Chapter 3

"You're not from around here," Wesley turned on the radio much to Ethan's demise. And of course, Christmas tunes blasted, making him shrink into Wesley's jacket further. Had he not been grateful for the car ride and jacket, or for the fact his car was a broken piece of shit, he would've immediately reached over to turn off the radio. "I know everybody here."

Ethan hummed, wondering why the heater had a max temperature it could produce. He'd been in frigid temperatures before, but he was used to working with fires, and living in a city more south meant it rarely got this cold. That, and it wasn't every day he fell into icy waters, even during shifts.

"So," Wesley tried to get him to talk. "A firefighter, huh?"

"Volunteer firefighter," Ethan rubbed his hands together, hoping that would help. "There's a difference."

"Uh-huh," Wesley tried to understand. "So what are you doing out here?"

Ethan breathed on his hands as the shivering continued on. "Passing through."

"But parked by the lake?"

Ethan scoffed. "At least I was in my car. Not fucking outside with my dog. I was taking a break, sight seeing, if you will."

"Sure. The clinic should be just ahead," Wesley pointed, but Ethan had no clue where anything was, especially with the below visibility. He was surprised Wesley was driving this well in these conditions.

As they pulled into the stall, or what appeared to be a stall, Wesley cursed under his breath, something Ethan thought he was incapable of doing. He seemed like the type to censor his words, maybe even use alternative words to hide his frustrations. "Of course they're closed. Damn storm. Do you feel like you're getting hypothermia? Tired? Memory loss?"

"Um, no? But I'm fucking cold. Your jacket ain't doing shit anymore," Ethan fluttered the hem of the jacket at him in a dramatic fashion.

Wesley brushed it off. "We gotta bring your temperature up regardless. My car isn't ideal."

"Does this town have a motel? I can warm up there and then leave in the morning."

"Nearest one is probably an hour out, the decent ones with heaters anyway. And besides your car."

"Shit," Ethan didn't know what to say. Even if Wesley was kind enough to drive him somewhere, he'd still be stranded with no car, and if he was insane enough to drive him to his destination, there was no way in hell he'd want to stay with his parents. He didn't want to owe them for anything, in fact, he wished he hadn't even attempted to drive there. He'd rather be picking up a shift at his station, or simply pig out on take-out for the holidays.

"Well," Wesley drawled out, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "You could stay with me."

"With you?"

Wesley hummed like if it was no big deal. "I have two bedrooms, one's an office, but I have an air mattress. There's a heater and a fireplace."

"How do I know you won't murder me there?" Ethan meant it as a joke, but he was never good at dropping the poker face.

Wesley scoffed, before joking, "I took that chance when I saw your car there at the lake. You could've murdered me and got away with it."

"I could've," he shot back. "I even had my rope. It's a shame I didn't have a shovel."

Wesley laughed, and Ethan wondered if he knew how ridiculous he looked while laughing. The dimples were so incredibly deep that it didn't seem normal at all. Endearing, but with a slightly disturbing appeal to them.

As Wesley calmed down from the laugh, before turning to look at Ethan seriously. He wasn't sure if it was the proximity, the potential hypothermia Ethan had, or something else, but he could see the slightest pink tint grace his sculpted cheeks. Had it not been for his worrisome over the man's health after taking a dip in the lake, Wesley would've teased him some more about it.

"It's the least I could do, opening my house to you, killer or not. You saved my dog, risked your life to do it. I wouldn't just leave you stranded in this forsaken town in the middle of a snowstorm. So what do you say, Mr. Not-so-serial-killer?"

"Sure, until the storm passes," Ethan conceded, scoffing at the nickname. "Then I'll be on my way."

"Your car's still dead though. Can't go anywhere with that thing," Wesley reminded him.

Ethan sighed. Maybe he really should've invested in a new car after all, instead of squeezing every ounce of life out of that old death trap. "Your right. Until I can physically leave then. Then I'll be on my way."

"Alright," Wesley replied before turning to look at Rosie sleeping soundly under some blankets in the backseat. "Rosie, looks like Mr. Not-murderer will be staying with us."

"Ethan," he corrected. "My name's Ethan."

Wesley rolled his eyes before pinching his puffed jacket that was pulled tightly around Ethan's shoulders. "Whatever Pillsbury Doughboy. Whatever you say. Or should I say Michelin Man?"