Three Swedish Mountain Men: Chapter 17

I sleep with Riven and Eli that night, tucked between their bodies. Or rather, I share the bed with them. I don’t sleep at all. Even after being shagged into oblivion and coming multiple times, my mind won’t turn off. I lie between them in the dark as they breathe against me, staring at the ceiling, hearing Cole’s words over and over again.

They’re only letting you stay here because they want to fuck you.

It’s a long, long night.

I give up on sleep at about five in the morning, slipping out from under the boys’ arms to pad to the kitchen. I make myself a cup of tea and sit by the window, looking out. The snow is still falling, but nothing like the blizzard yesterday afternoon. Now, the flakes look delicate and gentle as they flutter innocently to the ground. I sip my tea, remembering the awful, gut-wrenching feeling that hit me as soon as I recognised Cole struggling through the storm, barely a blur in the distance.

Cole said the problem was with visibility. Normally, he would drive the car straight into the barn, but he couldn’t, because the snow was so thick he couldn’t even see where he was driving. He’d had to abandon the car halfway down the drive.

It seems ridiculously dangerous to me. If the guys can’t see where they’re walking during a storm, they could die. But none of them has set up any kind of safety measure, in case that happens. It’s dumb.

I come up with a plan. Grabbing a bit of paper from Riven’s desk, I start drawing a map of the yard. Then I tiptoe back into the bedroom. The boys are still fast asleep.

I creep up and poke Eli lightly on the shoulder. “Eli,” I hiss.

“Wha’?” He grumbles.

“Do you have any really long rope? And some metal hooks? And a hammer?”

“Tools are all in the porch,” he mutters, reaching out blindly for me. “Come back to bed.”

“Nope. I wanna make a safety line from the drive up to the house. Kind of like a handrail. Is that okay?”

“Go nuts,” he mumbles, rolling over and shoving his face back in his pillow.

By the time I’ve found the rope and some tools, it’s getting bright outside. I pull on my snow clothes and head out into the yard, trailing the rope behind me. I start off right outside the house. It takes me almost twenty minutes to hammer a hook into the doorframe and tie the rope to it. Hopefully the boys don’t mind; the cabin is pretty weathered on the outside, so they don’t seem too precious about it. When I’ve tightly secured the knot, I lift the rope and follow my map, making a trail down to the drive. Every so often, I’ll wrap the rope around a tree, fastening it tightly.

It’s not long until I come to the barn. I drop the rope and survey the doorframe, looking for a good spot to fasten the rope. Maybe it would be better on the inside? I step through the door and start scanning the walls.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice asks.

The hairs all over my body prickle and stand up. I set my jaw, turning to Cole. He’s sitting crouched on the barn floor, surrounded by thin planks of wood. He’s hammering them into a square. It looks like he’s making some kind of picture frame.

They’re only letting you stay here because they want to fuck you.

Because that’s all I’m good for, right? I don’t have any other good, non-vaginal qualities. Why else would a man want me around?

I lift the rope. “Making a safety line. Got any idea where I can hammer in the hook?”

He straightens. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I know, right?” I sigh. “I should be sucking the other guys’ dicks. Luckily, they’re both pretty tired out, so I’ve got a quick break from shagging their brains out. It’s tough work, being a walking, talking fleshlight.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I said last night—wasn’t true. They’re not just keeping you around to sleep with them.”

“Well, I figured. Unless Eli has some kind of UNO fetish he hasn’t told me about.” I study the heavy beams making up the barn’s doorframe. There are already a few metal rings buried deep into the wood, I guess from where they used to hang equipment. I give the biggest one a tug. It’s not going anywhere. “Can I use this one, do you think?”

He grunts.

“Very insightful. Thanks for your input.” I put down the toolkit and tug the rope taut. He watches as I start to wrap it around the hook. I can feel his eyes on me, like laser-points on my skin. I sigh, turning to face him. “What?”

“Just…” He grimaces. “Don’t do that again. Don’t come after me. Don’t put your life in danger, just to help me.”

“I’ll make the decisions about who I want to risk my life for, thank you.”

His face darkens. “I wouldn’t have died.”

“Probably not,” I agree. “But you definitely would’ve been more seriously injured. Riv says if you stayed out there much longer, you would’ve probably gotten hypothermia. You would’ve lost more blood. Lugging that pack around was tearing open the wound. If I hadn’t gone to get you, you wouldn’t be sitting in here, chopping logs right now. You’d be getting driven down to a hospital for a transfusion. I’m not expecting a thank you, but it would be nice if you stopped calling me an idiot for three seconds.”

