My first evening in my new cabin went well. The weird tension between Jackson and I dissipated during dinner. We fell into easy chatter discussing tomorrow's to-do list. It felt nice to have someone to talk plans out with. I think for him, too. I'll be learning how to make and set snares tomorrow, and Jackson seems as excited to teach me as I am to learn. He said it gets to be a lot of work checking and resetting so many every day. It feels good to know I can take some burden away from him rather than feeling like being one.

The stew was much better with the added flavor from the chicken broth, and the noodles made it filling and kind of homey. We both stuffed ourselves, knowing the noodles would become complete mush if we tried to keep the soup warm for the next day.

After dinner, we cleaned up and looked over some of that old notebook together.

... and now it's fallen dark, and we're both awkwardly sitting at the table because it's time for bed.

It was one thing when he curled in with me after a nightmare; that was unplanned. This is us going to bed together, and it's beyond weird.

"I think I'm going to use the outhouse and then crash," Jackson thankfully breaks up the silence.

"Good idea. I'll go after you," I say all too eagerly.

He nods as he stands to leave, and I let out a sigh of relief once the door closes.

When he gets back, I duck out and forget I'm wearing shorts. I run to the outhouse as fast as I can and then race back.

"Brr! It's getting so cold!" I say, rubbing my arms vigorously as I step inside.

Jackson lifts the covers for me. He's already lying in the bed. "Damn, you must be freezing get in here! I'll go get your clothes tomorrow morning."

I hurry to join him, pulling the blanket tightly around myself once I'm settled in. I curl on my side, mimicking Jackson's posture so we are facing each other.

"Do you want an extra blanket?" Jackson asks.

No, I want your arms around me. I don't say that as badly as I want to. Instead, I say, "It's okay. I'm already starting to warm up."

"You're adjusting so well to being out here. How?" Jacksons asks.

"What other choice did I have? I knew if I wasted even a day feeling bad for myself, I'd regret it later, so I just... got to work, I guess."

"I can't believe you're not pissed, or depressed, or both."

"I was both," I explain. "The night my dad dropped me here, I hadn't even had dinner. He could've made sure I had my favorite meal before sending me off to starve. But no. He never thinks things through. I was so mad at him that it made me walk faster. I think my anger got me to safety." 

"That must have been scary here that first night," he murmurs.  

"It was. Once I was able to sit in that shelter, it all hit me. That's when the anger turned into tears. I'll admit I cried like a damn baby that night, exhausted myself to sleep."

"Of course you did," he says softly. "Fuck. What a goddamn dumbass sending you out here at night, that was so dangerous."

"He was panicked..."

"Don't do that," he cuts me off.

"Do what?"

"Make excuses for him. Your dad made so many wrong steps before you ended up here, and that's all on him. You're his daughter he's supposed to protect you."

His words are harsh but not untrue. Still, it ties my gut into a knot, and I feel an urge to defend my dad.

"I know he is, and at one point, he did, but when my mom died, it changed him. He loved her so much it broke something in him that could not be repaired. He never moved on, never could," I say with wistful longing. How different would life have been for us if she had never got sick?

"Sam.." Jackson reaches for my hand in the dark, and when he encloses it in his, a rush of emotion brings tears to my eyes.

"There was this shabby recliner she'd always sit in to read. The treatments made her so tired she'd pass out, and my dad would carry her to bed. After she passed away, I'd find him in that chair all the time, drunk and out cold, usually with her photo in his hand. He could hardly function through the day-to-day, much less be my dad, so I adapted and took care of both of us. You asked how I adjusted so well out here, and that's just what I do, Jax. It's what I have always done. I keep going because I know that's what my mom would want."

"You're so strong," he whispers.

"I had to be for both of us because he lost himself. I know he made horrible decisions that got me here but it wasn't intentional. He is probably more down on himself right now than he's ever been, feeling terrible like he let my mom down."

