Axes & O’s

9. Nathan

Chapter 9

Nathan

An incessant noise is bouncing around in my skull.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

I groan, rolling over and pulling a pillow over my head.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“What the hell is that?” I mumble into the pillow. It smells oddly of pine needles and musk, like one of those fancy Christmas scented candles my sister likes. The scent reminds me I’m not in my bed, and I’m not at my sister’s, either. If I was, my niece would have come into my room to wake me up, bugging me to make my famous crunchy French toast with crushed up Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal on the dipped bread—which, according to my sister, rots your teeth. But who cares? Life is meant to be enjoyed.

Thwack!

I throw the pillow off my head, rolling over so I’m staring up at the exposed beam ceiling. Gray daylight is streaming through the picture window, and if I had my phone, I’d check what time it is. I’m going to guess it’s afternoon by how rested I feel, a surprising fact considering I went to bed last night feeling like garbage.

I bring my hand to my forehead and press down. It’s a tiny bit sore but not as much as I expected it to be.

Did I really pass out and almost freeze to death from that tiny gash? I need to work on my tolerance to pain and shock. I also don’t get why my chains broke. They were the right kind, I made sure of it. I even had the guy at the shop install them.

The more I think about all of it, the madder I get.

Thwack!

There’s a long pause, and I think the noise is done. Then another series of thwacks meet my ears followed by what sounds like Jenga pieces falling down but much louder.

I sit up slowly, happy I’m not dizzy or nauseous, then get out of the bed to go look outside and see what’s woken me up. My bare feet hit the carpeted floor, and I take a moment to ground myself, curling my toes into the softness before I stand up. My body is a little sore, but the painkillers and rest did me a lot of good. And since I’m stuck here, all I’ll be doing is resting. By the time I leave, I’ll be good as new.

Thwack!

My feet carry me toward the window. It’s frosted from the cold, and snow sticks to the edges. I glance down and see the wind has slung the snow so it covers part of the lower window. There’s got to be at least two feet of fluff plus the drifts, and when I look out into the distance, all I see is the effects of the storm: white ground, snow-covered trees, and gray skies.

Thwack!

I turn my head to the side, and what I see has me blinking. Then blinking again. Broad shoulders, strong arms, and long hair covered in snowflakes that continue to fall from the sky, though at a less ferocious speed than last night.

I blink once more as if I’m in a dream, but what I’m seeing is real. It’s Morgan—and she’s chopping wood.

I step closer to the glass, the cold outside seeping through—which means it’s freezing out there. But Morgan doesn’t look cold. She’s only wearing a beanie, a knitted forest-green long-sleeved shirt, and some type of cargo pants held up by red suspenders.

She swings the axe, and it comes down hard on the giant log in front of her, one that has to be at least twelve inches in diameter. She swings again, hitting the exact spot she did before. The log splits, and then she starts again, splitting those pieces into smaller ones until she’s satisfied with the size.

I stare, mouth gaping, as she stands among the mountains of snow, round cheeks pink as she swings the axe again. Her form looks perfect, and I know by watching that she’s been doing this for a long time because she makes it look easy—graceful, even. More wood falls to the ground, and I study her clothed body the same way I studied her naked one.

Morgan is strong, like a Greek goddess. She’s the type of woman that makes men bow down, the kind that deserves to be treasured and revered. She’s the kind of woman that people used to bring gifts to, would beg to kiss her feet. She’s a woman to be worshipped and coveted.

Her body is soft and feminine yet strong and masculine, a perfect yin and yang. I understand more why Fox drew her into his side last night, the way he possessed her while he fucked her.

My blood heats, and my body grows hot. I managed to get a good night’s sleep with no dreams of seeing them like that. I shouldn’t be thinking of it now—or ever. If I want to get through my time with them, I have to not think of them naked. Not think of them fucking. Not think of the way Fox’s large hand gripped her throat—

Knock! Knock!

