Snare (Falling Stars #3) (5 page)

"With this." She waves her hands over me.

"But—"

"No buts, Sid," she says, cutting me off. "This is how we do things."

I cross my arms over my chest and sulk on the couch.

"The pity party's over, right?"

I ignore her.

"Right?" she asks again.

"Right," I snap, pursing my lips.

"And now what do we do?"

Sighing, I drop my arms.

"We unleash our inner Xena Warrior Princess on the world," I growl, hating that she's right.

"Exactly, so get up," she orders, taking me by the arms and pulling me to stand. "Now, get showered, because you smell like old canned cheese, and meet me in the kitchen." She straightens her arm out and points to the hallway.

"Fine, but I won't like it." I take two steps and get a slap on my ass. "Ow, what the hell?"

"You liked it," she says, tossing the words I always say back to me.

I narrow my eyes on her and rub my ass cheek.

"I forbid you to hang out with me anymore," I say, walking down the hall for the shower.

Liza's laughter follows.

Twenty minutes later, with wet hair, my favorite paisley print leggings, and dark purple tunic top, I slip into a chair at the kitchen island.

Liza puts a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast along with a glass of orange juice in front of me.

"What's all this for?" I eye her suspiciously.

She leans forward onto her forearms, and says, "I have an idea."

"Which is?" I press.

"You should get away from here."

"I just got back," I remind her, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

As the flavor of the eggs bursts on my tongue, I glance up from my plate, and say, "You cooked them like I do, in the bacon grease."

She nods. "Yes, you can blame me for your future heart attack."

"I'm so okay with that," I say, going back to my plate.

"Just, listen. You need to get away from…"

She hesitates when I narrow my eyes on her in warning.

"From
him
. So, take a vacation." She shrugs.

"I have about fifty thousand things to do." Using my fork, I point toward my workstation.

"Let me finish," she scolds. "I have to leave for New York tomorrow night."

"What about Chris and Mia's wedding?" I inquire, since it's next week.

"My things are packed. Julia's going to make the arrangements to get everything I need there with Jackson."

"What about Kel, Lucas, and Sean?"

"Lucas and Sean are going with us. Kel has to work, so he's staying at the house."

"Is Julia still your house sitter?" I raise my brows and purse my lips.

"Don't get me started," she sighs. "I'm starting to suspect something is going on there," she groans.

"Wait, how old is Julia?" I fork some more eggs into my mouth.

"Twenty-two." Liza scowls. "And Kel's only nineteen," she exclaims.

"Way to go Kel, getting himself an experienced girl. Is she old enough to be considered a cougar?" I ask, earning a glare. Undeterred by the face she's making, I continue. "Or, since she's still pretty young, do we call her a kitten?"

"You're not funny," Liza quips.

"First of all, I'm fucking hilarious. Second, let the boy get some of that kitten. She's older, more experienced. She can show him the way of the vagina. Lord knows, most men don't grasp the concept of foreplay or a g-spot," I snort.

"Still not funny, Sid."

I shrug.

"So, about you going to the wedding?"

"I'm going to fly down a day late from New York."

"What's in New York?" I interrupt, again.

"You remember, the musical I was asked to audition for? I have a second call back to…" she pauses, narrowing her eyes on me, "quit changing the subject."

Wearing a large grin, I shove a piece of toast in my mouth.

"As I was saying," she draws the words out, pursing her lips at me, "I talked to Jackson while you were in the shower."

I drop the toast from my hand and it hits the edge of the plate before bouncing to the floor. Before I can rip my ex-best friend a new one, she puts her palms out toward me.

"I didn't go into details. You know I wouldn't do that." She drops her arms. "But he called me, and, believe it or not, he's worried about you."

I cross my arms over my chest and scowl, contemplating whether I should hide a sharp object in her carry on or put her on the no flight list at the airport.

"He has a friend who owns a cabin. It's up on Mt. Baker in Washington," she explains.

