Chapter 19 Thorn
I can’t get today out of my head.
I keep seeing what could have happened had Silas and I not gotten to Brittany in time—keep kicking myself for the fact that we had an incident at all. I saw that thick root, stepped carefully so my own shoes wouldn’t get caught.
Why didn’t I warn anyone? Isn’t that my job, to keep an eye out for the things that could trip people up? These are amateurs. They’re trusting me. And I let them down.
You didn’t let anyone down, Danica’s voice echoes in my head. Your quick reaction time saved her.
We had a long talk earlier; she was waiting at Wild Gate when we got there, a pair of crutches for Brittany in tow along with a couple of pepperoni pizzas for everyone to share.
I couldn’t stomach any of it, and Danica had already eaten, so we headed over to the old wrought iron gazebo that probably looked really nice before the rust set in.
The wood benches need maintenance—termites, from what I can tell—so we sat on the steps that lead out to the gravel walking path.
I’m still there now, even though Danica drove Brittany out of here a while ago. Matteo’s getting the others settled for camp tonight, their tents popping up one by one amid the sea of wildflowers.
“Knock, knock?”
I turn and see Sadie leaning against the gazebo, her long hair loose after being tied up all day. She gives a little wave.
“You okay?” she asks, then quickly adds, once she sees my face, “I can leave if you want to be alone.”
It’s only now that I realize I’m scowling. I try to relax a little, let the tension melt out of me.
“You can stay,” I say, shifting on the steps so she’ll have room to sit down.
When she does, something about her being this close—her body pressed right up next to mine, her soft curves and warm skin—finally puts me at ease.
Her leggings are splattered with mud all the way up to her knees, with a few tiny holes in the fabric from the brush we hiked through today.
There’s even a little mud on her cheek, I notice when I take in her face, and a splash of freckles she usually covers up with makeup.
The hint of dark circles under her eyes, too.
“How are you?” I ask, all too aware that I still haven’t answered her question—but I’m tired of thinking about me right now. I want to know about her.
“Other than the massive caffeine headache and how everything hurts and how I need a massage so badly I could cry?” she says, laughing, even though I sense it’s more a defense mechanism than anything. “Pretty good, actually. The pizza helped.”
My stomach growls at the mere mention of food, loudly enough that Sadie hears it, too.
“Guess my appetite is back,” I say, trying to crack a joke, but she just studies me.
“Why didn’t you eat?”
I let out a long exhale. “Today freaked me out,” I admit.
Maybe I shouldn’t be telling her this—but it’s the most honest thing I have right now. My instinct says Sadie is a safe place, despite the fact that she’s one of the inexperienced people out here who I feel like I let down today. It could have been her who tripped and almost fell over the edge.
Maybe that’s what’s freaking me out, if I’m even more honest with myself. It could have been Sadie, and it could have been worse. And it could have been my fault.
The fact that it terrifies me to think about Sadie falling over, specifically—that she’s different somehow, despite how I always try to be neutral and professional when it comes to the trekkers—only amplifies the fear that’s haunted me all day: that I’m failing at my job.
She’s quiet. I follow her gaze to a pair of butterflies out in the field.
“Yeah,” Sadie eventually says. “Me too.” She bites her lip, turning her hand over to examine her mismatched nail polish.
“You know, I really thought I knew what to expect, coming out here. I did so much research—but some things just don’t translate well over the internet.
All those pictures of nature, not one mention that it’ll be trying to kill you the whole time you’re out in it. ”
I have to laugh. “Pretty sure that was in the fine print.”
Sadie grins. “Today wasn’t all bad, though,” she says, cutting a glance at me from under her long lashes. “Can we just rewind to this morning, back in the tent?”
I swallow. We’re already sitting closer than we really need to be, her legs angled and resting against mine—
I wish we were back in the tent, too. I wish we were someplace private.
“You’re welcome in my tent anytime, for the record,” she goes on.
My mind flashes immediately to the memory of being tangled with her this morning, and as much as this is new—dangerous—territory for me, I can’t deny it: I want to do it again.
“Even if it’s not raining?” I ask.
“Especially if it’s not raining,” she says, and I laugh. “My stuff is probably still drenched from your wet clothes.”
“Your stuff is probably still drenched from the rain we hiked through all morning,” I reply. “Not my fault at all.”
“Details, details.”
