Page 333 of Power Play

Briggs leaned toward the windshield. “Holy shit.”

“Sit back.”

“That is a fucking mansion.”

“It’s a lodge.”

“That is what rich people call mansions when they put trees around them.”

I parked near the entrance, and Briggs got out before I killed the engine.

“Briggs.”

The passenger door slammed.

I closed my eyes. “Twenty-four years old.”

By the time I reached the porch, he had already entered the code. The door opened onto a living room with vaulted ceilings, exposed beams, a massive stone fireplace, and windows spanning most of the back wall. Snow covered the deck beyond them while the frozen lake stretched beneath the gray morning light.

Briggs took one step inside, then another, before turning slowly toward me. “You spent ten grand on this?”

“Two cabins.”

“Stop saying that like it makes the amount less insane.”

I carried my duffel inside.

“Where’s the pool?”

“Lower level.”

He disappeared toward the stairs.

“Don’t run.”

Footsteps thundered below me. “I wasn’t running.”

“You’re six-five. The entire structure knows you’re running.”

His voice came back from the lower level. “RYAN!”

I closed and locked the door.

The lodge was beautiful, and I hated every inch of it.

Charm knew I’d rented cabins for everyone. That was all I told her. She had no idea what I’d chosen, how much space there was, or that I’d booked an entire second cabin so Vivi would have somewhere quiet to escape if the main lodge became too loud. The pool, the game room, the private hot tub outside the master suite—all of it was supposed to be a surprise.

I paid for a long weekend inside a future that died before either of us reached it.

The duffel strap dug into my shoulder as I climbed the stairs. The master suite waited at the end of the hall, and I stopped outside the open doorway.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed snow-covered pines. A stone fireplace sat opposite the bed, and beyond the glass door, the private hot tub rested beneath a layer of untouched snow. The bed was too large for one person, but I’d pictured Charm inside it when I booked the place. I’d imagined her reaction to the room, the way her face would change when she realized this entire part of the lodge belonged to us for the weekend, and all the filthy ways we would’ve found to use the privacy.

My chest compressed, but I walked inside anyway. The night before, I couldn’t have stood in that room. This morning, grief had hardened enough to let me move through it.

I set my duffel on the bed and pulled out the gifts.

Amy Lowell. Dickinson. Austen.