6. Tessa
six
Tessa
The distant whirring sound is so foreign after days of nothing but rain, wind, and Corbin's voice that I almost don't recognize it. We're sitting outside the cave, savoring the morning sunshine that's finally broken through after the longest storm I've ever experienced.
"Do you hear that?" I ask, tilting my head.
Corbin goes still; he's listening to the mountain. His face changes, a shadow crossing his features. "Helicopter."
The single word lands between us like a stone. We both knew this moment would come—that eventually, the outside world would find us and claim us back. But the reality of it still steals my breath.
"They're searching for you," he says, rising to his feet. His voice has taken on a detachment I haven't heard since our first day together.
I stand too, suddenly desperate to touch him, to anchor this moment before it slips away. My hand finds him, our fingers intertwining with the easy familiarity we've developed over these past few days.
"I don't know how to say goodbye to you," I admit, the words catching in my throat.
Corbin's eyes meet mine, and the raw emotion there makes my chest ache. "Then don't."
"What do you mean?"
He turns fully toward me, taking both my hands in his. "You could stay."
The simple invitation sends my heart racing, possibilities unfurling in my mind like spring leaves. "Here? With you?"
"I know it's crazy," he says quickly. "We've only known each other for days. My cabin is small. The winters are harsh. You'd be giving up everything—"
"Corbin," I interrupt his stream of concerns. "Are you talking yourself into this or out of it?"
A glimmer of his rare smile appears. "Both, I think."
The helicopter sound grows louder. We don't have much time.
"You have a life waiting for you," he continues, his thumbs tracing circles on my palms. "Friends, family, career. I can't ask you to walk away from all that for... this." He gestures to himself, to the mountain.
"Shouldn't that be my choice?" I ask, stepping closer.
His expression softens. "It should. But I want you to make it with clear eyes. Not in the afterglow of survival, not caught up in..." he hesitates, “this.”
The helicopter is much closer now. Corbin's face hardens with resolve.
"Go back," he says, the words clearly difficult for him. "See if your life still fits. If it doesn't..." He trails off, leaving the invitation unspoken but unmistakable.
"How will I find you again?" I ask, panic rising as the helicopter's beating rotors become deafening.
He pulls me close, his lips brushing my ear. "My cabin is northwest of Blackridge Trail. About two kilometers in, there's a lightning-struck pine split down the middle. Turn west there and follow the creek upstream."
I memorize every word, clinging to them like a lifeline. "I won't forget."
"You should signal them," he says, nodding toward the helicopter now visible in the distance. "They might not see us under the tree cover."
I reluctantly disengage from his embrace, moving to a clearing where I can wave my arms. I wave my blue jacket like a flag. The helicopter spots me almost immediately, hovering lower, searching for a place to land or drop a line.
When I turn back to Corbin, there's a new distance in his eyes. He's already preparing to let me go. It's too much. I rush back to him, pulling his face down to mine for a kiss that tries to say everything words can't. His arms wrap around me fiercely, desperately, before he slowly, deliberately releases me.
"They're going to think I was lost alone," I say suddenly. "That's easier for you, isn't it?"
He nods, gratitude flickering across his features. "Thank you." He retreats into the trees as the helicopter descends.
The rescue team rappels down, dressed in bright orange uniforms. "Miss, are you Tessa Bennett?" one rescuer asks, approaching cautiously.
“Yes,” I say. I was hiking two days ago and got lost.
“It’s a miracle you’re in one piece,” my rescuer says. “We found your car in the parking area crushed by a fallen tree. I’m sorry it took us so long to find you.”
“I’m not,” I say too quietly for them to hear over the whooshing helicopter blades.
They usher me toward the harness they've brought, explaining the extraction procedure in voices that sound impossibly loud and artificial after days of Corbin's quiet rumble. I follow their instructions mechanically, strapping in and listening to safety protocols.
Before they lift me away, I look back one last time.
Corbin stands motionless at the edge of the clearing, his stance powerful and solitary against the backdrop of the mountains he calls home. He blends in so perfectly that even Search and Rescue doesn’t notice him. But I do. Our eyes lock across the distance.
"Thank you," I mouth silently.
He gives a single, solemn nod. Then I'm rising into the air, the distance between us growing with every second, the wilderness that briefly embraced me already receding below.
The clock on my office computer shows 3:47 PM. I've been staring at the same spreadsheet for twenty minutes, unable to make myself care about quarterly projections or client acquisition metrics.
It's been two days since my return to the city. Two days of hot showers, comfortable beds, cell phone service, and the constant cacophony of urban life. Two days of concerned friends, my worried parents on FaceTime, and a boss who's both relieved at my safety and impatient for me to "get back in the groove."
Two days of feeling like I'm sleepwalking through a life that no longer fits.
I pick up my coffee mug, grimacing at the cold, over-sweetened liquid inside. After drinking pure spring water caught with my own hands, nothing compares.
My colleague Dana pokes her head into my cubicle. "Conference call in five, Tess. Johnson account."
"Right," I nod, though I can barely remember who Johnson is or why we're having a call.
"Are you okay?" she asks, lingering. "You've been different since you got back."
Different. Such a small word for the seismic shift that's happened inside me.
"I'm fine," I say automatically. "Just readjusting."
She nods sympathetically and vanishes back to her desk. I stare at my computer screen, at the endless rows and columns that once represented success and security.
Now, all I see is a cage.
The memory of Corbin's face when the helicopter took me away haunts me—that careful blankness masking something raw and unresolved. I wonder what he's doing right now or if he's thinking of me. If he regrets not asking me to stay more forcefully.
Or maybe he's relieved. Maybe our connection was just intensity born of circumstance, destined to fade back into the real world.
But which world is more real? This one, with its artificial lights and recycled air? Or the mountain, with its dangers and its raw, unfiltered beauty?
The question circles my mind as I go through the motions of the conference call, nodding in the right places and saying the expected things. When the call finally ends, I remain seated, my decision crystallizing with sudden, perfect clarity.
I stand up, gather a few personal items from my desk, and walk directly to my boss's office.
"Tessa," he says, looking up in surprise. "I was just about to email you about the Johnson deliverables—"
"I quit," I interrupt.
His mouth opens and closes several times. "Is this some kind of post-traumatic reaction? Because HR has resources. There’s the EAP…"
"It's clarity," I correct him, feeling lighter with each word. "Thank you for everything, but I'm going."
I leave before he can respond before anyone can try to talk me out of it. In my apartment, I grab only what matters—practical clothes, hiking boots, the journal I've kept for years, and a few cherished photos. Everything else is just, well, stuff.
Within an hour, I'm on the highway, heading north in a taxi towards the airport.
"Airport, huh? Where are you headed, dear?" he asks as I slide into the passenger seat.
I smile, feeling more certain than I've ever been. "Darkmore Mountain. I'm going home."