I reach out and run my fingers lightly over the splattered mud on her leggings. “They’ve got actual showers at this campsite, you know—if you haven’t seen them yet.”
“Are you implying I need one?” she says flirtatiously, her eyes flickering down to my hand before meeting mine again.
“Not implying,” I reply. “Flat-out suggesting.”
She swats my shoulder playfully. “You really know how to make a girl feel attractive.”
“Glad you got the message,” I say with a shrug. “You are attractive.”
Sadie tenses beside me, the smallest, subtlest movement—she might not even be aware of it.
“My hair is full of dry shampoo,” she argues, “and the closest I’ve come to a shower is the lake yesterday.”
“And?” I reply.
“And I suspect I look like I’ve just been on Naked and Afraid and, like, totally disheveled. I promise I look better in my real life than I do out here.”
“Impossible,” I tell her. “And for the record, you don’t look naked or afraid right now.”
She laughs. “I hide my fear well.”
“Really, though, Sadie.” I wait until she looks me straight in the eye before continuing. “You’re beautiful, even without all the makeup or whatever you’re used to. I’m sure you look amazing in your everyday life, too…but I need you to know that you look pretty damn attractive just as you are.”
She takes in what I’ve said, and I can tell by her expression—how her eyes linger on mine, vulnerable and unfiltered—that my words mean a lot. The next thing I know, her hand has found its way to mine where it still rests on her leg.
“So,” she says with a dramatic pause, “you don’t think I need a shower?”
I burst out laughing, and she cracks up, too. It’s the last thing I expected her to say.
“You absolutely need a shower, Sadie Whitlock. I’ll walk you over myself.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her. “This isn’t the Four Seasons.”
She comes to a stop beside me and stares at the lackluster concrete building. It’s in worse shape than I remembered, paint peeling from the sides and a cluster of dead beetles resting in the corner with some empty glass bottles and a tipped-over In-N-Out bag.
“You are suggesting I go get clean…in there?” she says skeptically, arms crossed over her chest, hugging her pajamas and the monogrammed toiletry bag we made a special detour for before heading this way.
“The pipes are fine,” I assure her.
The vibes: not so much.
Even I’m a little wary about what she might find inside—there could be anything from used needles to an actual heroin junkie in the flesh, judging by the detritus. It’s quiet, though, no other signs that anyone else is around for miles. I’m 99 percent sure it’ll be fine.
“Want me to go in with you to check it out first?” I offer.
“Um, yes,” she says. “Yes, please.”
I pull open the worn wooden door, and the motion-activated light illuminates everything in a dim fluorescent glow. Sadie gasps, looping her arm through mine so hard it almost hurts.
“What?” I ask, looking around. “What happened?”
“This place,” she says with a sour look. “It’s just…horrifying.”
I laugh. “It’s actually better than I expected.”
There are two small stalls with toilets in them, and one larger area with a flimsy shower curtain—no obvious mildew or mold, so that’s a plus right off the bat.
The tile isn’t too grimy, the trash has been emptied relatively recently, there aren’t any obscene odors, and—most importantly—we’re alone in here.
It’s pretty great by campsite standards, honestly.
Sadie takes it all in, still clinging to my arm like her life depends on it.
Not that I mind.
“Where am I supposed to put my stuff while I shower?” she asks.
Huh. I guess there aren’t any benches or shelves or anything like that—I never thought to look.
“Maybe those hooks over there?”
She loosens her grip and heads over to inspect them, adorably scrunching her nose. “They’re a little rusty…”
Emphasis on a little—even up close, I can hardly see it.
“I can hold everything for you, if you want?” I offer, and her eyes light up—
Which is how, five minutes later, I find myself standing two feet away from Sadie, only a flimsy shower curtain between us, as she reaches out to hand me a bundle of clothes.
The clothes she was just wearing.
Her strappy neon-pink sports bra peeks out from within the otherwise black fabric. I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can to counteract the things I’m feeling—the idea of her, not even a bikini on her body, is almost more than I can stand.
“Do you want me to wait outside?” I ask.
“I think I’d be too creeped out by this place to stay in here alone,” she says. “I feel better knowing you’re right there. Is that weird?”
“It’s not weird,” I reply, my heartbeat picking up at this show of trust: that she feels safer with me than without me.
I swallow. It’s torture, being this close, especially after waking up tangled with her this morning—and knowing she’s open to doing that again. You’re welcome in my tent anytime.