Snowed in for Christmas

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Benjamin

SLATE GRAY SKIES HANG low over the winding road through Loveland Pass. Snow dusts the mountainsides hugging the highway as I wind my way through the hills. I try not to focus on the watery light, the heavy clouds, the stillness weighing down the sky. I could be wrong. Colorado might not have a massive snowstorm barreling toward it.

But I’m almost certainly right.

I focus on the road ahead. Maybe less snow will fall than I suspect. Surely, the appropriate authorities can see this coming as clearly as I can. I’m just a college biology student. What the hell do I know? Smarter, more important people must know this storm is on the way and have plans in place to mitigate the impacts.

I’ve been telling myself that for the past week, but my anxiety spikes all the same as I snake through the mountain pass with the clouds pressing down on the roof of my car. Dad refused to hear my objections when I started raising the alarm about the snowstorm rolling into town.

“We aren’t canceling our trip for a little snow, Benjamin,” he’d said with a sigh.

That sigh carried all the weariness of the months we’ve spent fighting about this. He and his girlfriend first proposed a Christmas getaway back in summer, shortly after they got together.

That’s when this whole “new family” thing got real.

Dad has been dating Charlotte for about six months, and I’ve mostly managed to block the whole thing out. Mom has been gone a long time. The man has the right to move on. I know that intellectually, but in practical terms, I hate every second of it. Charlotte is nice. She’s fine. Her son, on the other hand…

The fighting started immediately. That’s when our parents hatched this hare-brained scheme. A Christmas getaway in a cozy resort town a couple hours from Denver. Somewhere with spotty cell phone service, lots of trees and absolutely nothing to do. I might actually enjoy it. I could happily spend a week out in nature simply observing, but he will be there, and that alone shatters any hope of serenity.

I huff out a breath and try to focus on the curvy mountain road. It’s only a week. And it’s for my dad, who’s been taking care of me on his own since I was a teenager. I can do this for him for one little week. I’ve brought more textbooks than clothing. If nothing else, I can hole myself up in a bedroom and dive into my coursework for next semester.

The pass deposits me into the gentle valleys that lie beyond it. Sparse signs of civilization speckle the roadside, signs for upcoming exits and attractions, promises of food, lodging, gas. Then the road dumps me into the resort town of Stone Valley.

Skiing trails streak down the hillsides like wavy chalk lines drawn by a child. Thick clusters of evergreens claim every space not cleared for skiing, while lifts criss cross like thread trying to knit the valley together. In the center of all of it, nestled between ski slopes, lies the town itself, a relatively modest cluster of buildings strung together by narrow roads with frustratingly slow speed limits.

I slow to a crawl as I head down the main drag through town. A quaint town center sits to either side, the buildings faced with brick and stone to mimic a genuine mountain village. The McDonald’s sign written in flowing script lessens the effect somewhat, but none of the pedestrians pacing the cobbled streets in their heavy winter jackets and beanies seem to mind.

I’m grateful to leave the fake cheer of the artificial village behind. Everything about it screams “tourist trap,” from the McDonald’s sign in faux Bavarian script to the false facings of every building. If there’s one thing I should thank Dad for it, it’s choosing a rental that lies a few miles outside of the town center. The speed limit rises to something more normal as I leave the resort’s center behind and pass onto side streets for valley residents. I turn onto a residential street, then wind my way to a house at the end of the block.

The driveway lies empty. A kernel of relief wriggles into my chest. If all else fails, at least I’ll have first pick of the bedrooms. There should be three. Obviously, I’ll leave the primary for Dad and his girlfriend, but I’m definitely taking the better of the two remaining rooms. No way am I leaving it for him .

I park, but my slightly elevated mood evaporates the second I climb out of the car. The air is so brittle every breath escapes my lips in a puff. Silence and stillness thicken the atmosphere. I can taste the impending snow on every crisp breath.

The snow is definitely coming. And it’s definitely going to be bad.

I dig out my phone and text Dad, asking him whether he’s looked at the weather report yet. He won’t be able to head over until after work tonight, so he’ll be getting in later. I figured I would come early to stake out my space and spare myself whatever misery I can.

Yes, I’ve seen the weather report, Dad writes back, and I can almost hear the sigh in his message. They’re still saying only a few inches. Relax, Benjamin. The trip is happening. Are you there yet?

Yes, just arrived.

Is Jett there?

I wrinkle my nose at the sight of his name. No, just me.

Go check out the house. Try to relax. We’ll be there tonight. There should be some beautiful views from the second story.

I don’t reply, just stuff my phone in my pocket and trudge to the back doors to retrieve my duffel bag, backpack and paper shopping bags. My textbooks weigh down the backpack until the straps dig into my shoulders, but I don’t mind the momentary discomfort. These books are going to save my sanity while I’m stuck here.

