Chapter 1

Chapter One

Gabe Zanderman

“ A re you fucking kidding me?” I hiss into the phone.

“Sorry, man.”

“Sorry,” I repeat in a mocking tone. Disgusted, I hang up on Jason. Fucker. Irritated and maybe slightly sick to my stomach, I look around the busy terminal. I’m still standing outside, waiting for fucking Jason, who had a sudden change of heart.

It’s cold—as it gets in Ohio right before Christmas—and the air fogs around me with every furious exhale.

My anger simmers while my mind races. What to do. What am I supposed to do? Glancing at my phone, my hands grip it tightly. I know what I want to do, but he doesn’t want it back. He found the guy he’s been looking for. Or guys, as it were.

Shaking my head, I force Roux from my mind. It’s not like he wasn’t completely honest with me from the beginning. And repeatedly thereafter. I’d just had it in my head that I could make him fall in love with me. That I could show him I’d give him everything that his heart desires. I’d erase all those bad memories and cherish him—love him like he deserves.

I was na?ve and blind. Roux just wanted a distraction .

“Stop,” I hiss to myself and turn to go inside. I’m fucking cold. My bag is already checked, since I’d been waiting for fucking Jason for an hour before I decided to call. Now my options are simple—go home where I’d have to admit that some asshole stood me up and spend the holiday break with my family giving me pitying looks. Or go anyway.

In the end, I decide to go anyway. One, it’s the simpler option. I don’t have to be concerned with the higher probability of my luggage getting lost in the switch. Or fight to switch my flight. And I don’t have to pathetically face my family. I’d also have to admit that I was blowing off family holiday tradition with someone I didn’t even like.

Yeah, that would come out. But he reminded me of Roux. Well, in appearance. Otherwise, he was nothing like Roux. For one minute—uh… ten days—I was going to pretend my world was perfect. I was going to spoil this stupid fuck as if he were Roux as a way to show myself that I would have made Roux happy.

I would have.

I tried to.

My shoulders fall. I can’t keep thinking about him. This is ridiculous. I won’t pine after a man that was never going to be mine!

Setting my shoulders and straightening my spine, I head for the TSA. I’m in the shorter line since I have pre-check so it doesn’t take long to get through. It also doesn’t take me long to find the gate where my flight to the mountainous resort will depart from.

It’s a small flight, so there isn’t any business class seating. Somehow, I still paid $300 more to sit in a seat close to the front with three inches more space. $100/inch. This is the way to do business.

Putting on my headphones, I turn on streaming and lose myself in some violent movies. Anything pleasant is only going to make me sad. Blood and gore should have the opposite effect; as long as there’s no love story.

It’s always amusing to me that screenwriters add a random love story into an otherwise male-focused production. As if that little plot bunny—which is usually very obviously an afterthought and not very well worked out—is going to attract a larger female audience. Yeah, no.

The flight feels longer than it is, like I’m never going to get there. The empty seat next to me just reminds me that this is bullshit. It’s a glaring reminder that I planned a romantic holiday getaway with someone I didn’t like and who clearly didn’t give a shit about me, either.

Whatever better offer came up best be epic.

I stare out the window as the snow falls. We’re flying above most of the clouds, but below us we can see a storm brewing around the mountain. I bet they’re going to start canceling flights soon.

Touchdown is a little rough, keeping my heart in my throat the entire time. I white-knuckle the armrests as if they could keep me safe if I just tightened my grip. I’m nearly gasping by the time the plane comes to a slow crawl.

Fuck. Flying is never my favorite way to travel, but Jesus, it sucks during anything other than immaculate weather. We sit on the tarmac for a few minutes and then we’re taxied to our gate.

The frigid breeze reaches in and grips my balls through the small gaps between the plane and the air bridge. And here I thought it was cold in Columbus. Karma telling me I should have been thankful for the weather I was leaving.

The luggage carousel is already moving by the time I get to baggage claim. A small blessing, but one, nonetheless. Mine is bright orange, so it’s easy to spot. Ironic since I hate orange, but after doing some research, it’s a loud color that very few people choose when purchasing luggage. Therefore, it would be easy to spot, harder to steal, and I’d never lose that fucker.

Maybe karma thought I had had enough bullshit today and is also making up for the snub from Jason by having my shuttle already here, too. That’s where karma’s done, though. The drive is horrible and I’m pretty sure I lose eight years of my life from the terror of traveling the slippery roads. I’m prepared to tip the driver a fuck ton because I’m quite confident on more than one occasion it was his skill and calm alone that allowed our shuttle to make it to the retreat without us all dying.

