Chapter 3 Thorn
It’s always something.
Just once before an expedition, I’d love for it to go as planned. If it’s not bad weather, it’s a wildfire. If it’s not a wildfire, it’s one of our trekkers forgetting something important—medication, sunscreen, hiking boots, underwear. The list goes on.
Today’s interruption to the schedule is a new one, even for me.
“I’m sorry, she what?” I ask Danica, my boss, who’s usually pretty good about letting me take care of any last-minute issues on my own.
Usually, the last-minute issues don’t involve me being left without a coleader an hour before we’re supposed to head out.
“Jess is still stuck in Hawaii,” Danica repeats. “She had a delayed reaction to a jellyfish sting and missed her rescheduled flight.”
I curse under my breath. “I told her it wasn’t a good idea to commit to a hike the day after vacation.”
At the time, all I was thinking of was the jet lag—not the possibility that she might still be far across the Pacific when we’re scheduled to head out.
“You know Jess,” Danica says.
I do know Jess. Stubborn and optimistic, gives her whole heart to whatever she tries, writes absolutely nothing down and usually gets away with it.
“So what now?” I ask. “Delay again until she gets a flight home?”
“Unfortunately, her entire right foot is swollen up past her ankle. I don’t think she’ll be ready to walk on it anytime soon, let alone do the hike.”
“I’m on my own, then?”
“Well…not exactly.”
Danica pauses for long enough that I actually start to worry. I’m not the worrying type—Jess and I are the same in that way, though I can’t say I relate to her chaotic approach to…well, everything.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“It’s not that we don’t trust you on your own, Thorn—if there’s anyone who could handle a group alone, it’s definitely you. You know the rules are there for a reason, though, right?”
Every hike must have a pair of certified coleaders, just in case, so that inexperienced trekkers won’t get stranded in the wilderness on their own.
It’s a good policy. Less pressure on me, and always good to have someone else around who knows what they’re doing.
That said: I’m wary of how Danica’s tiptoeing around whatever it is she’s reluctant to tell me.
“Who’s taking Jess’s place?” I ask since she’s still quiet on the other end.
“I’m sorry, Thorn—I tried everyone else first.”
I can practically hear her biting her tongue.
“Who?” I repeat.
Danica sighs. “Matteo.”
The silence between us is thick, even over the phone.
“I’m sorry,” she goes on. “I know it’s not the ideal dynamic.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
It comes out more like a growl than I mean it to.
The last person I’d choose to spend an afternoon with—let alone twelve nights in the wilderness, where an entire group is relying on us to have good teamwork—is Matteo Sabatelli.
After how he called me two years ago from Peru to tell me he’d felt the need for a change and had spontaneously moved there with my girlfriend, Blair, who had conveniently neglected to mention any plans about trading our eight-month-long relationship for a new one with Matteo in South America…
Yeah. It’s safe to say Matteo Sabatelli is the last person on the planet I want as my coleader. It’s hard to believe we were ever friends, let alone best friends. We haven’t spoken since that phone call.
“Everyone else is either committed to other treks, out of state on vacation, or sick,” Danica explains. “It was either bring in Matteo or cancel the whole thing.”
She doesn’t have to elaborate on why canceling wasn’t an option—people have flown in for this. It’s almost two weeks of their summer, not to mention one of the most expensive itineraries we offer. We can’t afford to give refunds to an entire group. We can’t afford to give refunds to anyone at all.
“And he’s okay with it?” I ask. “Coleading with me?”
It’s been long enough now that I’m over Blair. But Matteo and I—we were like brothers. His betrayal cut deep.
I didn’t even know he’d moved back to California.
“Matteo will keep it professional,” Danica replies. “I trust you’ll do the same.”
“Yeah, no, of course,” I say. “The trek comes first. I can do it.”
I don’t want to do it. Not with him.
But I can. I will.
“You’re sure he’s reliable, though?” I ask. “You trust him?”
I’m not the only person Matteo ditched when he took off for South America—he left Danica and the tour company in a bind, too.
I’ve had to pick up the slack ever since; it was a huge blow to the business to lose Matteo and Blair at the same time, and it’s been difficult to find competent and committed replacements who stick around longer than a few months.
