Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
B y the time our first real break rolls around—four gruelling days in—I’m more than ready to collapse face-first onto my musky sleeping bag back at camp. My body is wrecked. I planted slower than I wanted, thanks to the burn on my hand. No matter how much I bandaged it, there was no way of fully protecting the wound from the gritty soil of the seedling plugs.
After a short shower—which felt like absolute heaven, even though the water barely crept above cold—I found myself wandering over to the firepit to be social rather than collapsing into my tent. I’d scrubbed my arms until they throbbed, but there’s no way to fully erase the dirt that now seems embedded into my DNA. Even so, just washing off a fraction of it made me feel slightly more human.
Tonight is “party night,” which means a circle of planters by the fire, exchanging cheap beers and swapping stories about broken shovels, planter drama, and the worst tree-planting blocks they’ve ever laid eyes upon.
And yet, here I am, still surviving after my first four days of punishing labour—although I’m not sure if that makes me determined to beat the odds of everyone’s bet or just plain crazy. Thankfully, tomorrow, I’ll be able to head into town. I can’t wait to dump my mountain of sweat-soaked clothes into a washing machine and—best of all—give my parents a call. I miss them more than I ever thought I would. I’m already picturing the look on their faces when I tell them exactly how tough—but kind of amazing—life has been out here.
I hover at the edge of the firepit, unsure where to land. Emma is cackling near the fire, settled in her folding chair, and she waves me over, patting the spot next to her.
“Look who finally showed up!” Emma announces with loud enthusiasm, jabbing me in the ribs as I sink into the vacant camping chair next to her. She’s sitting with a group of planters who aren’t all on our crew, but I recognize one of the guys sitting a few chairs over as Markus—dreadlock guy. Jake, all lanky limbs and messy brown hair, folds himself into a camping chair on the other side of her, taking a sip from his can of Mountain Crest—a bargain-bin beer that probably tastes like regret. He brushes his bangs away from his baby face and glances my way, not even flinching at the cheap aftertaste.
“How’s the hand?” Emma asks, pointing at the bandage under my hoodie sleeve.
“It’s okay. The welt’s still there, but it’s not infected.”
“Yet.” Emma clicks her tongue. “Look at the mess your eye-fucking got you into.”
I scoff, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I wasn’t—” I stop, groaning. “I was just clumsy.”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” she deadpans, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Honestly, the one upside to today is that Gabe hasn’t been on my case about my planting. He’s been way too busy checking out other blocks and helping the tree-haulers to hover around me. Of course, he still blasted that same Iron Maiden album when we got in the truck—said it was to “stay awake,” but let’s be real, he’s not the type who’d ever doze off. He’s got this constant live-wire energy, like he’s always ready to go. Even crammed in next to him in that impossibly tight middle seat, I could practically feel it buzzing under his skin.
“Hey, rookie,” Markus drawls, tipping his beer can toward me with a lazy grin.
I bite back a groan. That nickname grates on me more than I want to admit—it reminds me of Jessie’s disdainful voice when she first pulled up to camp. She’s made it clear she’s not happy I took her spot on Gabe’s crew.
I look across the fire, and there’s Gabe—sitting right next to, yep, you guessed it: Jessie. She’s angled toward him, legs crossed, blond hair catching the light every time she tosses it over her shoulder. Gabe leans forward, arms resting on his thighs, head tilted as she talks. Jessie throws her head back in laughter. Why am I even paying attention?
Emma digs around in her backpack and pulls out a tiny mickey of vodka and a bottle of grape juice. Without missing a beat, she pours them both into the red cup squeezed between her thighs, loosely measuring two parts juice to one part booze.
I raise my brow at her concoction.
“Jesus juice,” she answers as she hands me the cup.
“Do I want to know why it’s called that?”
“Because it’s cheaper than wine.”
“Ah, I see. Thanks,” I mumble, taking a sip as the burn of cheap vodka coats the inside of my throat on the way down.
Markus leans closer, resting an elbow on his knee. “So, you’re from Quebec, huh? Why don’t you have a French accent like the other Quebecers?”
“Not everyone in Quebec is Francophone.”
“But with a name like Soleil?”
“Yeah, I know. It throws a lot of people off. My mom’s Francophone and dad’s Anglophone. My mom only learned to speak English when she started dating my dad. I’m technically bilingual, but I don’t really speak French unless I absolutely have to.”
“Ahhh, that makes sense. How do you like Alberta so far?”
I hesitate, then let myself smile. “Honestly? I haven’t seen much yet—just camp, the blocks, and everything on the drive out here. But it’s beautiful. Wild, open… free. It’s so different from home.”
That word snags on my tongue, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. What even is home now? My parents are chasing their own retirement dreams, and I don’t have a house to return to. The thought rattles me.
Jake pitches in his two cents, chuckling. “You call it magical now, but wait ‘til the horseflies hatch. The bush gets a lot less romantic when you’re slapping bugs all day.” He raises his beer in a mock toast. “Still, getting through each day out here is a win. Cheers to not losing our minds yet.”
“Cheers to our first day off,” I say back to him.
He holds his can toward me, and I clink my red Solo cup against it as Emma adds hers and says, “Cheers to tree planting and cheap vodka.”
I take a sip, and it feels like drinking paint thinner. How much vodka did Emma pour in here? My breath catches at the burn, but I force myself to swallow. Maybe if I unwind a little, I can ignore whatever’s happening across the fire—Jessie’s obnoxious laugh and the low rumble of Gabe’s replies with that confident grin he keeps flashing at her.
