest bedrooms that share a bathroom at the very end.

I rush through a shower, afraid that if I leave myself too much time to think, I’ll over-analyze everything that’s happened in the last few days. And I can’t afford that. Roman’s hurt; we have a storm coming. I’ve been pulled out of class - I’m assuming - and Romeo’s fine in his stable.

I rush through my skincare routine, braid my hair into a French braid that will stay clean if we’re without power for a few days, and forgo my makeup. Even just hanging out in the apartment, I always put on some makeup.

But if I can’t wash it off later, I don’t want it to clog my pores.

I throw on my warm pajamas and head back to the kitchen to inspect the food that Lev bought for us. Granola bars, meal replacer shakes, dry cereal, trail mix. A little bit of everything. That’s good.

Just then the lights flicker twice before plunging the cabin into darkness. A little squeak escapes my throat as my adrenaline spikes.

Mik’s behind me in an instant, warm, hard chest pressed against my back and an arm wrapped around my waist. My instant comfort.

I breathe deep, soaking in his steadiness.

Okay. This is okay. We prepared for this.