Finally, I trudge to the door. The rental instructions include a code, and I punch it in and wait for the lock to click. That little noise shouldn’t be so ominous, but this isn’t some cute rental for the week. This is a hell rental where me, my father, his girlfriend and her asshole son will be stuck in close quarters for seven agonizing days.

I open the door and glimpse my demise.

It’s actually pretty nice. The door opens to a space with huge glass doors along the back wall that afford a stunning view of the hillsides and trees nestled around us. A couch and easy chairs frame a coffee table that looks like it was carved directly out of one of those big trees on the slopes. A huge stone fireplace claims one wall, with brick that disappears upward. As I kick off my shoes and walk deeper into the house, I spot the kitchen on the other side, a huge space with a massive island that has stools tucked around it. There’s also a proper dining table, complete with moose-themed salt and pepper shakers. The kitchen has enough appliances to supply a damn restaurant, and as I stock the refrigerator with the food I brought from home, I discover more space than I could possibly ever use. Plus, the cupboards offer a few amenities of their own: Some tea, some coffee, some condiments. If I wasn’t staying here in such wretched circumstances, I might really like this place.

The kitchen and living room occupy the back of the house. I have to climb a flight of stairs to reach a landing that overlooks those spaces and leads to the bedrooms. The primary bedroom lies at one end of the landing, and I don’t bother messing with that. At the other end sits two smaller bedrooms. I check them out. One has bunk beds, like for little kids. The other has a queen bed, a desk and a reading chair beside a window overlooking the driveway and neighborhood. Yup, that’s the one. Jett can contend with the bunk beds. I’m sure he’ll complain, but that is hardly my problem. I arrived first, so I get to choose a bedroom first.

I dump my bags on the bed and close the door behind me when I leave to mark the room occupied. I’m sure it won’t stop Jett, but it’s the best I can do. I seriously don’t like that snow smell in the air, and I run out to the nearest convenience store to pick up more food supplies just in case. Dad said not to worry about stuff like groceries, but I’m literally studying science at my university. I can’t squash my instinct to get ahead of the storm looming on the horizon. The snowstorm, at least.

The driveway is still empty when I return. I breathe a sigh of relief and hurry inside to store my new groceries. At least I’m still alone. I have a little more time to enjoy the peace before everything goes sideways.

No, I need to do this for Dad. He’s happy with Charlotte. They go on little trips all the time. They have similar interests. They were friends for a long time before any of this happened. I understand why they want to get all of us together before the relationship escalates even more. I just need to get through this one Christmas and then things will get better. Next year, I’ll graduate with my biology degree, and then I can go off and do the things I really care about and leave all this behind.

I finish with the groceries and head back up to the bedroom I claimed, eager to get to my textbooks. The thought of my final semester of being an undergraduate sends a tingle of excitement through my body. I’ve known since I was a kid that I loved nature, loved animals, loved all things natural. I might not look it with my glasses and overall nerdy appearance, but I’ve always yearned for nothing more than a day out alone in the forest. As I aged and learned more about the state of the world, I burned with the desire to protect all those natural spaces I love so much. I don’t want to merely understand the migration patterns of different birds; I want to protect those birds, protect their nesting sites, protect their food sources along their migration paths. As those things come under more and more severe threats, it’s going to take ever more innovative solutions to preserve them.

I mean to be the person inventing those solutions.

In minutes, textbooks lie scattered across the desk in my bedroom. I open my laptop and start typing up notes on the first chapter of a textbook about deforestation in the Amazon. Sure, I don’t have class for several more weeks, but there’s no time to waste if we’re going to save these things. It can’t hurt to get ahead on this stuff.

I’m so distracted that I don’t notice the car pulling up into the driveway until the beep of the alarm startles me upright. I blink, rubbing at my eyes beneath my glasses, then jump to my feet as the pieces fall into place. Someone is here, and it can’t be Dad and Charlotte. It has to be him.

Jett Dunn.

I reach the window in time to see him climbing out of his beat up car. How that thing clambered over the pass, I can only guess.

Jett scowls the moment he exits the car, looking around like the trees themselves offended him. We would look alike, perhaps like actual, biological brothers, if we didn’t carry ourselves completely differently. My amber eyes sit behind glasses; his narrow at the world around him. My brown hair is neat and clipped; his is shaggy and brushes his shoulders. I keep my face smooth, but I’ve never seen him without a shadow of dark stubble hugging his cheeks.

We could not be more simultaneously alike and utterly different.

As he starts toward the front door with a bag slung across his chest, my heart drops into my feet.

So begins the worst Christmas ever.