Veins of Ice

Chapter 2-The Frost Between us

Gerardo’s truck rumbled away, its taillights vanishing into the swirling snow as he drove down the long, winding path. The sound of the engine faded into the stillness, leaving only the howling wind and the soft crunch of snow underfoot.

I stood there for a moment, gazing at the cabin. Two stories of dark wood, its silhouette looming against the gray sky, half-buried in drifts of snow. It was isolated, almost hauntingly so—perched on the edge of the wilderness like something out of an old Alaskan postcard. The trees surrounding it were tall and bare, their branches black against the blanket of white. It felt like the world had gone quiet, nothing but us and the wilderness.

Liam pulled his jacket tighter, glancing up at the cabin. "This place gives me the creeps," he muttered under his breath, and I didn’t blame him. The cabin had a way of making you feel small, insignificant against the vastness of the snowy landscape.

I let out a sigh, looking up at the frost-covered windows. "It used to feel warmer when my grandmother was here," I said softly, remembering the summers I’d spent visiting her when I was younger. Back then, the place had been filled with her laughter, her soft humming as she cooked in the kitchen, the scent of cedar and freshly baked bread. But now, the cabin seemed hollow, almost like a stranger’s home.

The snow crunched beneath my boots as I made my way toward the door, Liam trailing behind me. The wooden steps creaked, the sound swallowed by the wind, and I fumbled with the key before finally unlocking the door.

Inside, the air was stale, cold from months of being abandoned. My breath formed little clouds as I stepped into the entryway.

Liam let out a low whistle. "This is gonna take forever to clean."

I didn’t respond. My eyes wandered to the staircase that led to the second floor, where my grandmother’s bedroom had been. A wave of nostalgia hit me, but it was tinged with sadness. I’d have to pack up her things, go through all her belongings. All her clothes, her books, her memories. It felt too personal, like I was intruding on her life even though she was gone.

When she got sick, she came back to California, leaving this place for months.

I walked further into the cabin, running my fingers over the mantel above the fireplace. The stone was cool to the touch, the hearth empty and cold. Outside, the wind battered against the windows, making the old wood groan as if the cabin itself was weary.

"We should get a fire going," I said, more to myself than to Liam. "It’s gonna be a long night."

The thought of cleaning everything up, getting it ready to be sold, felt like an impossible task. The cabin was more than just a building. It was a piece of my grandmother, of my past. Letting it go was going to be harder than I had imagined.

But for now, the warmth of the fire and a little light would have to suffice. The rest could wait until tomorrow. Liam brought in all the bags while I made my way upstairs. There were two bedrooms on the second floor. I closed the door to my grandmother’s room without a glance and headed into the room I used to stay in during my visits.

After a few hours of tidying up and unpacking, my room finally felt a bit more like mine. The bed was made, my clothes were neatly stored away, and the familiar smell of the cabin was starting to settle in. Despite the isolation, I felt a strange sense of comfort.

When I returned downstairs, I saw that Liam had already started a fire. He was sitting close to the hearth, munching on my chocolate pretzels with a satisfied grin.

I plopped down next to him, letting the heat of the fire thaw my fingers, and turned on the TV, more as a distraction than anything else. As I settled in, I slyly tugged the packet of pretzels out of his grip, earning a smirk from him.

"This place is actually in pretty good shape," he remarked, glancing around.

I nodded. He was right. The cabin was neat and well-kept, a testament to my grandmother's love of order. She was a meticulous housekeeper, just like my mom.

That thought brought a sudden sting of tears to my eyes. I blinked them away, not wanting to break down in front of Liam. Memories of my grandmother flooded my mind—her warm smile, the way she always fussed over everything, the feeling of being wrapped in her soft hugs. Now, the cabin felt like a shell of those memories, haunted by her absence.

Liam must’ve noticed my shift in mood because he gently patted my back. I glanced up at him and saw the concern in his eyes. "You should get some sleep," he said softly. "I’ll stay in the room downstairs."

I shook my head quickly. "No."

The idea of spending the night alone in a remote cabin surrounded by dark woods was unsettling. The isolation might’ve been peaceful during the day, but now it felt eerie. I needed someone close by, even if it was Liam.

"You can sleep in my room. We’ll share the bed, but you’ll stay on the leg end," I said, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

Liam chuckled and nodded in agreement. We headed upstairs, and he settled into bed first, throwing the blanket over himself with a lazy yawn. As I climbed in, I noticed how his leg was perilously close to my face. I groaned internally, trying to find a comfortable position without getting kicked in the process.

Moments later, I felt his knee press into my back.

I sat up immediately. "Do you mind? How is your knee even in my back?"

Liam let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling over to give me space. I finally settled down, but sleep didn’t come easily. I kept shifting, twisting to find a comfortable spot. At some point, Liam winced, startling me.

"You scratched me with your dagger toenails!" he complained, rubbing his thigh.

I rolled my eyes. "Don’t be so dramatic."

He shot me a glare. "You need to cut those daggers," he muttered, and flopped back onto the bed.

I felt insulted, heat rushing to my cheeks at his comment. "Daggers?" I thought to myself, stupid. On a mischievous whim, I dug my toes into his leg again, smirking as I quickly buried myself under the blankets.

He grunted, clearly irritated, and pulled out his phone. Soon, the annoying sound of a game filled the room. I smiled to myself. At least if he stayed up playing, I’d feel safe enough to sleep. But the noise was too loud, and it made relaxing impossible. The sound kept getting Lider and louder.

"Could you turn that down? I’m trying to sleep," I mumbled, eyes half-closed.

"You’re so annoying!" he groaned, but I heard the volume lower. Finally, with the soft glow of the firelight flickering in the distance and the muted sounds of his game, I allowed myself to drift into a deep, peaceful sleep.

If today was so hard to stay with him, I don't even want to think what the next few weeks will hold.