Like the time he spent alone out here.
He could have wandered off, got lost, or waited in the trees for me to return so he could come at me with the axe. I’d thought all of those things over while I made us a large thermos of coffee and packed a few snacks to keep his energy up. I’d planned how I’d handle him, no matter which choice he made… but when I got back to the clearing, he was already chopping branches off the tree he’d felled.
I think he felt pride in that moment too.
Seeing the results of his work laid out in the snow like that, hefting the axe to continue it, that was the first time I think he’s ever been a man—and I’m grateful I got to see it.
When I open the door to the house, I see him hesitate on the porch. He’s looking inside, and I know he wants to go in, to warm up by the lingering heat of the coals in the fireplace, but he’s just standing there.
“You’re welcome in my home, Richter,” I tell him, and he looks at me again. His eyes softer than Luke’s ever were, and I know that has to be his mother in him.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks, and I smile.
Maybe the boy has learned a lesson.
“Come inside, warm up by the fireplace. I’ll get the fire going again, and then we can get your hands cleaned up before you check on Skylar. And Cleo.” Shrugging a shoulder, I lean my head toward the doorway again. “Come on, I know that you want to check on your sisters.”
Richter nods, walking in ahead of me, and he fumbles with his coat and shoes, his fingers too cold and stiff to manage the small movements, but I don’t try and help. I know he needs to do this himself.
A few minutes later I’ve got the fire stoked, flames licking at the fresh logs, and I pat his shoulder where he sits in front of it.
“You did well, Richter. I’m proud of you.”
He looks up at me for a second, another odd look on his face, but I just smile.
“I’ll get the first aid kit. You just stay here and get warm.”
“And then I can see Cleo and Skylar?” he asks.
“Of course,” I answer, my smile stretching into a grin as I head toward my room. “No reason to keep you apart.”
Twenty-Six
Richter
The crackling warmth of the fire starts to beat on my cold, cracked skin.
When Bryden left me, I was afraid that it was going to be for the rest of the night. Dad would have without a second thought—he would have left me to die in the snow then had Skylar pick up the pieces of what was left of me to be discarded in the oubliette.
The threat was always there, lingering in the air like his bitter disgust when we would fuck up the most menial of tasks, though the only one of us to see the inside was Cleo. It’s no wonder she cried when I threw the bread at her—it probably jogged that memory back and only God knows what was at the bottom of the fucking thing.
I rub my forearms, my teeth chattering as I try to speed up the process of warming my body. I close my eyes for a moment wondering if the Hell above ground is truly worse than what’s down below in the oubliette, though I don’t ever want to find out.
And with Dad gone, I know that I never will.
I open my eyes and glance up when I smell the fresh scent of hot chocolate and nod at Bryden in thanks, taking the mug from his hand.
“Sip that slowly so you don’t burn yourself,” he says in a tone as tired as I feel. Though I honestly cannot imagine what’s got him so fucking exhausted—he stood around watching while I chopped down his goddamn trees.
“I really appreciate the hard work you did out there, Richter. I almost felt like I was watching Casey chop the trees down. When I told you I was proud of you, I meant it. I know high praise isn’t something you’re probably used to, or ever got from Luke, but my word is my bond, son,” Bryden tells me thoughtfully.
I raise the mug to my lips and swallow down the scalding liquid. Anything to take the pain of being called son away again. When I was a little boy, it was a title I held proudly. As a young man, the pride started to fade each and every time that Skylar cried in our bed when I would try to start a family with her, but it withered and died the moment I stepped foot into Bryden’s home and saw just how different his family works from how ours did.
“I’m not your son,” I mumble under my breath.
“What’s that?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Nothing.”
I decide not to press him. It wasn’t meant for him to hear anyway but saying it out loud helps me feel like more of the man I was before I found this place, than the boy he continues to treat me as.
“Once you’ve finished your drink and have warmed up, you can go check on the girls,” he tells me as he rubs his face tiredly.
“Can’t I just take this into the room?” I inquire curiously.
“You can, sure, but I think it would be best if you give yourself a chance to catch your breath before you go in is all.”
I hate the logical way he thinks, but he’s right. If I go in there shivering and looking like I’ve been awake all night, Skylar will be worried, and Cleo will more than likely be even more afraid of me than she already is.
“Good morning, Daddy.”
I glance toward the doorway and see Xoe standing there, hands clasped in front of her, eyes on the
