"Need to get outta here," he grumbles lowly in my ear, echoing my exact thoughts as he tugs my arm in the direction of the exit.

Without saying goodbye or telling anyone where we're going, we find our escape through the oversized wooden door, both of us sucking in deep breaths of the crisp, fresh air once we’re outside.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask timidly, feeling as if anything I say or do will cause him to retreat again.

"You got smoke in your room? I just want to be numb and forget everything. I'm not sure if Mom's staying here tonight," he tips his head toward the cabin he and Mary have stayed in the last couple of nights, "or at Luke's."

Nodding, I squeeze his hand supportively, pleased to have some sort of communication going with him. "Yeah, I’ve always got smoke. Come on."

Neither of us says another word as our boots eat up the frozen ground between the lodge and my house, nor do we speak when we strip out of our cold clothes behind my locked bedroom door, leaving me in my bra and panties and Crew in his boxers. Seeking something to mask the deafening silence, I connect my iPod to the speakers on my desk and choose full random shuffle before climbing onto my bed. I grab my cigarette case and lighter from inside the top drawer of my nightstand, then lean back against the headboard and exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“What’s that?” he asks as he joins me atop the mattress, staring curiously at the decorative, stainless steel, rectangular case resting on my leg. “And what kind of flower is that on it?”

My gaze follows his down to one of my most treasured possessions, and I can’t help but smile a little bit when looking at it. “This is a cigarette case. It was my grandfather’s…one of the few personal belongings they sent home to Grams after he was killed in Vietnam,” I explain as I pick it up and open it for him, revealing the assortment of pre-rolled joints. “The flower is a sweet pea. It was his nickname for her when they were young, and it was a little keepsake he always took with him when he traveled overseas. She gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, along with his zippo.” Pausing in the story, I lift up the lighter adorned with a voluptuous 1950’s pinup girl. “And according to Grams, she used to look just like this.” I chuckle softly.

“Wow, that’s cool as shit. Grams seems like she used to be a pretty badass lady,” he remarks while taking the lighter from my hands and examining it. There’s a genuine quality to his tone that relaxes some of the tension from my shoulders.

“Used to be?” I scoff teasingly. “You better not let her hear you say that.”

He laughs but doesn’t add anything else, so I use the lull in conversation to pull out one of the doobies and light it up. Then, as if someone cued up the music perfectly, the opening chords for The Weeknd’s High For This fill the room, the seductive notes swirling around the hazy smoke and serenading my ears. Perfect fucking song.

We sit shoulder-to-shoulder, our backs propped up with a multitude of pillows, and stare at the ceiling while smoking, both lost in our own thoughts. The joint gradually disappears between our fingers, and after I drop the smoldering roach into the ashtray, I’m anxious about what comes next. I want more than anything to reach out and touch him, to kiss him, to reassure him that I’m here for whatever he needs, but I’m hesitant he’ll deny me any of that. And on top of the hurt I’m already feeling over losing Caleb, I’m not sure how much rejection I can take right now.

“Hudson,” he whispers, the agony evident in his voice, “I need to lose myself in your body tonight…just raw physical distraction. It’s the only way I think I can stop my brain from these never-ending nightmares.” Taking my hand in his, he lifts it to his mouth and kisses my palm, my insides melting at his touch. “You’re the only thing that can save me from me right now.”

Rocking up to my knees, I crawl onto his lap and straddle his hips, my eyes locking directly onto his. I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, freeing my breasts as I toss aside the silky fabric.

“Take what you need. I’m all yours.”

Rolling out of bed the next morning, I wince at the soreness between my legs. My poor vagina must think we’re training for the sex Olympics or something, and I’m pretty sure my pelvic bone is bruised. I know my nipples are.

When I told Crew to take what he needed, he didn’t waste a single second in flipping me over, face-down on the sheets, and plunging deep inside my core. Unlike our previous times together, there weren’t a lot of kisses or sweet, heartfelt moments, with the only exception of him mumbling something about his snow angel before I passed out on his chest from sheer exhaustion.

No, it was pure fucking, plain and simple. But if that’s what makes him feel better, or not feel at all, I’m happy to help. And I’ll do it again for as long as he needs me. That’s what you do for someone you lo—care a lot about.

Knowing he hasn’t slept much in the last few days, and the fact the sun hasn’t even made an appearance yet, I leave him asleep in my bed while I throw on some sweatpants and a hoodie for my morning responsibilities. Grams is coming out of the bathroom as I make my way down the hall, and the understanding smile she offers after glancing back and forth between my closed bedroom door and me—in which I’m sure I look stellar after last night’s activities—says everything.

She knows.

God, I hope she, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t heard us. I’d turned the music up and tried to be quiet, and I know they probably assumed what was going on, but still…I’d be mortified if they listened.

Shaking her head, she pats my shoulder, silently assuring me everything is okay, then shuffles her feet back to her room. In the bathroom, I go through my regular routine of brushing my teeth, putting my hair up, and washing my face on autopilot, my mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Crew, Mary, my family, and where we all go from here.

The marijuana greenhouse is a much-needed escape from my overactive brain, allowing me an hour reprieve to focus on work that needs to be done. Watering and fertilizing, light adjusting and pruning, drying and curing, the steps have become second nature to me, and the meticulous, methodical nature of growing weed brings me almost as much enjoyment as smoking it does.

Once I’ve finished logging in my progress on all of my established plants, I move to the back corner of the grow room to examine my latest special project…a project I began working on a few weeks ago. A few tears trickle down my face as I take measurements and thoroughly inspect the leaves, sadness overwhelming me when I realize the person who inspired this endeavor will never be able to take advantage of it. The plant is a hybrid created by crossing two of my other favorite strains, specifically designed for people who suffer from migraines, nausea, and seizures. More specifically, people with epilepsy.

Breakfast drags on for what seems like forever. All I can think of is getting back to my room to make sure Crew is doing all right. I’m in the middle of cooking my last omelet before I shut the lodge kitchen down, when I’m interrupted by a knock on the wall. Turning around, I’m half expecting to see Crew himself, but instead, I find Mary leaning in the doorway, her eyes looking even more tired than they did yesterday.

“Hey, Mary.” I fake a smile, my voice overly chirpy. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

She pats her belly with an equally forced grin. “You know I don’t miss one of your breakfasts, Hudson,” she replies sincerely as she crosses the linoleum floor toward me. “It’s my son I’m worried about not eating. I’m not sure he’s had a proper meal or bout of sleep since everything happened.”