“I spoke with Matteo’s boss from the tour group down in the Andes,” Danica replies. “He had nothing but good things to say and told me he was sorry to see him go.”
I sigh. It says a lot that Danica has decided to give him a second chance.
At the end of the day, being a responsible and reliable leader is all that really matters—and Matteo always fit that description before he took off like he did.
I’ll just have to put my personal feelings aside and hope for the best.
“Not my first choice,” I finally say. “But I’ll make it work.”
“Thanks for understanding, Thorn. I’ll mark off some extra paid vacation days for you after this one, okay? I know this situation isn’t ideal.”
I close my eyes, trying to ward off the headache that’s taken up residence in my skull.
Paid vacation days sound great on paper, but in reality?
There’s never really a great time for me to actually step away.
The last time I took off longer than a weekend was six months ago, when I spent the holidays with my dad out in San Francisco.
“Sounds good,” I tell her.
Good isn’t exactly the right word, but whatever.
“You still have Matteo’s number?” Danica asks.
“I deleted it a long time ago. Send it my way?”
“Done. Okay.”
“Okay.”
The dead air hangs between us.
Another beat passes, and then Danica says, “You’re the best, Thorn. And I’m so sorry for what he and Blair did to you—you didn’t deserve that.”
That means a lot coming from Danica; she’s been nothing but professional in the wake of what happened, even though she would have been justified to complain.
As soon as we’re off the call, I let out the string of curse words I’ve been holding back.
“Um—”
The voice in the doorway is a jumpscare like I haven’t had in years, and the next thing I know, my phone is facedown inside an old mop bucket.
“So sorry,” she says, tucking a strand of long dark hair behind her ear. “I changed my mind about one of the things I took out of my pack earlier—I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
It’s the girl from before, the one who caught me changing inside the museum’s gigantic tree display. Everything about her is stunning: her light green eyes, the color almost unearthly; her tan, toned legs, which stretch on for days; her smile, with that one cute dimple.
It’s too bad she’s about to have the most traumatic two weeks of her life. Which, in turn, means my next two weeks are about to be miserable, too.
I’ve seen it so often I could write a book about it: city girl signs up for one of our excursions, determined to prove something to herself, then spends every single day regretting the life choices that brought her there.
Women like this—in my own personal experience, anyway—always wear the wrong shoes and bring too much stuff, then complain about how heavy their pack is and how much their feet hurt, or they twist an ankle.
They want Instagram-worthy snapshots without putting the work in to get to those places.
“Be my guest,” I say, fishing my phone out of the mop bucket, which—thankfully—has only the barest trace of water left in it from the last time it was used.
“I’m Sadie, by the way,” she says as she plucks a set of silk pajamas out of the employee locker where she left them.
Silk pajamas for a wilderness hike: now that’s a first. The idea of her—the idea of those legs in those shorts—it’s an image that sneaks up without permission, one I’m quick to try and shove down.
I’ve always made it a point to remain professional while at work, because I’ve seen it go wrong too many times when people don’t.
Leader/trekker flings never end well: someone always ends up with a broken bone, a broken heart, or both.
Sometimes they end up out of a job. That’s why we have rules now—we’re not to get involved.
I’ve never had an issue with the rules. I prefer to keep the people in my care—and myself, and my professional reputation—wholly intact.
Silk shorts like those, though, could test even my own strong sense of self-control. Maybe I should tell her to leave them here in the mop closet.
Sadie leans against the employee lockers, eyeing me as I wipe the water off my phone’s heavy-duty case.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Could be better.”
Probably not the best idea to bad-mouth my coleader.
“Anything I can do to help?” she asks.
“Everything’s all packed up and ready, but thanks for offering,” I reply. “Now we’re just waiting on the others.”
Over the next half hour, the rest of the group arrives.
First are Joshua and Zoe, the engaged couple.
She’s got a diamond the size of the moon on her left hand, and I’ve already seen them kiss four times since they walked through the door.
His hand is in her back pocket, her fingers are hooked through one of his belt loops—it makes me wish we had rules about PDA for the trekkers.
Next are the three collegiate athletes, Brittany, Emma, and Parker. They play tennis for Pepperdine and look extremely fit, like they’ll have no problem hiking. Unlike Sadie—and Zoe, for that matter—these girls have the right-sized packs and are dressed in clothes that will work well on the trails.