Chapter 25 #2
I think of the past week. After losing my supplies in the flood, my entire skincare routine comprised whatever I could beg, borrow, or steal—lip balm when someone had it, and Finn's questionable hand lotion when my knuckles cracked from the cold. And yet … my skin hadn’t imploded.
It had survived the wind, the sun, the dirt, and the stress.
Checking my reflection in the mirror now, after the elaborate routine, do I look dramatically different from the way I did this morning?
Perhaps less tired, marginally more ‘glowy,’ but was it worth the hundreds, the thousands, sitting here?
Worth the hours? My God, how much had I poured into this chase for flawless perfection?
This serum alone cost more than a month’s groceries.
Was it truly for ‘skin health,’ or was it fuel for the Hollywood machine, a desperate attempt to stay eternally camera-ready, always younger, smoother?
The simplicity of the wilderness—using what was necessary, letting the rest go—feels more appealing than this bag full of expensive promises. The face in the mirror resembles Lena more, yes, but the thought leaves a bitter taste.
Feeling restless, displaced, I wander into the bedroom, towel-drying my hair.
My eyes land on the bedside table. My cell phone lies there, plugged into the wall where I left it over a week ago.
Picking it up, I see the screen light up—two bars of service, flickering now that I’m back near the main lodge.
And messages. A cascade of missed texts and voicemail notifications that must have trickled in whenever the signal momentarily connected.
Most are junk or updates from friends I haven’t had the headspace to think about.
However, one notification stands out, marked as urgent, and time stamped several days ago.
It’s a text from David. Lena, urgent. Call me ASAP. Big news.
David. My agent. Big news usually means one thing: a role. A project. A lifeline thrown from the world I thought I might be ready to leave behind. My stomach clenches. The timing lands like a cruel joke, arriving moments after I started questioning the very world this call represents.
I peer out the cabin window. Across the clearing, near the main lodge, I spot Finn and Nash by the Polaris.
Nash claps his brother on the shoulder, says something that makes Finn shake his head, then they both turn and go inside.
He didn’t come over. Didn’t ask how I was after the hike.
Retreated into his world, his pain, his pride.
The ache in my chest isn't sharp—it's the slow, hollow kind.
I look down at the glowing screen in my hand, David’s message demanding attention. Hollywood is calling. Opportunity, fame, the life I fought for—it’s all waiting for me.
But first ... the compass. I get dressed and slip it into my pocket, where it sits heavy—a tangible link to Finn, to the trust he placed in me, however briefly. I need to return it. Close the loop. It’s the right thing to do, a necessary ending to a story he already walked away from.
Steeling myself, I grab my phone and head for the lodge. Afterward, I'll go to the east deck—the one place I know gets a strong enough signal—and make the call that might pull me back to my old life for good.
I reach the wide porch of the main lodge.
The door is closed. Taking a deep breath, I raise my hand to knock, the compass cool against my palm.
Before my knuckles connect with the wood, I hear Finn’s voice from inside, low and strained, talking to Nash.
Curiosity, stronger than my resolve to keep my distance, prompts me to pause and listen.
“...don’t know, Nash,” Finn is saying, his voice tight with frustration I recognize. “The bank ... and this whole production. If I don't complete the full contract, if I don't get that final payment...”
My heart sinks. He’s still worried about the money, about the lodge. I should knock. Interrupt. Give him back the compass and walk away. But then Nash speaks, his voice carrying through the door.
“Forget the money for a second, Finn. What about her? Are you gonna let her walk away after everything?”
A long pause. Then Finn’s voice, rougher now, laced with something that sounds like regret.
“What choice do I have? She’s Hollywood.
I’m ... this.” The words, muffled through the door, land like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
No, Finn, you’re wrong. That’s not … that’s not all I am.
Not anymore. But he believes it. Believes we’re too different, that I’ll inevitably leave, that what happened between us—what felt so intensely, terrifyingly real to me—was circumstantial for him.
A wilderness fling. Is that all it was? Is that all I am to him?
Perhaps he’s right. Falling for someone this quickly, under these circumstances, is reckless.
The stuff of fairytales, or the movies I star in.
Who does that work out for in real life?
The hurt from our argument hits again, sharp and raw. It twists in my gut, settles into something cold and cynical. Returning the compass can wait. So can clearing the air. He’s made up his mind. It may be time for me to make up mine.
Clutching the compass tight in my hand, I turn away from the lodge door. David’s message burns in my pocket. The east deck has the best reception. Okay, David. Let’s hear your big news .
I walk around the side of the lodge, finding the wide wooden deck that overlooks the creek and the mountains beyond.
The signal bars on my phone jump from three to four.
Solid. Taking another deep breath, steeling myself against the emotions warring inside, I dial David’s number. It rings once, twice...
“Lena! Finally! Thank God, I was thinking a bear actually ate you. Listen, you are not going to believe this...”
The sun dips lower, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges.