Page 3 of Comforted By The Mountain Man
Water explodes from the wall, but it's not clean water. It's brown and murky, and it hits me with the force of a fire hose, knocking me backward against the shower wall. The pipe has completely broken, and dirty water is flooding the bathroom at an alarming rate.
I scramble out of the shower, slipping on the wet floor and banging my knee against the toilet. The water keeps coming, and I have no idea how to stop it. I'm naked, soaking wet, covered in filthy water, and standing in what’s meant to be our new bathroom.
This is rock bottom.This is the moment where I'm supposed to give up, to curl up in a ball and let the world swallow me whole.
Instead, I start laughing. It's not funny, not really, but I can't stop. Here I am, in a broken-down cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a flooded bathroom and a sleeping four-year-old, and I'm laughing like a crazy person.
Maybe I am crazy. Maybe this whole thing is just a fever dream, and I'll wake up back in the clubhouse with Oscar shaking me awake, telling me to get him a beer.
But I don't wake up. The water keeps flowing, and I keep laughing, and somewhere in the distance, a male voice shouts something the rushing water doesn’t let me decipher.
Shit. Is someone coming?
2
ASHER
The whiskey burns smoothly down my throat as I settle back into the wooden chair on my porch, finally alone after hours of my brothers' voices filling every corner of my house. Don't get me wrong, I love the bastards, but sometimes a man needs silence more than he needs company.
The evening air is cool against my bare chest, and I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the knots that seem permanently lodged there these days. Forty years old, and I feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world. Hell, maybe I am. Between managing the family land, helping at the distillery when Ezra needs me, and making sure my brothers don't kill each other or themselves, there's not much time left for anything else.
I take another sip of the whiskey, letting the burn settle in my stomach. This is my time. The only hour of the day that belongs to just me, when I can sit on my back porch and pretend I'm not responsible for every damn thing that goes wrong in this family.
The moon is full tonight, casting silver light across the mountain landscape that stretches out before me. This land has been in our family for three generations, and I'll be damned ifI let it go to hell on my watch. Dad always said a man's worth is measured by how well he protects what's his, and I've been protecting this place since Beckett withdrew from the world after our parents died in that fire.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd left like Holden did so many years ago. If I'd packed up and headed for the city, found myself some corporate job where the biggest worry was meeting quarterly projections instead of keeping six brothers from falling apart. But then I remember that someone has to stay. Someone has to be the anchor.
Might as well be me. At least Holden, my twin, has been home more since Mom and Dad died.
I'm reaching for the bottle to pour another finger when I notice something that makes me pause. There's water running down the hillside from the direction of the old Fletcher cabin, creating a steady stream that catches the moonlight. That's not right. The Fletchers moved out six months ago, and as far as I know, the place has been sitting empty ever since.
I set down my glass and squint through the darkness. The cabin is about a quarter mile away, barely visible through the trees, but I can definitely see water flowing from that direction. A lot of water.
It could be a broken pipe. Could be vandals. Could be nothing at all, but something in my gut tells me to check it out. I've learned to trust that instinct over the years, especially when it comes to protecting what's mine. And even though the Fletcher place isn't technically mine, it's close enough to my property line that whatever's happening over there could become my problem real fast.
I grab a flashlight from the kitchen and pull on my boots, leaving my shirt behind. No point in getting dressed for what's probably a ten-minute walk to check on some busted plumbing.The night air feels good against my skin anyway, and the whiskey has left me feeling warm and loose.
The walk to the cabin takes me through a stretch of woods that I know like the back of my hand. I've been hunting these trails since I was a kid, back when Dad was still alive to teach me to differentiate animal tracks or droppings. Those were simpler times, when the biggest responsibility I had was making sure I cleaned my rifle properly after every use and learning plumbing from him because he believed every man needed a practical skill.
The sound of rushing water gets louder as I approach the cabin and by the time I can see the structure through the trees, I know this is more than just a small leak. Water is pouring out from under the front door.
This is bad. Real bad. If nobody addresses this soon, the whole foundation could be compromised, and even though it's not my cabin, I can't stand by and watch a perfectly good structure get destroyed by something as simple as a busted pipe.
I approach the front door cautiously, my flashlight beam sweeping across the porch. The wood is already warping from the water damage, and I can hear the sound of rushing water coming from inside. I knock hard on the door frame.
"Hello? Anyone in there?"
No response. I try again, louder this time.
"Hello! You've got a major water leak in there!"
Still nothing, but I swear I hear movement inside. Footsteps, maybe. Someone could be trying to deal with whatever disaster is happening in there.
I try the door handle, but it's locked tight. The smart thing to do would be to call the sheriff, let him handle whatever's going on. But by the time he gets out here, the damage could be irreversible. And if there's someone inside who needs help...
The decision makes itself. I take a step back and slam my shoulder into the door. The frame is old and weakened bymoisture, and it gives way easier than I expected. I stumble forward into the cabin, my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.
Something hard and solid connects with the side of my head, and stars explode across my vision. I stagger sideways, reaching out instinctively to grab whatever hit me before it can strike again.