"I didn't want to feel bad for that fool," Jackson says with a sigh. "But, I saw how much Carl and Angie loved each other. I heard that fucking painful scream when he saw her..." He trails off and I shudder at the idea of what he saw, at what I saw in there.

"I guess what I'm saying is I can understand that about your dad, to a point," Jackson says but then adds. "But I still think he fucked you over."

"He did. I won't deny that."

He gives my hand one more squeeze, then releases his hold.

"At least he is who he is. He's not a fake-ass liar pretending to be whatever that person most needs to get what he wants, like Vinny did to my mom. "

"Are you okay? Reliving all those memories couldn't have been easy." I say it gently.

"I relive them all the time as it is, but talking to you about it made me feel alive again. Like, it reminds me that I'm still here, and I didn't die with them."

"You are still here, and you can honor them by living," I offer a tidbit of the advice I was given that fateful day. 

"Sometimes, I feel like this shell out here, half alive. This forgotten person, not needed for anything but a revenge ploy when the time is right."

Because he was made to feel that way, and after he lost everything, too. Talk about fucked up.

"You matter," I repeat the words he said to me last week after my missed birthday. "For you, not your birthright, Jax, but for who you are."

"You make me feel like I do..." he whispers.

"You do!" I insist, and he lets out a soft rumble of a laugh.

"You know, I used to imagine I had someone to talk to out here. Sometimes I did talk to them even out loud, but now it's real and kind of a mind fuck."

"I can imagine it is," I say with a soft smile. "I get daydreaming and talking to imaginary people, believe me."

"You get a lot about me," he says quietly, and I gulp because I think he's right; I do, and I think maybe he gets me, too. 

"I know my story wasn't easy to hear, Sam. But I wanted you to know what you're dealing with when it comes to the Russos. It's not Vinny who your dad owes money. It's probably some mid-level guys if they own a club. But he knows about you now because your dad fooled them. They won't let that go."

I shudder at the words as I know they're true. I appreciate that Jax doesn't sugarcoat stuff, though. I don't want or need that, and he knows it.

"I can't believe he shot your uncle's wedding knowing she was there," I whisper. That's the part of his story that I just can't stomach. "He loved her once, even wanted to marry her, and then he killed her on purpose?"

"He didn't love her. Maybe he came close to it when he was younger, but the second he got a taste of power, he became who he is, and that man doesn't have the capacity to love. He was done with her when she declined his offer and bruised his ego."

How could someone be so cruel?

"I hate him, Sam, physically hate him."

"Then don't turn into him," I say, my eyes washing over his face, only lit with the glow of the fire in the corner. Yet even in the dark, I can see the emotion brimming in my eyes. "Your mom and mine are here, with us their own way. I truly believe that, Jax. I know they'd want us to fight for a better life than this."

"I don't think there is one, though."

"If I could find a cabin in the woods in the dark, chop up a tree, build a smoker, hunt down a deer, and outrun wolves, then we can find another way if we put our heads together."

"When you put it that way, you are kind of like Wonder Woman or something," Jackson says with a low rumble of a laugh.

I join him, and soon, our soft laughter fills the cabin like a billowing cloud. It lifts all the heavy and sad memories that plague us away, at least for now.

A moment of peace comes over us as we lie together. I think Jackson may be close to falling asleep, and I close my eyes, about to try to do that myself, when he speaks up again.

"If you had gotten to have one last meal before you came out here, what would it have been?"

Jackson asks.

"Easy. Lasagna and garlic bread." I can nearly taste it at the very thought of it.

"Then... if we get out of here, we're going to go out and eat lasagna at the best restaurant we can find."

Wait? That means... he believes we can find another way. An easy smile spreads over my face, which he notices and frowns at.

"I said, if, Sam," he reminds me.

"Don't spoil it with your doubts right now," I say dismissively. "What are you going to be ordering when we go out to eat?"

"Chicken carbonara," he groans the word longingly.

"What is that?"

"Ever had fettuccine alfredo?"

