Wanderlust (Filling Spaces #1) by Lexi Stone

 
     
    I.
    Shea promised himself
that, after tonight, he would never break into a house again.
    Low-hanging branches
swiped at his face and errant spiderwebs stuck to his skin as he pushed himself
up the incline through a tangle of undergrowth.  His simple running shoes
weren’t up to the task; he stumbled on the rocky, uneven ground under his feet
and a searing pain shot up his ankle just as his goal came into view: a small,
moss-covered house that, in the growing darkness, nearly disappeared into the
trees surrounding it. 
    He stumbled to a halt
to catch his breath as his calves burned in protest; the sight of the cabin
made him falter.  Methodically he wiped damp hands on his jeans, brushed stray
pine needles and leaves from his hair as chided himself for wearing a white
shirt tonight of all nights.  Some criminal you are. 
    But Shea wouldn’t turn
back after coming this far, not even if he felt embarrassingly awkward and
obvious in the dark quiet that lingered in this sparsely-populated stretch of
forest.  Stubbornly he set his jaw and studied the cabin silhouetted against
the evening sky with quiet, earnest blue eyes.  He couldn’t go back.  He wouldn’t go back.
    He had a promise to
keep, after all.
    Still, a strange
melancholy took him at the sight of the place. What had happened here?  At
twelve, the cabin might as well have been a castle for all the magical
enchantment it promised. Shea could remember every childhood vacation he’d
spent here: hours whiled away picking wild strawberries and crawling through
the underbrush to chase squirrels, desperate and ill-fated attempts to climb
the stubbornly tall tree whose branches swooped down over the roof.  Now, however,
he thought as he cautiously approached, memory lied; he couldn’t mistake the
signs of age and neglect that contradicted his happy childhood memories. The
rough-hewn wood of the porch groaned as he set foot on it and the roof of the
cabin sagged dangerously in places, heavy with damp.  Every window boasted
spiderweb cracks that distorted the clouded glass.  Still, even through his
heavy sense of melancholy Shea felt a profound sense of relief: breaking into
an obviously unoccupied house, he reasoned, wasn’t as bad as all that.
    Hurriedly, his ankle
throbbing in time with his heart, the slim young man assessed the entrance.  He
didn’t want to break the windows unnecessarily, though he suspected he wouldn’t
have much trouble with them as cracked as they were.  Broken glass , he
thought absently.  I’ll get cut, maybe.  And I’d definitely need a tetanus
shot, after that.  Instead, he tentatively pressed his shoulder against the
door and gave a good shove.  Nothing.  He cursed quietly to himself, flushed
with effort, and tried again. 
    The door, to his
surprise, popped open with the second blow.  His own momentum carried him through
the entrance and inside a few staggering steps, and his ankle ached sharply in
protest. Shea stumbled and then caught himself before he fell. Inside, the
heavy scent of must and pine greeted him, and the breeze that entered through
the broken windows stirred the warm heaviness of the humid air.  The sudden
quiet that enveloped him hurt his ears.
    “I made it,” he
breathed aloud into the unnatural stillness, and then gratefully leaned against
the nearest wall as adrenaline abandoned him.  His shoulder bumped the nearby
light switch and to his surprise, the kitchen light flickered in response before
it steadied to cast a sickly yellow glow over dull, buckled linoleum and
peeling countertops.  He hadn’t expected the electricity to still be on, though
he knew the utility costs for the property were quite low; surprised, he
glanced around at the kitchen.  The old and obviously broken refrigerator stood
ajar in the corner, leaking water onto floor stained with mold, and the old
table leaned, hobbled on one leg, to the side with only two chairs as
companions. 
    Dad, Shea thought with
a wistful