To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 2

One hour and a handful of trips back to our bottle of Absolut later, I was gone.

Wasted.

Giggling.

Bold.

Free.

I couldn't remember my own name or tell left from right, but God, I felt free. Free from the anxiety that always kept me on the sidelines. Free from my own debilitating self-judgement. And free from my fear that Garrett might catch us.

By now, we'd discovered that my brother and his friends—Heath McCord included—were stationed out back, enjoying a bonfire. So, Skylar, Eliana and I stuck to the living room and kitchen. Dancing, drinking, and gushing about how, more than likely, this night would go down as one of our best in high school. In this moment, we peaked.

That was, until Eliana suddenly stopped dancing, her face a ghastly shade of white.

"Oh no," she croaked, eyes widening like saucers. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Skylar and I exchanged brief, panicked looks while the rest of the party carried on without us.

"Upstairs!" Sky directed, wrapping an arm around Eliana's shoulders to guide her back to the safety of my bedroom and private bathroom "Isla, will you get us some water from the kitchen?"

I blinked, willing myself to focus on her words and trying to make the room stop spinning. I didn't know how the hell Skylar was walking in a straight line. Then again, she'd always been the best of us under pressure—

"Water," I interrupted my own wandering thoughts. The word felt thick and clunky on my tongue. "Go get water."

Reciting that direction to myself over and over again, I pushed through the strangers in my living room and returned to the kitchen. My limbs felt light, almost numb, and I found myself focusing on every step. Every movement.

Stretching on my tiptoes, I swayed as I grabbed a plastic cup from the cupboard. I filled it to the brim from the sink's tap, water spilling over the sides. I spun away from the counter, leaving a trail of droplets in my wake, and started back toward the staircase and my sick friend.

Except, as I rounded the corner, my steps faltered.

Heath and his panty-less girlfriend slipped hand-in-hand out of the front door. He shut the heavy door behind him with quiet carefulness, as if hoping to avoid drawing attention.

I paused at the bottom of the staircase, one hand on the railing and the other clutching Eliana's water, watching the door they'd just disappeared through. I half-expected Heath to push his way back through the door, as if he was simply walking his girlfriend to her car. I waited.

And waited.

I chewed on my bottom lip and, no longer able to resist, shuffled toward one of the vertical glass windows flanking the front door. As casually as possible, I peeked outside, my breath fogging the frosty glass.

Despite the condensation that intensified with every exhale, my gaze immediately landed on the old red 1997 Ford pickup truck that I knew belonged to Heath. He'd been driving the hunk of metal since he turned sixteen. It sat in the driveway, undisturbed.

I should've turned around. Should've raced up the stairs and brought Eliana her water. But the vodka pumping through my veins made me bold. Made me curious.

And, despite my utter lack of proper clothing and general common sense, I turned the knob and stepped onto the front porch. An abrasive gust of frozen air swept against me, urging me to turn around. As if it knew what I didn't.