Page 6 of Screwed

“Okay, Grandpa. What are you, like thirty-four now at the most? Maybe thirty-five?” I rolled my eyes. “Oh, the curse of old age. I have no idea how you’re even able to bear the cold with your fragile, geriatric frame.”

Ethan snorted. Nate’s mouth stayed in a tight line, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. Now that he was closer, I could see the old Nate buried beneath the years that had taken him from the boy I remembered to the man I’d met for the first time today. His face was structured by harsh cut lines and a serious jaw that I wasn’t sure allowed for a smile. But he had the same intelligent, watchful dark brown eyes that I recalled from those early years. Julia’s eyes.

He was graying a bit at the temples, his short black hair lightly salted. It was attractive. All of it. My fingers tightened on the cap in my hands.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you this soon,” I continued, shaking it off. “I just texted you yesterday.”

“It’s not exactly a busy area, you know,” he said as though it were some kind of excuse. “Besides, I’m doing Jules a favor by helping you out. I wanted to get here early so we could inspect the property for you.” He stuck both hands in his pockets this time and half-turned back toward the cabin. “Not to make you second-guess your choices or anything. It’s a beautiful property. But there may be some structural issues we need to sort out for you before you can even look at restoring the place.”

“Nothing we can’t have fixed in just a few days though,” Ethan added, sounding enthusiastic.

I looked at him, then back at the foreman. Nate should really consider using Ethan as the face of his business. The guy was practically a welcoming, sun-bleached advertisement for the Pacific Northwest, crappy weather be damned.

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “I guess I know I’m in good hands.”

Nate gave me another long, appraising look that I couldn’t decode. Then he held out a hand, palm up. “If you don’t mind giving me the keys, I can get a fire going for you. Let you melt the mountain chill from your bones.”

That same flash of shame and uncertainty that I felt during the phone call with Jules came barreling back into me. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my ears heating up with embarrassment.

“Um… actually, I don’t have any keys,” I admitted.

Nate’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Yeah. I blind-bought this place at an online auction. This is literally the first time I’ve even stepped foot on this lake.”

4

Nate

I opened one eye, squinting in the pale morning light that filtered down from the skylight directly above my bunk. Groaning, I pulled my phone out from the depths of my sleeping bag to check the time. Four in the freaking morning. I tossed it back inside and rolled over, trying to get just five extra minutes of sleep before I had to brace the cold of the trailer.

But dickheads had other plans.

“I’m calling the shower,” Deacon said blearily, already climbing out from the bunk below mine. Ethan stuck out a hand, grabbing his ankle as he passed by the old couch he used as a bed.

“Nope. You got the whole two minutes of hot water yesterday. That’s not fair,” he mumbled, eyes still shut.

“You snooze, you lose,” Deacon snapped back, trying to shake his leg free from Ethan’s grip and ending up stumbling right into the bunk. His weight caused the whole trailer to rock on its frame. The metal walls protested the sudden movement, and I shot up to plant my hand in the middle of Deacon’s back and shove him forward.

“Watch it,” I warned, stretching before climbing down the bunk en route to commandeer the shower for myself. “If you knock this thing over, we’ll be stranded up here with nowhere to stay. Again.”

“That was one time,” Deacon shot back indignantly. “Besides, I was hunting down a rat. Would you have been happy with a fourth roommate who ate their way into your boots? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Cornerstone needs to upgrade its trailers,” Ethan yawned. “Preferably one with more than two minutes of hot water for showers.”

“You know, as a vet, I think you’re used to the short, cold showers, Nate. I appreciate your service,” Deacon said, trying to move past me. I yanked him back.

“As if the showers in prison were any better,” I said. He flipped me off.

“Alright,” Ethan slapped his hands together and slipped out from beneath his heavy covers. “That means that I’m technically the least equipped to endure the cold. Thanks for the consideration, boys.”

He grabbed his towel, jostled past us both, and ducked into the bathroom.

“Little piece of…” Deacon muttered. He sighed, folding his arms and giving me a long-suffering look. “Coffee?”

“Your coffee is shit, Deak. I’ll make it,” I said, trying to squeeze past him in the narrow space. Living with the other two in this tin can was going to be an exercise in patience.

But Ethan wasn’t wrong. Staying here for this project meant that we had to try to get through our various routines in an unreasonably cramped space. Which also meant constantly bumping into one another, fighting over hot water and floor space, and trying not to commit murder on a daily basis.