I’m one of ten on the shuttle. A family of three and then three couples. Yeah, they were fun to watch.

While I’m eager to get somewhere I’m not being stared at for obviously being alone, I don’t rush to join the line at the front desk. I booked a cabin on the mountainside that can only be accessed by snowmobile except in the best conditions, which the website reads are basically three months of the year. Otherwise, it’s far too treacherous (or a slippery mud pit and needs to be accessed by all-terrain vehicles).

I won’t get into why I thought this was a good idea. It was likely another subconscious thought trying to turn fucking Jason into Roux.

Nope. Not going to think about it.

I check in and the woman takes her time looking at my reservation. She tells me that the cabin is fully stocked, just as I requested it should be. There’s plenty of firewood to last several months. It’s likely that access to and from the cabin will be closed down later this evening because the storm will hit full force in another hour or so and the mountain is expected to get like seventeen feet of snow.

Does my heart freeze in my chest at that thought?! Yes! I could literally be snowed in, buried under snow, completely alone, in just hours. The thought is frightening.

She goes on to tell me I’ll be perfectly safe (maybe she saw my panic) and that the phone lines rarely go down, even if access won’t be possible for some time. There’s a very well-stocked pantry and first aid kit, though. The generator rarely fails either.

Rarely. That’s comforting.

Finally, she hands me a set of keys and tells me there’s a snowmobile under the porch if we choose to go out, but we shouldn’t attempt it until after the storm has cleared and the trails have been re-marked.

Yes, we. She spoke this entire time as if she couldn’t see I was alone. I suppose since the reservation was made for two, she must just assume that my partner is coming separately. A sordid affair or whatever.

The man to transport me and my luggage is waiting outside. Actually, there are two of them. Two snowmobiles with little trailer sleds attached. I don’t say anything as I head for one and hand him my suitcase to secure in exchange for a helmet. Without comment, we’re off as the sun goes down and the only light is that of the lamp at the front of the machine.

We move quickly but carefully along the snowy trails. Fast enough that my jacket made for moving between vehicle and building is shit, and I’m practically frozen to my bones by the time we arrive at the cabin. Holy fuck.

The man helps me off the snowmobile, which is fortunate since I’m practically frozen in place. He unties my suitcase and helps me through the already snow-filled in path that had recently been shoveled.

The cabin is small and welcoming. It looks almost enchanting as warmth glows from the windows, and smoke drifts from two chimneys. For just a second, I forget that I’m here alone and the person I wanted to spend the holiday with—and his substitute—aren’t here.

When the door opens, the warmth that wraps around me nearly makes me cry. It feels so good. My eyes touch on everything I can find and for just a minute more, I’m lost in the wonder of Christmas. It’s just… magical.

“Will your partner be arriving soon?” the man asks, and the moment is shattered.

Sighing, I turn to look at him and nod. No need to tell a stranger I’ve been stood up and will now be here alone for ten days. That’s how horror movies are made.

“Yeah, he was right behind me. Just running late,” I say, trying to hide the rejection in my voice.

He nods. “Hopefully he gets here soon. The trails will be closed before long. Cell service is spotty during good weather, so don’t be surprised if you don’t have any. The landline is almost always working, though.”

“Thanks.” I tip him and he gives me a smile before wishing me a pleasant stay. I shut the door, making sure to lock it behind me.

I kick off my boots, shoving them into the closet where I hang my coat and hat, too. A slow look around the living room tries its best to warm me again. This is the quintessential perfect romantic holiday getaway, and I love everything about it.

Except that I’m spending it alone.

There’s a single opening that I find leads to the kitchen and then further beyond is the bedroom and bathroom. There’s a fire merrily crackling in the two-sided fireplace set into the wall between the bedroom and attached bathroom. Keeping both rooms toasty.

I drop my bag in the closet and then head back to the kitchen. The front desk agent was right, the pantry is packed to the brim. The freezer is too. And the fridge has everything I asked for and then some. They really did overstock in case I was stranded here for months.

God, I hope that doesn’t happen. I’ll go mad if I’m left alone on the mountainside for months! What a way to end my career – pro soccer play frozen to death on a lonely mountain side all alone over Christmas.

Pulling out one of the meals for two, I bring it to the counter to start prep. I’m starving. Maybe cooking will take my mind off the fact that this holiday is going to suck balls. And not in the fun way.