Page 37 of Saved By The King's Gamma

The bell above the grocery store door jingles as I push it open, stepping into the muted fluorescent lights that flicker casting long shadows between the aisles. The familiar scent of polished floors and fresh produce greets me. I grab a basket.

Each item finds its way into the basket with a soft thud—bread, cheese, cans of soup. My mind, however, lingers on Abbie’s quiet presence waiting in the car. When I pass the candy aisle, a flash of red catches my eye. I pause, my gaze fixing on the strawberry cloud candies snug between bags of chocolate. They are her favorite; little sugary puffs that might sweeten the bitterness life has dealt her lately, or so I hope. I pick two bags, tossing them into the basket.

Ten minutes later the cabin comes into view. As we draw nearer, I steal a glance at Abbie. Her eyes, wide and watchful—beautiful and wary.

“Abbie,” I break the silence as I park the car, “you’re safe with me.” I turn off the engine, letting the weight of assurance settle over my words. “There’s no one around for miles. This is a safe place.”

Her eyes flicker to mine, searching for the truth in them, seeking the promise of safety I desperately want to give her. I reach into the back to retrieve the groceries.

Stepping out of the car, I close the door with a soft thud, studying Abbie. She nods in response to my promise, her lips caught between her teeth, betraying her nerves. Together, we climb the steps, and I unlock the door. The air inside is still cold enough to make Abbie wrap her arms around herself. Without hesitation, I slip off my jacket and place it over her slender shoulders, the fabric swallowing her frame.

“Let me get some wood for the fire,” I say, moving toward the pile of logs stacked by the hearth. I’ll need to chop more. This won’t last the night. Kneeling, I can feel the weight of her gaze on me.

I turn back to see her perched delicately on the edge of the rustic bed, the room’s centerpiece crafted from thick, interlocking logs.

“Only one bed?” Her inquiry is faint, almost lost in the vast silence that fills the space between us.

Her heartbeat is a rapid flutter, an undercurrent of fear I can sense as surely as the chill in the air. It pulls at something deep within me, a desire to protect, to soothe her.

“Abbie,” I begin, my resolve firm, “you take the bed. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

I move closer, the floorboards creaking underfoot as I approach her. The cabin seems to close in around us, the simplicity of the space magnifying her unease. My fingers find her chin, lifting it gently so that her eyes, wide and brimming with unshed fears, can meet mine.

“Have I ever given you a reason to fear me?” My question hangs in the air for a moment.

In the silence that follows, she offers me the barest shake of her head. That small gesture, devoid of words yet heavy with meaning, unties a knot in my chest, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Then don’t start now,” I tell her. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Abbie’s gaze drops to her trembling fingers, interlocked and resting on her lap. I observe the subtle shift in her posture, the slight nod that is her response—a silent acceptance of the arrangement.

The room grows quiet, save for the settling of the old wooden beams and the distant whisper of wind through the pines outside.

I watch as she draws a deep breath, seeming to gather the scattered pieces of herself, finding some measure of control.

“I need to gather more wood. I’ll be outside,” I tell her.

Stepping into the crisp air, I let the screen door close gently behind me; its soft click punctuates the silence within. The ax rests in the same place I left it months ago, against the chopping block, its handle roughened from years of use. I roll my sleeves, feeling the chill bite at my skin as I grip the wooden handle. Grabbing a log, I set to work. Each swing is a release of pent-up tension, the blade splitting through the logs with satisfying thuds that echo in the quiet forest clearing.

With every piece of wood I stack, my thoughts drift back to Abbie and I lose myself in the task. The muscles in my arms burn with exertion, mirroring the ache in my chest for her suffering. She needs time and space.

The scent of pine needles and freshly split wood mingles in the air, a natural balm to the senses. I’ve always loved being outdoors. I glance towards the cabin when I hear movement inside the large cabin.

17

Standing on the porch, I tug Gannon’s jacket closer around me, feeling a chill despite the sun. The sound of the ax hitting wood punctuates the surrounding silence. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I step forward to see Gannon working, his back glistening with sweat under the effort, his shirt discarded somewhere out of sight. A huge pile of wood is already chopped, and I can’t help but let my eyes wander over his muscular body, noticing scars that mar his chest. I’ve never seen him like this, so focused, so… captivating.

I lean over the porch rail, where curls of wood shavings lay strewn about like the aftermath of a silent storm. There appears to be a method to his movements—raise, swing, impact—a dance of strength and purpose that leaves his broad back shining with sweat.

The sharp lines of muscle shift across his torso with every movement, drawing my gaze in a way that feels both invasive and admiring. Scars lace his skin, etched into the tanned flesh of his chest.

A flush of embarrassment warms my cheeks when he turns suddenly, catching me in the act of staring. My eyes dart away, seeking the wooden steps as I descend and perch on the top one, hugging myself tighter trying to stop the cold chill seeping into me.

“Come here,” Gannon’s voice breaks the silence, soft yet somehow reaching me clearly. I hesitate, swallowing hard as I glance at him. The world around us feels almost unnaturally quiet. He gestures for me to come closer with a finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet. With reluctance, I stand and walk toward him, and he pulls me close by the waist, pointing at something in the trees.

I follow his gaze to spot a mother deer and her fawn. We watch in silence until the wind shifts and the mother’s head snaps toward us. She and the fawn dart away through the trees. A smile finds its way to my lips, a rarity these days, and I glance at Gannon, who brushes my hair behind my ear with a gentle touch.

“Finally, a smile,” he says, his voice warm. “See, there is good, Abbie. You just need to find it.” After watching the deer disappear, Gannon starts gathering the wood, and we head inside. He gets the fire going.

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