Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
FINN
The storm passed during the night, leaving behind a landscape scrubbed raw by rainfall.
Beside me, Lena sleeps, her slumber peaceful and deep.
Last night's kiss hangs in my mind. Not part of the plan.
Not professional. But I can't bring myself to regret it.
I ease away, not wanting to wake her. The flood cost us valuable time.
If we're going to reach Painted Peaks according to Elliott's precious schedule, we need to push hard today.
Outside the tent, frost coats the ground.
The temperature has dropped sharply after the rain.
I check the sky—boundless blue, which means good hiking but cold conditions until the sun rises higher.
My first thought is getting everyone warm and fed.
Elliott's, no doubt, is how to spin last night's storm into more 'drama.
' Better get water boiling for coffee before waking everyone.
By the time I've got the camp stove running, Elliott emerges from his tent, clipboard in hand. “Morning,” he says, sounding surprisingly cheerful for a man who slept on the ground. “Weather's perfect for filming. How far to Painted Peaks from here? ”
“We’ve still got a solid two days. If we push, we can make the lower basin by nightfall,” I say, measuring out coffee grounds. “But it’s all uphill from here. Rough terrain.”
“Excellent,” he says, making notes. “The struggle will play well on camera. Is there a suitable camping spot at this lower basin?” Called it , I think as I pour the coffee.
“There's a protected clearing with a small spring nearby. Good visibility of the peaks, which I assume is what you want for your shots.”
Elliott nods, pleased. “Perfect. Let's get everyone moving.”
The others emerge, Carlos checking his equipment for moisture damage, the second cameraman comparing notes on light conditions. Dave comes out last, moving slowly. The bee stings from earlier should have improved by now, but he looks worse—face pale, movements stiff.
“You alright?” I ask him.
“Just tired,” he says, but there's a wheeze in his voice that concerns me.
I hand him a mug of coffee. “Drink this. I'll check those stings after breakfast.”
Lena appears as I'm distributing the remaining protein bars from my personal stash—the extra rations I carry despite my family's teasing.
Nash especially gives me grief about the “unnecessary weight” whenever we hike together.
“You're carrying rocks in that pack,” he always says.
But situations like this prove me right.
You never know when you'll need the extra supplies.
“Morning,” she says, accepting the coffee I offer. Our fingers brush—a brief touch that sends a spark right through me, something it has no business doing.
“Sleep well?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral for the benefit of the others.
A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth. “Better than expected. ”
Breakfast is quick. Everyone focuses on the day ahead. I check Dave's bee stings. The affected areas are hot to the touch, red streaks spreading from the original welts. Not good.
“These are infected,” I tell him, my voice low. “And I'm worried about your respiration. Any tightness in your chest?”
He gives a reluctant nod. “Since last night. Figured it was the cold air.”
I've encountered this before—delayed allergic reactions that develop into secondary infections. Out here, without proper medical supplies, it could turn dangerous fast. “You need antibiotics,” I say. “And possibly steroids for the reaction.”
“What do we do?” Dave asks, worry creasing his brow.
I weigh our options. Damn it. This is on me.
I should have checked that backup kit more thoroughly after the flood.
Can't send him alone. Can't risk the entire group turning back and losing the contract money either.
But his breathing… The nearest medical help is May, back in Port Promise.
At least a day's hike down, probably more given Dave's condition.
But if he gets worse, he'll need a hospital in Craig.
Sending him alone would be irresponsible, and splitting the group means fewer people to continue the journey.
“Let me think,” I tell him. “Try to stay calm and breathe slowly. We'll figure out next steps.”
We break camp. This expedition has at least taught everyone to move fast when they have to.
I take Elliott aside as the others pack. “Dave needs medical attention,” I tell him. “Those bee stings have developed into something more serious.”
Elliott directs his attention to Dave, who's struggling to roll his sleeping bag despite Carlos's help. “How serious are we talking?”
“Serious enough that I don't want him climbing higher. His lungs are compromised. The altitude will make it worse. ”
Elliott rubs his face, and I can almost see the calculations clicking behind his eyes. “What are our options?”