"What about me says mountain getaway?" I ask, incredulous.

Has the girl lost her mind? Does she know me at all?

"Sid, this is one of Jackson's buddies. This isn't a shack without electricity and an outhouse." She tilts her head and levels me with a mom-like look.

Unfolding my arms, I grab the last piece of my bacon and bring it toward my lips. Before I take a bite, I say, "Continue."

"He said it's a two story log cabin, five bedrooms, but three are kept locked. The basement is finished and acts like a third level for the house. It's available next week and there's electricity, indoor plumbing, and Wi-Fi," she finishes.

"You do get me," I say, clasping my hands over my heart.

"Don't be an ass," she laughs out.

"How much is this going to cost?" I ask, knowing my eight months away took a chunk out of my savings.

"Nothing," she blurts, a bit too eager.

"I'm not letting the seven-foot doodle pay for the cabin," I mutter.

"He's not," she denies.

"I don't believe you. No one is going to just—"

"It's Jackson's friend, Sid. He lets friends use the cabin when he…his family can't." She shrugs, still acting a bit too eager. "You just need your things and supplies."

"Supplies?" I raise one brow and drink the last of my juice.

"You know, food, personal items, your weapons of mass destruction." She nods toward my computers.

Rolling my head, I crack my neck and exhale heavily.

"I have a lot to do here, Liza."

"You can take the next three days to get things in order and do what you need to from here, then fly to Washington on Sunday, pick up supplies, and drive up to the cabin. There's Wi-Fi, so you can do the rest remotely." Before I can object again, she adds, "Like you do all the time."

Huffing, I push my empty plate away and close my eyes.

I
could
make the necessary calls to the assembly and shipping companies within three days. I
could
also get my locks changed during that time as well. This
could
be the way to break this cycle.

The ache I've been trying hard to bury sparks back to life. If I stay,
he
will probably work his way in close again. If I do this, go away to a remote cabin, with all the luxuries of home, of course, maybe I can get over the bastard barista once and for all. Maybe I can even figure out how to get him out of my life in all ways, business included.

Before the spark can become a raging flame, I shove thoughts of him and the hurt away.

"I knew you'd agree, so I already had Jackson make the arrangements," Liza says, interrupting my thoughts.

My eyes flutter open and I stare at her.

"I never said I'm going," I argue, already knowing I want to.

"I can see it on your face. The moment you made the decision, you got that look."

"What look?" I blurt out, wanting to know my damn tells.

She shrugs.

"It's just a look you get." She smiles deviously.

Yep, she's picking up my bad habits.

I slip off the stool, grab my dishes, and take them to the sink.

"You have me for one more day. What can I help with?" Liza rubs her hands together.

"You can help me not think about…" I trail off, sucking in a breath.

Visions of a video flash in my mind. I drop the plate into the basin and grip the side of the sink.

"No, no, no," Liza chants, wrapping her arms around me. "Don't go there, Sid." Her face presses against my back.

I gulp for breaths as the images keep coming: my body, naked, another asshole from my past, his cruel joke, being exposed to over one hundred thousand views.

"Sid, don't think about that. It's over. It's in your past." Liza's plea doesn't stop the anxiety building inside me.

With Liza still around me, I sink to the floor. My hands remain gripped to the edge of the counter as I try to force air into my lungs. Gasping in rapid succession, my head spins. I close my eyes and press my forehead to the wooden cabinet door.

"Sid?" Liza's voice penetrates, easing some of the attack. "Look at me."

Her body slides around mine, pulling me away from the sink. Gripping my cheeks in both hands, she forces my face to hers.

"Look at me," she orders.

I shake my head, unable to open my eyes.

The looks, stares, whispers fill my head. All those viewers and what they saw, what he showed them. The whispers and being ostracized by friends, family, and community.

"Damn it, Sidra, open your eyes."

She gives a small shake of my head and my lids snap open.

Liza's eyes immediately meet and hold mine.

