14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Anna

I 'm not certain how long I stand staring after Toby's hasty escape, but if my butt burning is any indication, it's been a while.

And he's still not back inside yet.

As a non-smoker, I'm not sure how long it's supposed to take to finish a cigarette, but I'm certain it's been more than long enough.

Deep down, I know that it was more than just me getting under his skin.

While there's a level of curiosity niggling at the back of my mind, it's not the lingering questions about Toby's interactions with the mountains that has me moving forward and picking up his jacket.

A sense of duty is what drives me to slide my arms into the men's outerwear, the scent of citrus and tobacco enveloping me as I wrap the sides closed around my middle and wander closer to the exit.

Frozen wind meets me when I step out, surprised to find the porch all but empty.

He can't have gotten far.

"Jeffers," I call out into the inky black wilderness that spreads beyond the reach of the single porchlight, my breath rushing out from me in a fog that blocks my view. As it clears, I move toward the cabin's edge, peering into the shadows where the hot tub lies hidden. The darkness swallows my efforts, offering back only silence.

Did he really just go out into the snow?

Reaching the railing, I lean forward, straining to see around the lattice that blocks my view of the porch's rear section. But it's futile; the darkness is impenetrable.

"Jeffers!"

I'm about to retreat inside for a flashlight when a flicker of red catches my eye—a cigarette cherry glowing in the dark. The familiar scent of burning tobacco hits me just as I regain my breath, my frustration flaring.

"Right here."

"Ugh!" I snarl, throwing my hands out at my sides. "You didn't hear me calling for you?"

"I did," Toby sighs, his tone a complete contrast to what happened inside. Jovial, almost.

Blinking at the shadowed figure leaning against the wall, covered by the shroud of darkness, I wait for him to say more, apologize even.

He stays quiet.

Which only makes me angrier.

"What is your problem?" I snap into the blackness, taking a step closer. "You come in here, acting like you own the place, then just snap when you're reminded that you're here?"

Silence.

"Do you even remember why we're here, Jeffers? In the freaking mountains ?" I shake my head as more accusatory questions, statements, roll off my tongue without much effort. "It's because of you. Your mistakes. Your crap that you keep getting yourself into, for no good reason, only to go running away all over again. Well, guess what?"

Silence.

"You can't keep running away. Eventually, there won't be anyone left to clean up your mess!"

"You done?" His reply comes rough, clipped, as if he's barely holding back.

"You don't even care, do you?" I huff bitterly, shaking my head. "As long as you have your smokes and a bottle—"

"Why not?" he roars, his ragged breaths smacking me in the face, bathing me in the scent of whiskey.

He's close now. So close that I feel his anger radiating off him in waves.

The little voice in the back of my head tells me I've pushed too far, and that I should back away. Leave him be. That it's all so far out of my control and over my pay grade.

And yet … words whip from my tongue as if Toby deserves them all.

"Because people give a damn about you!" I yell, leaning up on my tiptoes and pointing a finger in his shadowed face.

Any semblance of professionalism has gone out the window, and in its place is … well … just me. Aftermath Anna. Here to figure this out on my own without any help from the infuriatingly striking man before me.

His once-brown irises take on a new shade of black as he stares at me.

"But do they?" The finality of his words are whispers over my lips, yet still slice through me as if he'd screamed them, making those familiar hairs stand on the back of my neck.

Do they actually care about him?

I know that they do. His rebound rate is the problem. His ability to hide the things from his own bandmates, men he calls brothers, appearing fine in front of them when he is so clearly not. I've seen things they haven't.

I recognize it because I've seen it before.

They just don't get it.

My resolve cracks, and in those crevices, my throat tightens and my calves relax me back down to flat feet.

" Exactly ," he hisses, as if my retreat only confirms his suspicions. "That's why you're here and they aren't."

I swallow hard, the reality of his words sinking in.

We aren't here because of his band.

We're here because of him.

"You're right," I mutter into the frozen tundra, squaring my shoulders. " I'm here . So quit making my job difficult."

Toby grips my jaw faster than I can back away, his touch searing against the cold. I gasp as he pulls me closer, his face inches from mine, the scent of alcohol strong.

Our noses bump as he walks me backward, and I taste the whiskey on his breath.

My pulse races. My stomach clenches.

"You didn't have to come," he growls and crowds in, the heat of him pressing into me until I feel him everywhere.

"But I did," I fling right back, my hands biting into the railing keeping me from falling right into the mountain terrain at my back.

And yet … Toby pushes until I'm arching over the side of the porch and his hips are digging into mine, my feet barely connected to the wood beneath us.

"Why," he snarls, "do you give a fuck?"

"It's my job," I mutter, the words sounding way too small even to my own ears. Unconvincing.

Breathless .

It is my job.

But it's so much more than that.

It's too difficult to focus with him this close, the heat and surprising hardness of him battling it out against the cold on my back, my breath racing from me.

It's what I'm supposed to do.

"Bet this isn't."

Before I get a moment to consider a response, Tobias Jeffers slams his mouth against mine and steals all my thoughts through the tongue that slides past my lips and knocks into my teeth.

My body betrays me, and I gasp.

That's the only reasoning I can come up with when my jaw unclenches and my fingers unhook from the railing.

I want to raise my hands, push him away and put a stop to this, but his tongue touches mine and it takes everything in me not to moan. The taste of whiskey bursts against my tastebuds, and I grip the open zipper of his hoodie, the smattering of hair on his bare chest brushing my thumbs while his beard scrapes against my mouth.

It's all so much and somehow not eno —

"No." Popping back, I gasp, desperate for air and distance and the cold that seeps into the space created between my chest and Toby's. "No."

"There you go," Toby mutters, sounding nearly as breathless as I feel, "with that fucking word again."

My hands don't release his hoodie. "That … that did not happen."

He hums, then mutters softly, "It didn't not happen either." He dips to catch my gaze, his fingers digging into the backs of my knees, his forehead knocking against mine.

"It can't happen, Jeffers."

"Oh, but it already did." His mustache does nothing to hide the teasing grin pulling up the corners of his lips. "At least in my head, it did." He lifts me, my feet leaving the ground completely and my butt missing the railing.

I'm in midair before my scrambled brain cells can catch up, my arms reaching up instead of down as I fall.

"Jeffers!"

A scream prepped to burst from my throat gets lodged when my back collides and my arms flop to my sides, a dusting of white puffing out around me.

Blinking through the snow that flutters down over my face, I lay frozen in shock.

Shock … because nothing hurts. Nothing rolls. No aches.

And the mountain isn't eating me alive.

I sink further into the pile of fluffy, white snow, as I scrambled onto my knees. "Jeffers!"

A burst of laughter is the only answer I get as I trudge my way out of nature's pillow, the flakes clustered and clinging to every bit of me.

"Ready for that hot meal, Ms. Prune?"