“Sometimes
you don’t have the words
to express your feelings.”
~NECCO, creator of Sweethearts
What was Brenna thinking? Why had she insisted on travelling to her parents’ remote cabin to spend Valentine’s Day weekend by herself? She could’ve curled up with books in her own apartment, but nooooo…the call of the wild, a crackling log fireplace, and the stillness the city couldn’t offer beckoned like a late night lover.
She reached for another candy heart, a childish family tradition, but probably as romantic as her weekend would get. If only—
The old pickup truck swerved, fishtailing on the snow-packed road. Black ice. Her heart convulsed as she clutched the steering wheel and tried to regain control.
Brenna’s truck hit a snow drift. The engine revved, and the truck launched in the air. Sudden weightlessness consumed her. Time slowed. As if by sheer brain power alone, the vehicle hovered midflight on its path toward a massive snowbank and inevitable impact. Instead of any survival instincts, the stupidity of her decisions consumed her.
Death by candy. Perfect. What a fitting way to go.
Brenna’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Sweat broke out and prickled her skin. Time sped up. No longer stuck on pause, the truck continued to barrel toward the snow bank. Before impact, she released the steering wheel and covered her head with her arms.
Images flashed through her memory—hot summer road trips with her girlfriends, Christmas with her parents, her brother’s cheeky grin as he pulled her pigtails, and her first true kiss from a boy with sandy brown hair and piercing green eyes.
The truck struck the hard-packed, unforgiving snow bank. The impact jarred the vehicle, crunching metal. Brenna whipped forward. Her seatbelt snagged and dug into her chest. Her forehead smacked her arms before bashing into the steering wheel. Pain erupted in her skull. Her head snapped back. Everything went black.
****
Eric cursed his family and their not-so-subtle attempts to set him up. Again. Not only was Heather Dufaine a shallow airhead with the personality of puff cereal, but snowmobiling as a storm rolled in had to be the dumbest idea ever.
The low dipping sun cast the hills and valleys of snow in sporadic shadows. Night fell fast in the B.C. Rockies. His machine charged up another bank. He slowed as the wind blew another gust of snow across his path, and his visibility fell from ten percent to zero.
Heather had insisted on going out, and his family encouraged him to indulge her. As if she was some petulant child threatening a tantrum. Heck, one look at her pouty face confirmed his guess wasn’t far off.
Why on earth his parents wanted her as a daughter-in-law had stumped him for all of two seconds. Her “daddy” and his father were judges, and the idea of a marriage between two prominent families appealed to both mothers. It fit into their grand plans of world domination, uniting one elite family after another.
Luckily, he’d convinced Heather a half-hour into snowmobiling the conditions were too dangerous, and he’d returned her in one piece to his family’s cabin with the mistaken belief he cared for her.
He certainly didn’t wish her harm. It wasn’t her fault she’d been raised entitled, and brainwashed into believing happiness only fit in a certain box.
Happiness.
What would he know about that?
The only time he found true happiness in the arms of a woman was a long time ago, and the moment so short, it was fleeting at best. Sometimes he questioned whether it even happened. Now, he found enjoyment in the wilderness, with the sharp scent of pine and the cold bite of the air.
Eric tucked his head and charged his snowmobile over another ridge. The frozen air sliced over him, and he braced as the machine landed and sped up the next bank.
Heather had lost her favorite pink mittens. When he’d first spotted the delicate things, he’d suggested she wear hardier gloves to protect her sensitive
you don’t have the words
to express your feelings.”
~NECCO, creator of Sweethearts
What was Brenna thinking? Why had she insisted on travelling to her parents’ remote cabin to spend Valentine’s Day weekend by herself? She could’ve curled up with books in her own apartment, but nooooo…the call of the wild, a crackling log fireplace, and the stillness the city couldn’t offer beckoned like a late night lover.
She reached for another candy heart, a childish family tradition, but probably as romantic as her weekend would get. If only—
The old pickup truck swerved, fishtailing on the snow-packed road. Black ice. Her heart convulsed as she clutched the steering wheel and tried to regain control.
Brenna’s truck hit a snow drift. The engine revved, and the truck launched in the air. Sudden weightlessness consumed her. Time slowed. As if by sheer brain power alone, the vehicle hovered midflight on its path toward a massive snowbank and inevitable impact. Instead of any survival instincts, the stupidity of her decisions consumed her.
Death by candy. Perfect. What a fitting way to go.
Brenna’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Sweat broke out and prickled her skin. Time sped up. No longer stuck on pause, the truck continued to barrel toward the snow bank. Before impact, she released the steering wheel and covered her head with her arms.
Images flashed through her memory—hot summer road trips with her girlfriends, Christmas with her parents, her brother’s cheeky grin as he pulled her pigtails, and her first true kiss from a boy with sandy brown hair and piercing green eyes.
The truck struck the hard-packed, unforgiving snow bank. The impact jarred the vehicle, crunching metal. Brenna whipped forward. Her seatbelt snagged and dug into her chest. Her forehead smacked her arms before bashing into the steering wheel. Pain erupted in her skull. Her head snapped back. Everything went black.
****
Eric cursed his family and their not-so-subtle attempts to set him up. Again. Not only was Heather Dufaine a shallow airhead with the personality of puff cereal, but snowmobiling as a storm rolled in had to be the dumbest idea ever.
The low dipping sun cast the hills and valleys of snow in sporadic shadows. Night fell fast in the B.C. Rockies. His machine charged up another bank. He slowed as the wind blew another gust of snow across his path, and his visibility fell from ten percent to zero.
Heather had insisted on going out, and his family encouraged him to indulge her. As if she was some petulant child threatening a tantrum. Heck, one look at her pouty face confirmed his guess wasn’t far off.
Why on earth his parents wanted her as a daughter-in-law had stumped him for all of two seconds. Her “daddy” and his father were judges, and the idea of a marriage between two prominent families appealed to both mothers. It fit into their grand plans of world domination, uniting one elite family after another.
Luckily, he’d convinced Heather a half-hour into snowmobiling the conditions were too dangerous, and he’d returned her in one piece to his family’s cabin with the mistaken belief he cared for her.
He certainly didn’t wish her harm. It wasn’t her fault she’d been raised entitled, and brainwashed into believing happiness only fit in a certain box.
Happiness.
What would he know about that?
The only time he found true happiness in the arms of a woman was a long time ago, and the moment so short, it was fleeting at best. Sometimes he questioned whether it even happened. Now, he found enjoyment in the wilderness, with the sharp scent of pine and the cold bite of the air.
Eric tucked his head and charged his snowmobile over another ridge. The frozen air sliced over him, and he braced as the machine landed and sped up the next bank.
Heather had lost her favorite pink mittens. When he’d first spotted the delicate things, he’d suggested she wear hardier gloves to protect her sensitive
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