"Breathe, Sid."

I follow her instruction.

"Focus on me."

The oxygen finally fills my lungs.

"Inhale."

We do, together.

"Exhale."

She does with me.

"Again."

We repeat this until my breathing is steady.

"That's it," she coos, brushing hair away from my forehead. "It's over."

"I hate him," I cry.

"I know," she whimpers.

"I hate them so much."

I launch myself into her arms and we fall onto the floor.

"It's over, Sid." She rubs my back, soothing.

"Is it?"

Sniffing, I push up and sit next to her.

"How many have you had?" Liza quietly asks, sidling up next to me.

"This makes three," I whisper, staring blindly at the floor.

"Do you—?"

I shake my head before she can finish asking and I stand, using the counter for balance.

"No," I respond. "I don't need Mom freaking out."

"What about the pills?"

Liza rises to stand with me.

"I don't have any." Turning my head, our eyes meet. "I haven't needed Xanax in forever."

Liza gives an easy nod.

"You might want to get them filled before you leave," she suggests.

I exhale, my chest aching from the panic attack. I haven't had one in over a year. I forgot how physical the pain can be afterward.

"Maybe," I half-heartedly agree as I walk out of the kitchen to my desk.

Taking a seat in front of my large monitor, I pull up my browser and start planning my flight and rental car.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Liza asks, standing behind me.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my fingers still hovering above the keyboard. Exhaling, I swallow down the lump in my throat.

"I'm fine, Liza. It's just…" I open my eyes and start typing again, "it's just the recent bullshit."

"Okay," she whispers. "I'm going to go clean out your luggage and start some laundry."

I nod, ignoring the fact that my cousin is cleaning up after me. Instead, I focus on the flights and rentals available, and plan the work I need to accomplish before I escape Pennsylvania for Washington.

Chapter Four

Sidra

"Mom," I whine, pulling my suitcase through the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport while trying to balance my carry-on bags.

"If your father knew what he did…" she trails off.

Mom is pissed off. Her baby's heart is damaged and the bruises she saw on my wrist are still faintly visible.

"Don't tell dad. That's the last thing I need," I snap at her through my cell.

"Honey, after everything you've been through…" she sighs, remembering what I only refer to as
the college incident
. "I don't want to put you through anything like before, so I won't say anything. But, and this is a very serious but, Sidra Pauline…" I cringe at her use of my full name, "he comes near you again, I'll tell your father and you know he'll beat the shit out of that little punk."

Her threat both warms and amuses me.

"You said shit," I tease.

"Sidra, I'm serious. I know you hide behind your humor, but don't think for one second I won't take a baseball bat to that little fuh...erm…Paul's head."

The use of his name sends a wave of nausea through me. I take a deep breath and will away the urge to vomit.

"Mom, I love you. Thank you."

She falls silent, which is unusual for my mother.

"Mom?"

"I'm here," she chokes out. "I love you, too, baby."

"I have to go," I say, stepping into line at the rental car kiosk, "but I promise to call when I get to the cabin."

"Okay." She's still sniffling. "Talk soon."

"Soon," I confirm, and end the call.

Behind the wheel of a silver all-wheel drive Subaru, I pull out all the information Julia sent me for the cabin—security codes, directions, and instructions. With a deep cleansing breath, I hook up my iPod and begin my fifteen-mile trek to Mt. Baker.

The first few tracks are songs I can rock out to. I sing at the top of my lungs, making these my fuck you anthems. Drumming on the steering wheel, I stop at a light and see the first signs to Mt. Baker.

I pick up my phone and do a quick search for a local store.

Pulling away from the red light, Avril starts singing to me about losing her grip. With my hands at the ten and two position, I squeeze until my knuckles turn white. By the end of the first chorus, my voice rises over hers.

Tears stream down my face, and I shout, "Why should I care?"

It's more therapeutic than I imagined it could be, but I'm also sure I look like a fucking psycho.