He doesn’t respond to that. We’re silent for a few minutes, as I twist the rope into a tight double constrictor knot, then step back, testing it out with a few tugs. The knot holds fast.

“I’m not… good with people.” He starts.

I relent a bit. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for. You have your charming moments.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“No. They shouldn’t let you out in public.” His lip twists. I look around at the mess on the floor. “What are you making? Furniture?”

“See for yourself. There’s a couple finished ones back there, under the tarp.”

Intrigued, I go to lift up the blue plastic sheet. My eyes widen. “Oh my God.” Underneath the tarp are three canvases arranged in a pile, from biggest to smallest. “Did you make these?” I lift one up to examine. It’s perfect. The wood has been sanded down. The fabric is perfectly taut, stapled into the frame on the back. It looks even better than the canvases I would buy at the store—professional-grade, but just a little rugged. Perfect for mountain landscapes.

“Figured it would keep you quiet,” he says gruffly. “You can’t just wander around the place getting in everyone’s way. They better be good enough, because I’m not doing them again.”

“I thought you were throwing me out,” I remind him, running my finger down the line of perfectly even staples.

“Doubt the others would let me.”

I glance at him. “Is this your way of saying sorry?”

He turns his attention back to the nail he’s hammering. “I’ve got nothing to apologise for.”

I scoff. “Yeah. Sure.”

I’m pretty sure it is an apology. Cole’s not exactly the best at saying things out loud, but actions speak louder than words, right? He saw that I was upset about my broken canvases, and he decided to fix the problem. That’s an apology.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

He nods, then jerks his head towards the knot I made. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Oh.” I look back at it. “My dad was in the navy. When I was little, he used to practise his knots with me. I learned every one in the book.”

“You’re close?”

My throat tightens. “We were.”

“He’s dead?”

“No. Just… we’re not close, anymore.” I remember the last time I saw my parents. It was only about a week ago. The look of utter disgust on my dad’s face when I turned up crying on their doorstep flashes in front of my eyes.

Neither of them have called. I don’t think they’ve even noticed I’ve left the country.

I shake off the clawing sadness. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t have one.”

“No one at all?”

“No siblings, and all my mum cared about was whatever boyfriend she was fucking at the time. I pretty much raised myself.”

Explains a lot.

“Eli’s mum took care of me, when I was in school,” he continues. “I spent half my childhood at his or Riv’s house.”

“And you’ve been living together since?”

“On and off.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he turns back to his work. This conversation is clearly over.

I look out of the doorway, back at the gently falling snow. “I was thinking of putting that shack thing on the safety line. Eli said you don’t use it, but it would be a good shelter, if you can’t drive the car up all the way to the house.”

“No point. I’m the only one who ever goes that direction.”

I narrow my eyes. “So? You might be a prat, but you don’t deserve to die any more than the others.”

“Waste of time,” he repeats.

I sigh, picking up the rope. “Whatever. I’m doing it anyway. Thanks for the canvases.”

He doesn’t respond, and I head back into the yard, trailing rope behind me.

Eli comes out of the house, yawning, just as I’m finishing up. The rope line looks perfect; sitting at about waist-height, it runs taut around the edges of the yard, stretching all the way from the bottom of the drive to the house. It’s discreet enough to blend into the trees unless you’re actively looking for it.

Eli looks impressed. “Holy shit.” He gives the rope a tug. “This is really smart.”

“Yeah?” I dust snow off my gloves. “Think it’ll help?”

“I don’t see how it couldn’t.” He presses a kiss to my head. “Thanks, baby.”

“You’re welcome.” I roll my shoulders. “I didn’t sleep good. I think I’m gonna go take a nap.”

He gives my bum a playful smack as I pass by him into the hall, shaking snow off my body. After all that work, I’m dead on my feet. I trail through the corridor to my guest room, ready to crash on the portable cot.

But when I open the door, the bed is gone. Instead, the room is set up like a little studio.

I look around with wide eyes. While I was in the yard, Cole must have brought all my paint in here. He’s stacked the pots against the wall, next to the pile of canvases and my folded drop-cloths. My easel is standing proudly in the middle of the room, with a little stool set next to it. There’s a battered-looking desk and chair pushed into the corner, and he’s added a couple more lamps so I can adjust the lighting.

Suddenly, I don’t feel tired at all. Excitement fires up in my stomach. I bend to pick up a canvas and put it on my easel, then start rooting through my paints.