"Yes, I love that!"

"Then you'll love carbonara. It's similar but usually with skinner noodles, and it has pancetta, which tastes like bacon. You'll just have to try it to see."

"That sounds amazing. We'll share," I declare. "You like lasagna too, right?"

"I'm Italian; of course, I like lasagna."

"Then that is all the reason for us to find another way." I can't help but keep pushing it and won't stop.

Franky may have sent me here to try and force Jackson's hand, but he will regret thinking he could use me that way. I will do the opposite and ensure Jackson honors his mom's wish for him instead.

"Lasagna is all the reason?" He questions as he aches a thick eyebrow. 

"Yup," I say dreamily. "I'm envisioning it now, all bubbly and steaming, the gooey cheese, as you take a bite and how it strings from your fork..."

"Don't do that. You'll drive us both crazy!"

"Sorry, I really miss cheese," I say sheepishly.

"I miss desserts the most, especially cookies."

"Me too," I groan. "Warm from the oven.."

He lets out a pained sounding moan that makes me giggle again.

"Let's stop torturing ourselves and get some sleep," he suggests.

"Okay," I say with an exaggerated sigh.

I turn to the side, my back to him, and sink into the pillow as my eyes flutter closed again. "Goodnight, Jax"

"Night, sweet Sam."

**

I'm pulled from sleep by the noise of a log splitting in the fireplace. I'm confused as I find my face pressed against something hard.

What the–?

I lift my head to see Jackson's chest under it, but if that's not bad enough, I have an arm resting on his abdomen, and my leg is curled over his. 

His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. At least he's asleep and unaware I'm draped all over him.

I carefully start to roll away from him when his body jerks suddenly. Shit, did I wake him? My eyes shoot wide open as his arms pull me back in, holding me tightly against him.

"Sam..." he mumbles in his sleep.

Oh! Is he dreaming of me?

A tiny smile curls over my lips.

I rest my head down on his chest and find soothing comfort in listening to the sound of his heart as it beats against my ear. His arms feel like a safe cacoon, and I never want to leave them. I close my eyes and sleep comes to blanket me easily.

***

I wake in the same spot the next morning, only Jackson's arms no longer tightly holding me close. Before I even open my eyes, I know he's already awake.

I look up and peek an eye open, finding him looking down at me with a playful smirk.

"Something wrong with your pillow?" He teases.

"I tried to roll over, but you wouldn't let me leave," I said with a giggle, and his eyes widen in surprise.

"I...wouldn't?" He looks confused

"You wrapped me up in a vice grip."

"Oh jeez, I'm sorry, Sam. I'm not used to sharing a bed, and I used to dream about..." he trails off, looking embarrassed as his cheeks flush. "Uh, never mind. You should've punched me or something."

"Why would I do that?" I ask as I let my head fall back down on his chest. "You're a great pillow pal," I say.

"Pillow pals!" he laughs, causing his chest to rumble. "I used to have the ugliest-looking one; I think it was supposed to be like a Frankenstein. It was green with peg ears or something and this flat-top blue hair."

"Mine was pink with long yellow stings for hair," I recall. "You're a better cuddler than she ever was."

"And you are almost as good as old Frankenstein was," he says in a playful tone, causing me to look at him with a grimace.

"Im kidding," he laughs. "But you do need to get up.  I've had to piss for a long time."

"Jax!" I exclaim, sitting up as he hops off the bed and heads towards the door. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked so peaceful," he shrugs as he steps into his boots. "And I lied. You are a better cuddler than my old pillow pal."

"Better than a blue-haired Frankenstein? I'm honored."

"I really got to go," he says as he opens the door. "I'll bring your clothes back, and then I hope you 're ready."

"For?"

"I'm putting your cute little self to work today, sweet Sam. Breaks over." 

Before I can answer, he's out of the door, leaving me sitting in the bed with flushed cheeks and a ridiculous grin that seems to have taken over my face.