I glance up the ridge, then back toward the narrow switchbacks we climbed yesterday—loose shale, tree cover, nowhere near enough space for a chopper.
“We’re too high and too exposed for a safe landing.
Closest flat terrain is back down.” I pause, then lay it out.
“I take him down to a clearing big enough for a helicopter pickup. The rest of you keep going to Painted Peaks with the directions I’ll give you. ”
“Split the group?” Elliott looks skeptical. “Is that safe?”
“Safer than letting his condition deteriorate at a higher altitude. He needs medical attention, and I'll take the satellite phone if there's an emergency.”
Elliott considers this, then nods with reluctance. “Alright. But what about the footage? The whole point of this expedition was to document Lena's wilderness journey with you as the guide.”
“Carlos is an experienced cameraman. He can handle both his regular shots and cover what Dave would have filmed.
The trail to the basin is well-marked on the maps.
Lena's proven she can handle herself better than anyone expected.” I pause, considering my next words.
“Plus, staying with the group would mean delaying medical help for Dave by days.”
Elliott weighs his priorities, the man's health winning out over production concerns. “Fine. We'll split up. But I need something for the narrative—some moment between you and Lena that bridges this separation.”
Of course he does. Everything's about the story with Elliott, even medical emergencies.
“I'll talk to her,” I concede, if only to get him moving.
Once the decision is made, things move. I pull out my maps, marking the route to the lower basin with precise directions for Elliott.
“Follow the ridge line,” I explain. “When you reach this rock formation that resembles a thumb, descend to your right.
The lower basin opens up below—can't miss it. Good water source, protected camping area. I can probably get Dave to safety and rejoin you there in two days.”
Elliott examines the map. “And if you don't make it back by then?”
“Continue to the high basin. The trail's straightforward—follow the valley up. Painted Peaks is a day’s hike from there. We'll catch up or meet you on the return journey.”
I gather the group to explain the plan. Dave looks simultaneously relieved and guilty, while the others shift at the thought of continuing without me.
“I'll guide them,” Lena says, her voice clear.
Everyone turns to regard her. “I've been paying attention to the maps,” she adds.
“And I've got a good sense of the terrain now. Between me and Elliott, we can manage.” Her, guide them?
A week ago, the idea would've been laughable.
Now … hell, she's probably right. She's got a calmness about her, a focus that wasn't there before.
And she actually has been studying those maps.
Elliott brightens at this fortuitous plot twist. “Perfect! The student becomes the teacher. We'll get great footage of Lena using her newfound skills.”
I can't help but be proud, watching her step up with quiet confidence. This isn't the woman who arrived in designer heels, afraid of the outdoors. This is someone discovering her capability, day by day.
“Can we talk?” I ask her as the others finish packing. “Alone.”
We walk a short distance from camp, far enough for privacy but still within sight of the group. Morning sunlight catches in her hair, turning the edges gold. It strikes me again how different she looks out here—stronger, more present, more real.
“You don't have to take on the guide role,” I tell her. “Elliott's responsible for everyone's safety.”
“I know.” Her eyes find mine. “But I want to. I can do this, Finn.”
“I know you can.” And I do. That's what surprises me most—the certainty that she'll get them there.
“Stick to the maps, keep to daylight travel, and monitor the weather. I'll keep the satellite phone since Dave might need emergency evacuation.”
She nods, taking it all in. “How bad is Dave?”
“Infected bee stings, possible delayed allergic reaction. Nothing life-threatening yet, but it could head that way if untreated.”
“Then you're making the right call.” She hesitates, then adds, “About last night?—”
“We don't have to talk about it,” I interrupt, unsure what to say. Last night was simple in the darkness, two people connecting. In daylight, with reality reasserting itself, everything's more complicated.
“I want to,” she insists. “I need you to know that wasn't ... I wasn't playing a part. That was real.”
The admission catches me off guard. I'm used to guarding myself, keeping distance. But standing here with her, the morning light on her face—stripped of Hollywood makeup but somehow more beautiful for it—I find myself unwilling to maintain those barriers.