To my and the others in the store parking lot's benefit, the song ends before I pull in. I pause my GPS and climb out of the car.

Bells chime above my head as I step through the small store's door. It's a group of genuine bells tied to the door, not an electronic bell. I smile and pull my eyes away, only to come face to face with a beast.

Okay, so maybe it's a couple feet in front of me, but it's still a mammoth bear. A gold plaque at the base of the stuffed animal reads "Ursus Horribilis".

At five-foot-four-inches tall, this bear is positioned so it's almost double my height. I know it's not alive, but I can't look away. The dead blackness of its eyes, the large claws…sharp protruding fangs.

"It's a fucking Sasquatch," I whisper. "They found, killed, and stuffed him."

"Don't you worry about that bear," a raspy female voice draws my attention from the beast.

A small gray-haired woman stands to my left, pushing a mop in a circular motion.

"Horus' been in that spot for over sixty years," she tells me, pausing her floor cleaning task.

I look back up at
Horus
and inhale shakily. The thought that this thing was once alive and out in these woods causes me to shiver.

"I hope he doesn't have any brothers or sisters out there," I proclaim, keeping my eyes on the bear.

"Nah," she reassures. "We haven't had a bear sighting like that in years."

"What about the ones not like him?" I turn, facing her.

"Only on occasion, when they wander down here from Canada looking for food." The woman leans the mop against a nearby wall.

"You passing through?" She gives a quizzical look.

"Sort of," I respond, walking away from the bear. "I'm staying at a cabin up on the mountain."

I grab a pushcart for supplies and direct it down the first aisle.

"How long?" she presses.

I shrug, not giving too much away. I've seen
I Spit on Your Grave, The Cabin in the Woods,
and
The Hills Have Eyes
, I ain't telling this stranger a damn thing. Glancing around the small store, I take in the faces of four other people and commit them to memory for the police sketch artist I suddenly see in my future.

"Well, how can I help you decide how much you need if you won't tell me how long you're gonna be here?" she asks, stepping closer.

"I made a list." I lift up my phone, flashing the list I made during my flight.

"Well, all right, but be sure to buy extra. There's a storm coming in and it's going to be a big one." She jerks her head toward the large storefront window.

Great. February in the mountains, what a brilliant idea this is.

"Duly noted." I give one sharp nod in return before going about the store.

My should-have-been thirty-minute shopping stop turned into forty-five, since the store lady, Mrs. Reeves—no relation to Superman, I totally asked—wouldn't let me check out without matches, extra batteries, two flashlights, candles, and more canned food items. My one hundred dollar food budget escalated to almost double, but I couldn't tell the sweet woman no.

With the Subaru loaded, I start the final twenty-five miles up the mountain. Halfway, my phone beeps, and announces, "Signal Lost."

Snatching the cell off the dash, I glance at the display.

"Great, no bars," I mumble to the empty car.

I sigh and slide the phone back on the dashboard mat.

Luckily, it's not difficult to find the small bridge I'm supposed to turn onto, and the bridge ends at the bottom of the long drive up to the cabin.

I park, shut off the engine, and take in my temporary home. What Jackson and his
friend
call a cabin is more like a three story house set into the side of the mountain. The bottom level, which I assume is the finished basement Liza mentioned, doesn't have any visible doors, but I can see three large square picture windows. The middle level has a wraparound porch, glass doors, and two full-length windows. The top level has a balcony and two large glass panels. From my vantage point, I also see a large pile of chopped wood to the far left of the porch and a garage to the far left of the cabin.

Audibly exhaling, I unlock the door and step out into the mountain air. A breeze whips around me with a sharp bite of chill.

"Fuck, that's cold," I say with a flourish, wrapping my arms around my body.

Leaning back into the car, I reach for the cabin information, my tote, and carry-on bag out of the passenger seat. Items over my shoulder and in hand, I make my way across the snow covered ground, the cold wooden stairs protest my climb to the middle level, and I stop at the double doors to punch in the access code.

