Page 39 of Screwed

“Ava Barden,” I introduced myself before anyone else could do it for me. I held my hand out in greeting, and Gus shook it, adjusting his grip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes. He turned to Nate. “Now, is she one of yours, or did your crew just get a whole lot prettier?”

Nate gave him a look of disapproval, but I wasn’t offended, laughing at the old man’s audacity. “She’s a client, Gus. And Jules’ best friend. Watch it.

“No harm in noticing a beautiful woman,” Gus said flippantly, giving me one last appreciative look before sticking his hands in his pockets and getting down to business. “Thought you boys went off the grid out here. Nate, your uncle still making you do all the heavy lifting, huh?” He helped them operate the hand-crank to slide the heavy crates of customized glass panels and raw lumber onto the trucks, grunting and cursing about the damp humidity while the guys fell into an easy, synchronized physical rhythm.

But, to my annoyance, it seemed they were united by a shared disdain for my design choices. They weren’t slick, none of them. I noticed the guys exchanging silent, loaded looks as they got the materials on board. Deacon ran a calloused hand over the sleek, modern black-metal window frames where they lay on the back of Ethan’s truck. The single grunt he let out was more than enough for me to decode what he was thinking. And in response, Nate gave a little sigh of his own. These two sons of—

“Something to say over there, Matthews?” I challenged him, planting a hand on my hip.

Deacon pulled a face, shaking his head. “Nah. Nothing really. Just that this looks like it belongs in a city high-rise, not a vintage lake house.”

Even Ethan couldn’t help himself as he chuckled, handling the minimalist architectural glass with exaggerated, fragile care. “One stray pinecone and your entire vision shatters, Ava.”

Nate didn’t say anything, but I caught him looking almost disgusted at the new siding.

I screwed my eyes up at them. “Okay, that’s enough badmouthing my style choices, alright? And I would like to just point out that I explicitly altered the blueprints to keep and restore those massive cedar support beams in the main room as well as the original stone fireplace. From the forties,” I emphasized. “I’m not demolishing everything. I’m using modern touches to frame the cabin’s history. Everyone cool with that?”

Deacon laughed through his nose, but the look he gave me was softer than I’d seen from him since that night in his truck. “I guess. Who are we to judge, anyway? We’re just the contractors.”

“What a retreat,” Ethan snorted.

Nate looked at me for a while, then just nodded and continued loading the final materials. As we began securing the heavy cargo straps over the towering stacks of lumber, the residual awkwardness gave way to the familiar teasing banter of men who have worked with each other for years.

“Deacon, if you pull that ratchet strap any tighter, you’re gonna snap the damn board in half,” Nate said, leaning against the tailgate. “We’re trying to build a house here, not kindling.”

“It’s called securing the load, Boss,” Deacon grunted, giving the strap a violent yank that made the metal mechanism clink loudly. “Some of us prefer our materials to actually arrive at the job site instead of scattering across the highway like Ethan’s tools.”

Ethan walked past, tossing a heavy box of farming nails straight into Nate’s arms without looking. “That only ever happened one time, Matthews.”

“One time too many.”

“Alright, we get it. Let’s finish up before you two start bickering like an old married couple,” Nate said, pushing himself off the truck and heading to his own.

“Hey, who started it!” Ethan said indignantly, throwing his arms up.

“Just finish it,” Nate called over his shoulder.

I laughed softly, enjoying the boyish antics as Deacon made his way around the truck and came to stand with Ethan and me. Ethan shook his head, but didn’t bother fighting back. Instead, he turned his attention to me. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Ava. Are you planning on using the cabin as a vacation getaway spot, or are you officially moving in?”

His voice was casual, blind to the depth behind the question. My eyes found Deacon’s. He gave the most subtle of nods, just a reminder of the vow of silence he promised me back in that tree. I turned back to Ethan, playing it off.

“Honestly, Ethan, I’m just trying to make sure the roof doesn’t collapse before the rainy season hits full force,” I said, laughing it off, but it was a total copout. Ethan may have bought it, opening the passenger door of his truck for me, but Deacon’s gaze darkened, his mouth pulling into a tight line as he walked to his own truck.

The drive back was slower. The trucks heavy from the weight of the raw materials strapped to them. Instead of loud belting, Ethan was content to just let the music play softly in the background this time, and I was grateful because my mood had shifted since his question. It was a stark reminder that the world outside still existed. The stakes were still at play, and Jules was still technically under scrutiny. I was staring out the window at the blurred green trees when a loud, violent crunch echoed from the front passenger tire. Whatever caused the sound was violent enough to shake the cabin of the truck. It sounded like a mix of snapping plastic and metal gears grinding against stone.

“What the hell was that?” Ethan muttered, slamming on the brakes. Nate’s truck ahead and Deacon’s behind both stopped too, waiting to see what had just happened.

Ethan and I climbed out, the damp mud squelching under our boots. I followed Ethan around to the front tire, my stomach dropping into a cold, heavy pit as I looked down.

Smashed into the wet gravel was a high-end, matte-black surveillance drone. The impact had shattered most of its frame, but the wide-angle camera lens was cracked open like a broken eye, and its internal red indicator light was still faintly blinking in the dirt.

The pit in my stomach collapsed into a chasm.

Whoever owned this thing wasn’t just watching me. They were tracking me, too.

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