“It was real for me too,” I tell her.
Elliott's voice carries across the clearing. “We should get moving if we want to reach the basin by nightfall!”
Time's running out. I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small brass compass I've carried since my mother died. The case is worn smooth from years of handling. The face is yellowed but still accurate .
“Take this,” I say, pressing the heirloom into her hand. “It was my mother's. Hasn't failed me yet.”
She looks at the compass, then back at me. “I can't take this. It's too important.”
“Which is why I want you to have it.” I close her fingers around it.
Handing it over feels like letting go of a part of myself, a part of Mom.
But looking at her, at the steady resolve in her eyes, it feels right.
Like it's found its next keeper. “It'll guide you to the basin where I'll meet you in two days.”
She tucks the small instrument into her pocket, understanding its significance without the need for explanation. “I'll return it personally,” she promises.
Elliott is watching us with poorly concealed excitement, anticipating usable footage. Time to give him what he wants—but on our terms. I pull Lena close, not caring who is watching. Our kiss is brief, shorter than last night, but intensely felt—a promise of something more, not a goodbye.
When we separate, her eyes remain closed for a moment. Then she straightens, squares her shoulders, and nods. “Two days,” she says. “We'll be at the basin.”
“I'll be there,” I promise.
The goodbyes are quick after that. Dave's condition makes delays unwise, and Elliott's eager to continue filming. I watch them depart, following the ridge line as I instructed. Lena walks with new confidence, occasionally checking the brass compass in her palm. She doesn't turn back.
“Just us now,” I tell Dave once the others are out of sight. “Let's get you down to where a helicopter can land.”
The journey back is slower than I'd like. Dave's condition worsens throughout the morning, his chest heaving with each labored breath as we descend. By midday, I'm taking most of his weight, his arm draped over my shoulders as we navigate the rugged terrain .
“Sorry about this,” he pants during a brief rest. “Feel like I'm ruining the whole production.”
“Your health matters more than TV,” I tell him. “Besides, they'll get to the basin just fine. Lena's got a good head on her shoulders.”
“She's changed,” Dave observes between careful breaths. “Since we started. It’s like she's becoming a different person out here.”
Or perhaps becoming herself , I think but don't say.
We make slow progress through the afternoon, stopping often for Dave to rest. I keep him talking, monitoring for any worsening symptoms. The clearing I'm aiming for is hours away, and I'm concerned about reaching it before nightfall. As we walk, my mind drifts to Lena—her confidence as she stepped up to guide the others, the warmth in her eyes when she accepted my mother’s compass, the feel of her lips against mine.
Not supposed to happen. Makes everything messy.
But watching her take charge, remembering the way she felt in my arms …
I find myself planning. For her. For us.
Would upgrading that ancient kitchen at the lodge actually kill me?
Lena might actually enjoy cooking in a space that wasn't built before the last ice age.
Installing a proper internet connection?
Definitely. Getting one of those fancy coffee machines that steams milk for the lattes she probably misses?
Small price to pay. Small changes that might bridge our different worlds without sacrificing what matters about Crystal Creek.
I catch myself mid-thought. One kiss and I'm thinking about renovations. But the idea doesn't feel forced. It makes sense, wanting to build something new without erasing what matters. Perhaps Crystal Creek's overdue for a little change—same as the guy who runs it.
As darkness settles around us, I find myself looking in the direction of Painted Peaks. They're out there somewhere, making camp at a higher elevation. Following Lena's lead. I'll get Dave to May in Port Promise tomorrow—hopefully she can treat the infection and get his breathing back to normal.
I touch my pocket where the compass usually rests and find it empty.
The absence is strange after years of carrying it close.
But I know it's where it needs to be—guiding her while I can't. I've given her my most treasured possession, not as a tool but as a promise.
A connection between us, spanning the mountain range that temporarily divides us.
The real revelation of this wilderness journey isn't the TV show or the stunning landscapes.
It's finding someone worth changing for. Worth fighting for. Worth waiting for.