The pad beeps and the little light turns green.

Inside, wood lines the walls and a stone fireplace sits on the far right of the large, open-plan room. A coffee table made from a tree stump sits in the middle, with an oversized u-shape couch wrapped around it. Two dark brown, overstuffed chairs sit opposite the couch, and the largest beanbag chairs I've ever seen are piled up near the fireplace.

"Holy shit," I whisper, taking in more details of the room as I walk over to the couch. I set my things on it and spin in place.

A large grin strains my cheeks. The moment I spy the wooden stairs, I run for them like I'm being chased.

The stairs lead to a loft style hallway. Four doors line the wall opposite the inside railing, with a set of double doors at the end.

Having read the information packet from Julia, I know the double doors are locked, along with the two before them. These are the
private
rooms for the family who owns the place. I want to respect their privacy, but it's really not in my nature. Resisting the urge to break into those rooms, I enter the door across from the stairs.

The décor is similar to the living room, but in place of tans and browns, light blue accent colors make up the room. I find a decent sized closet with extra pillows and linens and a bathroom. The bathroom is adjoining to the other spare bedroom, which is a replica of the first. Coming out of the bedrooms, my eyes catch on a built-in docking station.

"This place has a built in sound system," I moan, a little turned on at this discovery.

With my exploration of the top floor complete, I head back to the stairs. I pause on the first step, contemplating what's behind the double doors, but shove aside my curiosity after a moment and make my way back to the rental car to unload and settle in for the first night of my heartbreak holiday.

Returning with my things from the car, I locate the main level docking station near the kitchen, insert my iPod, choose a playlist, grab the remote control, and start organizing.

After placing my things in the bedroom at the top of the stairs and putting away the groceries and other supplies in the kitchen, I explore the bottom level of the house—which turned out to be more couches, a pool table, flat screen TV, and decent sized bar.

Making my way back to the main level, I start a fire in the giant hearth.

My parents made us go camping, in a tent, almost every summer when I was too young to object. So, thankfully, I learned how to start a good fire.

The worst part about this fire was carrying logs in from the pile outside. I even earned a brand new bruise or two to add to my current collection.

I drag a large beanbag near the fireplace and grab a blanket and throw pillow. Before getting comfortable, I grab my Surface tablet, a glass of wine, and a bag of pretzel knots.

After settling into the comfort of the beanbag, I pull up the Wi-Fi and log in. It's a satellite connection, which is okay, but not preferred.

I bring up my free texting app and message Mom.

I made it, but don't have cell service in this backwoods shanty. Luckily, I don't hear any banjos. Talk soon. Love you. Kiss Dad for me.

Hitting send, I wait for the screen to return and bring up Liza.

Made it, but if I get purged while in the middle of nowhere, I want you to make sure to clear out my toy drawer before Mom finds my collection. Oh, and you failed to mention the lack of cell service, Skankapotomus. XO Sid

The message sends and I'm surprised by a receipt notification. I tap the icon and see my mother's reply.

It's too cold for banjo-playing hillbillies. Stay in touch to let me know you aren't being eaten by mountain mutants. <3 Mom

I snort at her message. And people wonder why I'm so crazy.

Unlike other parents from her generation, my mom had no choice but to keep up with technology. Hell, I've been training her for a decade now. Not to mention my multiple FBI related hacking situations resulting in Mom putting herself into Computer Technology Basics night classes. My dad, on the other hand, still uses a goddamn flip phone.

Remembering the first time Mom cruised my browsing history makes me sigh nostalgically, but at the time, I was thoroughly put out.

A second message alert pulls me out of my memories.

I never mentioned cell service. Besides, this means no calls or messages from the bastard barista.

She has a point, but I'm not admitting it.

You are a sneaky whore, Liza. It's why I love you. (.)(.) Sid

I think the boobs are a nice touch and hit send.