I jump, heart racing in my chest as I turn from the window where I can see Morgan still chopping wood then back to the door. The fire that was roaring as I passed out has long since died out, and the room is warm from their heater but cold enough I start to shiver. It also makes me realize I need to put a shirt on. I grab the brown Henley that was left for me out of the small closet I’d hung it in last night then pad to the door. I know who is going to be on the other side, and it’s not Morgan.

I inhale a breath and try to remind myself that Fox is just a man. He’s frightening, but after seeing Morgan outside and getting some sleep, I think she’s telling the truth about who they are. Unless they’re mafia lumberjacks. Lumberpeople?

I open the door, and sharp blue eyes meet mine. There’s no smile on his face, and his long hair is in a bun at the top of his head. It makes the sharp planes of his bearded jaw more pronounced and his high cheekbones more—I don’t know what word I’m going for. But high. He’s got on an ice-blue sweater that makes the color of his eyes almost look like the ocean on a stormy day where the waves are turbulent and mighty.

“It’s late; you need to eat,” his deep voice barks at me, and my back straightens on instinct, as if he’s my master and I’m his dog, ready to follow his orders. I open my mouth to answer, but he’s already eating up the ground down the hallway toward the kitchen. The desire to tell him to fuck off bubbles in my stomach, but then it growls so loudly, I think my insides might be eating themselves. What time is it? It can’t be that late.

I consider going back to the window to see if Morgan is still outside, to try to get her attention and beg her through telepathy to come inside so I don’t have to sit with her husband alone. I may not necessarily like Morgan—to be honest, I don’t know enough about her to like her—but she feels like the safer of the two options. She’s working, though, and I need to not be a pansy.

Guess I have no other option than to starve. I walk across the hallway to the bathroom I used last night before I went to sleep, my bladder full and the desire to brush my teeth strong. Especially before I face Fox in the kitchen…who apparently cooked for me?

I think I’ve entered some strange world up here. Lindsey is going to flip when I tell her I stayed with real lumberpeople, ones who own the very company that hosts The Lumberjack Games. The thought makes me smile, because I know my sister is going to want to ask Morgan if she knows any single burly men who love children .

After I relieve myself, I splash some cold water on my face and prod at my injured forehead. I didn’t want to remove the bandage last night, but since it feels okay now, I decide to take a look at it. I gently remove the bandage to find barely any dried blood, once again making me feel silly for passing out last night.

Sure, it’s a little sore, and I’m going to have a small bruise, but no one would ever guess it was from a car accident. With how healed it looks, I wonder if they put something on it while I was out. I suppose it really doesn’t matter—I’m alive, and I’m going to be fine. I should just be grateful and not think about if they iced my head.

After I’ve thrown out the bandage in the small trash next to the toilet, I start looking for an extra toothbrush and toothpaste. The moment I open the largest drawer under the sink, I find a toothbrush that looks to be eco-friendly and toothpaste tablets as well as a fresh bandage and a washcloth.

I stare at the dark-stained wood door, wondering if Fox left this for me like he left me clothes. The idea is a funny one, considering he doesn’t come across as a caring and thoughtful man. But just like I don’t know Morgan, I don’t know him, either. All I know is he scares me. Or at least that’s the only way I know how to describe the flip in my stomach every time I’ve seen him or thought of him in the last…however many hours it’s been.

My stomach growls again, and I take out the toothbrush and tablets. Once I’ve wet the brush, I scrub my teeth thoroughly, including my tongue, before running a hand through my hair. I look okay, a little worse for wear, but who am I trying to impress? I’m staying with a married couple, and I don’t need to look acceptable for them. Plus, I’m wearing clothes that are slightly too big for me—which reminds me of my car. Fuck, I hope it’s still drivable after this. I make a mental note to ask Fox about it and if he’s spoken to the sheriff again .

Feeling a little more human, I inhale a breath and decide I can’t delay being alone with Fox any longer. He’s just a man—and I need to grow a fucking pair.