The look on Ethan’s face tells me everything. He thinks that branch was cut, and he thinks we’re in danger.

I’m afraid as we ride back to the house. I don’t know what he’s keeping from me, but he thinks his past is back to haunt him. Maybe it’s the people that gave him money to start his business, whoever they are. Clearly they’re some bad guys, or else he wouldn’t be so worried about this.

That was so long ago, though. I don’t understand how or why someone would still be after him at this point. I know it connects with the explosion in his mill, the one that took the lives of seven men, but I just can’t put it all together.

We speed back to his house, faster than when we came out since we’re going downhill. He parks the snowmobile in the garage and I help him unload everything.

When we finish, I notice something strange. “I don’t hear Jones,” I say.

He pauses. “You’re right. He should be barking.”

A chill runs down my spine. He hurries inside, not bothering to knock off his boots. I follow him, and watch as he hurries into the laundry room to grab the gun he has propped up next to the dryer.

My blood runs cold as he hurries back into the house. I follow him, nervous and afraid, but I can’t be alone. We move into the kitchen, and I stop to stare.

All of the cupboards are open.

“Stay here,” he says.

“No way,” I answer. “I’m staying with you.”

He watches me a second, and then nods. “Stay close. Scream if you see anything.”

We head up the stairs together. Each room is just like the kitchen: doors are open, drawers are pulled out. Things are scattered on the ground. He checks each room, one after the other. My heart’s pounding so fast I can barely breathe.

Finally, we get upstairs. The door to the movie room is shut. I’m so afraid of what we’ll find, but he doesn’t hesitate. He throws it open, gun leveled.

Jones barks and comes bounding out.

“Good boy,” Ethan says. I breathe a sigh of relief. I partially expected to find Jones hurt or maybe even dead, which would destroy Ethan.

We finish going through the house. Each room looks like someone tore through it, looking for something, but there’s nobody in the house. We check through it twice, being as thorough as possible. Jones runs around, sniffing and wagging his tail, but he doesn’t bark or act strange.

Finally, we end up back down in the living room. Ethan goes over to a panel on the wall and types in some numbers, and the panel beeps.

“Alarm system,” he says, putting his gun down. “I never use it. I mean, why would I?” He shakes his head and goes into the kitchen. He shuts the cupboards and pours himself a drink.

I sit down by the island, still shaking. My nerves are totally shot and I’m watching him, suddenly afraid that everything he said is true. Maybe he is too dangerous.

He looks back at me and we stare at each other in silence. Jones prances around at my feet until I pet him softly.

“They were friends of my father,” he says finally, softly at first. “Communists, from back in the day. At least they used to be Communists. My father was big into that when he was younger.”

“Russians?” I ask.

He nods. “Russians. They’re not Communists anymore, far from it. They’re what people call ‘Oligarchs,’ rich guys in the oil business. They approached me, offered me a lot of money for my business, and I stupidly accepted it.

“I couldn’t have known back then what that meant. I started the business, and it did really well, probably because the Russians were supporting me quietly. I started paying them back, but they kept wanting more and more. I paid back the original loan plus interest, but they weren’t done with me.

“I was stupid, so fucking naïve. They started drilling on my land, illegally siphoning off the oil and selling it offshore. They used my shipping infrastructure to help. I let them, because they threatened to destroy me and hurt my people if I didn’t do what they said.

“But slowly, I started to cut them off. I moved my business away from just logging and into new mills. I started to log less and less, which provided them less cover for their illegal drilling. Their money started drying up, and I stopped sending them bribes. They were angry, but I was done with them. Done with the whole fucking thing.”

He stares at me as I listen. I can suddenly feel the weight of this truth, crashing down around me. All these years he’s been blackmailed by Russian thugs, threatened and pushed into helping them run a black-market oil drilling business under the cover of logging. Clearly it benefitted him too, since he’s rich as hell now, but it also took its toll.

I can see that now. He’s not the kind of man to roll over and let others use him. It probably killed him every single day, letting it go on, and eventually he snapped. He had to stop it.

“The bomb they sent was meant for me,” he says, almost a whisper. “I don’t know why my guys didn’t bring the package up right away. I guess since it looked shady, they were checking it out. And I guess whoever sent it decided it was time to set it off.”

I gape at him, shocked. “That’s… that’s how those men died?”

He nods. “A bomb meant to kill me. It killed seven men instead, and I still hear them. I was there that day, in the building, in my office. I ran down and tried to help but… the place was a mess. Fucking wreckage everywhere.”

“How does nobody know?” I ask softly.

“Russians,” he says, spitting the word. “They covered it up. Bribed people like crazy. After that, I went away, drank myself stupid for nearly a year until I came up here.” He meets my gaze, his eyes full of anguish. “Now you see. This is my prison, Mia, because I’m a killer.”

“No,” I say. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. I couldn’t get rid of them sooner, and because of my weakness, seven men are now dead. That’s my fault, Mia.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t think he’s a killer, not at all, but this burden must be eating him up inside. I can’t imagine living with this, and yet here he is, still living.

I stand up and walk toward him. He lets me wrap my arms around him and hug him tight.

This is why he thinks he’s dangerous. He’s afraid that someone will get close to him and get hurt. He’s living out here, in self-imposed exile, trying to pick up the pieces of his broken life.

I hug him tighter. He’s so much stronger than I could have imagined. Any other person would have been driven insane from this, but not him. He’s still going, even if he is punishing himself.

It wasn’t his fault. What could he have done? He was trying to get away from these people, and they’re the ones that sent a bomb. They’re the ones that killed his workers, not him.

I don’t know how he kept this to himself. I don’t fully understand the story, or who these people are, but I know that it’s been killing him. I just hope that by saying some of it out loud, maybe the healing can begin.