Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Gabby
“I’m sure they’ll wait for you,” Fred says as he drives me to the raft launch site, completely unfazed by my tardiness. “Winnie told them you were coming.”
I tried to be on time. I really did. But between the time change and the very comfortable lodge room bed, I struggled to get going this morning.
Had I not been stupid excited for this rafting trip, I might’ve stayed in that cloud-like queen-sized bed all day instead.
Sleeping accommodations like this will be few and far between once I start my new job.
But staying in bed today was not an option.
Last night, Erin made it very clear that she was on this trip with the book boyfriends in her Kindle and did not want to be disturbed.
She was also very insistent that the rest of us not getting out and exploring the town so she could live vicariously through our stories would be taken as a personal offense.
“I’m not that late, right?” I ask, stuffing a chunk of donut into my mouth.
I damn near moan at how delicious it is.
Why did I ever think it was a good idea to give up sugar?
These donuts from the local bakery are to die for.
I make a mental note to visit this place everyone keeps talking about so I can stock up.
“Winnie made sure they knew you were coming,” Fred reassures me.
There’s that twinkle again, but I don’t call it out. He’d probably be embarrassed if I told him I caught him flirting with Winnie at the front desk this morning. It’s so fucking sweet I can hardly stand it.
I hope when I’m their age that I find someone who’ll look at me the way Fred looks at Winnie.
Hell, I hope for that at any age.
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest at the memory of the one boy who did look at me that way. But young, stupid Gabby realized it too late. Said boy joined the Army and became a man.
Or so I assume, because Tucker Black has never been on social media where I could stalk him properly.
“It’s too bad it’s cloudy today,” Fred says, nodding toward the view in front of us.
“I don’t mind,” I admit.
White, cotton-like wisps paint the mountain landscape. They look as puffy and comfortable as my bed. The oranges, yellows, and reds pop a little brighter against the bright white contrast. It’s breathtaking.
“Cinnamon Creek is a beautiful place,” he continues.
“It is,” I agree, eyes glued to my window now. After months of feeling restless in Nebraska post a bad breakup, I finally feel as though my life is starting to fall back into place. I was never meant to stay in one place long. I’ve never really belonged anywhere. I was meant to roam and explore.
Once upon a time, my best friend Tucker was going to roam with me.
Until he enlisted in the military without any warning and left me behind without so much as backward glance.
“You said you’ve gone rafting before?” Fred asks as he winds through the mountains, slowing for each drastic curve. Part of me wants to bump him out of the driver’s seat so I can step on the gas. Another part of me never wants this beautiful drive to end.
“I’ve gone a lot, actually,” I admit.
“Oh?”
“It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been on a river like this,” I continue.
“Not many rapids in Nebraska.” I leave out the part about the shitty ex not liking me doing the rafting tours, so I stopped for a while.
That detail is no longer important, considering I’ve erased him from my mind, and therefore, erased his existence.
“I suppose not.”
“I’m actually headed to California after this,” I tell Fred, because I’ve been dying to tell someone since I found out I got the job.
The announcement I planned to share with the group on the beaches of Cancun while we toasted margaritas never happened.
It seemed wrong to proclaim my good news when Erin’s life just turned upside down.
Wrong to tell her that I’ll be abandoning her during the aftermath sure to follow her calling off her wedding.
But if I want the position, I have to be there next week.
“What’s in California?” Fred asks.
“A job. I’m going to be a rafting guide on the Kern River.”
“You can raft year-round there?”
“It’s one of the few places in the country you can.” I know because I researched this extensively when I made the decision that I was not going to spend a second winter in Omaha. My bones are chilly just thinking about that brutal Midwest wind.
“Is that what you want to do?” Fred asks. “Be a rafting guide?”
“Yeah, I think it is. At least for a while. It’s a great opportunity to travel. I applied to be a guide for a company that runs tours in the Grand Canyon. But that wouldn’t start until next spring, so I don’t know if I’m in yet. But California seems as good a place as any for now.”
“If Montana manages to steal your heart this weekend, which I think it will, just know they’re always in need of more rafting guides right here in Cinnamon Creek.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, making a mental note to chat with someone who runs this tour before the weekend is over.
Never a bad idea to have a backup plan in case I don’t get the Grand Canyon job next summer.
It’s highly competitive, and I’m lacking in experience since I took a sabbatical for a couple of years.
I may or may not get that one on my first try.
And while California sounds nice, I don’t see myself settling there.
I’ve never seen myself settling anywhere, to be honest.
“I’ll see you later this afternoon at the other end of the river,” Fred says, pulling into a gravel lot and parking.
“Fred, you’re all right.” I offer him a smile as I grab my things and hop out of the van. I barely turn around to face the empty lot before he’s driving away.
Fred wasn’t kidding. They must be short-staffed if there’s no one in the lot to greet me. I’d be offended if I didn’t personally understand what a pain in the ass it is to be understaffed on a tour.
A pile of bright orange kayaks stacked near a trailhead reassures me I haven’t been dumped into the wilderness—the irony is not lost on me. But in my defense, I didn’t do anything as diabolic as cheat on my future spouse with her stepsister.
I follow the narrow dirt-packed trail downhill, toward the glorious sound of rushing water.
My entire body calms, all murderous thoughts fleeing.
I stop on the trail, awestruck by the sheer beauty of the mountains.
I whip out my phone to take a few pictures.
Per the bridal party code, no one is allowed to post anything this weekend.
And because I don’t want to tip off Gwen—who is hopefully stranded in Cancun with no one to buy her a first-class ticket home—I’m happy to abide by those rules.
“You the straggler?” a voice calls to me, the hint of irritation in the low baritone somehow familiar.
“I’m not that late—”
My entire body stills when the man rounds the corner on the trail below, revealing himself.
A very, very sexy bearded man.
My favorite!
Is that…
Fuck me.
It’s Tucker Black.
And Tucker Black is all grown up.
He was a heartbreaker back in his bad boy era during high school, but now? Now he’s fucking lethal. All muscles, tanned skin, scruffy beard, and tattoos.
“Gabriella?”
It’s the way he says my name, like it’s a curse, that snaps me back to reality.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Me?” he asks on a chuckle. As though there is anything funny about this situation.
It’s been more than a decade since I watched Tucker drive away from our hometown, never to be seen or heard from again.
It’s only because of Erin that I knew he wasn’t dead.
He went from being my best friend to being a fucking ghost.
“Yeah, you.” I post my hands on my hips, debating whether to call Fred to get me the hell out of here.
“I work here. What about you?”
“I’m…visiting.”
“I heard about Erin,” he says, his tone filled with the compassion I remember all so well.
Damn the man for being so…good. Damn me for taking him for granted all those years ago.
For putting him in the friendzone when he never belonged there.
Damn him for leaving me without any warning that I’d never see him again.
Well, until now. But this doesn’t exactly feel planned.
“Want to hop a flight to Vegas and help me dump a body?” I ask, hoping to ease the tension coiling in my chest.
“Maybe another time,” he says, nodding toward the river, his tone serious once again. “C’mon. You’re late.” Before I can rebuttal, he adds in a loud mutter he definitely intends me to hear, “Not that anyone’s surprised.”
He flashes me a quick, fleeting smirk before turning and heading back down the trail.
I check my phone, tempted to call Fred back.
No signal.
“Guess we’re doing this,” I mumble, trailing after my former best friend.
It’s anyone’s guessing which one of us will end up tossed in the river before this rafting trip is over.