The Cabin

✨ Chapter Four

My thumb hurts so fucking bad today—worse than yesterday.

I wake up at five, same as I've been doing lately, and pop a few painkillers before getting out of bed. It's my left thumb, not my dominant hand, but it still worries me. I have work to do, things to fix, and this isn't exactly the best timing to be down a thumb. Today's plan was to patch part of the roof before the rain rolls in over the weekend—just in case Owen and Mrs. Miller really do come. The last thing I need is them dealing with a leak while they're here.

Thinking about visitors makes me glance around the cabin. This place is a disaster—protein bar wrappers everywhere, empty Gatorade bottles I've left lying around, clothes thrown on the couch. The whole place is dusty as hell. No one's been here in a long time, and it shows.

I don't have enough time to clean properly, not with an eight-hour workday ahead. I don't even know where to start.

I down the rest of my water and glance out at the lake.

I should go swimming at least once this summer. And maybe sit by Liam's tree.

I wonder if the guys even think about me anymore, the way I think about them.

I shake off the thought, setting my glass in the sink. Bracing my hands against the counter, I take a breath. Something's happening to me out here, something I didn't expect. I feel too much, think too much.

It's fucking lame.

By seven, I'm still cleaning—gathering trash, dusting, anything to make this place look less like a bachelor pad. I'm in the middle of shoving a Gatorade bottle into a trash bag when my phone pings in my back pocket.

I already know who it is.

I should be annoyed, but after two weeks of silence, hearing my phone go off at seven again makes my heart race. I fucking hate that.

Owen doesn't give up. That's what makes him different.

Everyone else gave up on me—my parents, my friends—but Owen? He's still here. I don't get it. He has his own life, his own friends—Lewis, Katie. He doesn't need me. But for some reason, he still wants to talk to me.

And for the first time, I realize I appreciate that about him.

Maybe that's why he keeps pushing. Maybe he knows what it's like to have people give up on him too. He is annoying, and he does talk too much, but his life is about more than just that. He takes care of his mom. He works his ass off. And maybe, just like me, he doesn't have a lot of people willing to stick around.

Maybe that's why I like him so much.

I put my phone back in my pocket without answering and go back to cleaning. I still need to clear out the guest room. And now I have to check that Mrs. Miller's wheelchair can actually get around.

⌛ ⌛ ⌛

I never do find the damn raccoon before the weekend.

It's too fucking good at hiding. Every time I hear something move in the garage, I grab the broom I've started keeping nearby like a weapon, run out there, and—nothing. It's like the little bastard knows I'm coming.

I never thought my biggest enemy would be some forest critter squatting in my garage while I try to hold myself together.

Maybe Owen can help. Between the two of us, we might be able to corner it or at least figure out where it's hiding.

I'm rinsing out a cup at the kitchen sink when I see his car pull into the driveway.

Shit.

It's Saturday morning. He's here.