Jake interrupts my thoughts, flashing his own grin as he digs into a battered cooler by his feet. “You want to shotgun a beer with us?” he asks, holding up another beer. “We got spares.”
I hesitate. I’m not a big drinker, but I want to be social tonight and let my hair down a bit after my first shift of planting. “Uh, sure,” I say, not really knowing what I’m signing up for.
“Have you ever shotgunned a beer before?” he asks.
I shake my head.
Jake hands me the beer, tipping it sideways with a mischievous grin. “Alright, rookie. Time to learn then. Camp initiation. You’re not a real tree planter until you’ve finished your first shotgun.”
I chew on my bottom lip, glancing around at the others who are inching closer to watch.
Jake grabs another beer and points it towards Emma. “You in?”
Emma laughs, reaching for it. “I mean, why not?”
“C’mon, Soleil, you’ll be fine,” Jake says, already popping a small hole with his pocketknife near the base of my can. “The first one to finish wins. On the count of three, pull the tab and tilt your head back, and swallow. Easy.”
I grab the beer from him, holding it horizontally so the beer doesn’t spill out of the hole he just made. “Alright, I guess.”
Jake grins. “Ready? Three… two… one—go!”
I yank the tab, put my mouth to the hole, and everything goes wrong. I gasp, and the foamy liquid floods my throat and nose.
“Oh my God!” I sputter, stumbling back as beer sprays everywhere out of my nostrils. My cheeks burn as laughter erupts around me.
“Done!” Jake slams his beer on the ground, Emma following suit. Jake lets out a very loud and rumbly burp, then looks at me, the beer streaming out my nostrils that I’m wiping away with the sleeves of my sweatshirt. He doubles over, wheezing between laughs. “Whoa, rookie! That was… a massive fail.”
I cough, wiping beer off my chin as my sleeve drips. “I think I just drowned,” I croak, pressing a hand to my nose while Jake pats me on the back.
“Don’t worry—it happens,” he says, still grinning. “Next time, exhale before you crack it.”
From across the fire, a low baritone laugh catches my attention. Gabe. His eyes sparkle with amusement, and that smirk tugging at his lips sends heat crawling up my neck. He’s laughing at me.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath, sniffing hard to clear the carbonation stinging my sinuses. “Next time…” I echo weakly. There isn’t going to be a next time.
“Hey,” Jake murmurs, nudging my shoulder. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to sit closer to the fire. You’re kinda half in the shadows.”
“Sure,” I say, glad to move closer to the heat now that it’s getting dark and starting to cool down.
That’s when another peal of obnoxious and flirty laughter drifts over from across the fire. Against my better judgment, I let my eyes slide that way. Jessie’s still perched next to Gabe, leaning in so close there’s hardly an inch between them. The firelight dances across her face, making her look almost radiant as she beams up at him, clearly thrilled he chose to sit by her tonight. I tear my gaze away—only to find myself staring straight into Jake’s roaming eyes. I kind of have the feeling he’s flirting with me, but it’s hard to tell since he’s a little drunk. Even if he is flirting, he’s not my type. Too tall, too skinny, too young? I’m not exactly sure what it is, but the idea of being on the receiving end of his sloppy-drunk kisses tonight does not appeal to me in the slightest.
Jake smirks, oblivious to the thoughts in my head. “You good?” he asks softly. “You look like your mind’s a million miles away.”
“Just tired,” I hedge. “Long day. My bag straps rubbed half my shoulders raw.” It’s not a lie. My body is trying to heal itself after a long few days on my first shift.
He nods sympathetically. “Yeah, that constant bending does that, huh? Let me know if you need a better harness. I’ve got a spare from last year—less chafing.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Jake’s face lights with an earnest warmth and there’s an unmistakable spark in his eyes. “No problem. Gotta keep the rookie from quitting on us. I already lost the bet anyway, but it feels like I still won.”
Oy vey. I’m going to have to let him down easy. I force a tight-lipped smile, nodding along like I didn’t just hear his voice dip a little softer.
My eyes dart around, searching for Emma—my wingman—but instead, they land right on Gabe. As if sensing my stare, Gabe glances up. Our eyes meet for a split second—a flicker of acknowledgement.
He sets his beer bottle on a nearby log with a dull clink, then stands, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off the day’s weight. “I’m beat,” he mutters, loud enough for Jessie and a few nearby planters to hear.
Jessie makes this big, dramatic show of sighing, pouting her lower lip. “You sure? Stay a little longer!” she calls, stretching out an arm like that alone might reel him back.
But Gabe just musters a tight grin, gives a quick shake of his head, and then salutes. “Night, everyone.”
A chorus of mumbled good nights follows as he turns and heads off, his figure gradually fading among the mix of tents and trucks. The hush of crickets and the low crackle of the fire rush in to fill the silence he leaves behind.
I let out a soft breath, my mood suddenly deflated. “I think I’m calling it too,” I mumble.
“You sure?” Jake looks disappointed and a little crushed, but I doubt he’ll remember this tomorrow. “We could polish off the rest of my beer cooler.”
I force a half-smile. “Thanks, but I’m wiped. Raincheck?”
He shrugs. “Sure. Another night, rookie.”
I force a small smile, wrapping my arms around my midsection as I navigate around the logs, careful not to stumble over the scattered empties. A chill wind picks up, nudging me away from the warmth of the fire. For a moment, I just stand there, listening to the quiet shuffle of planters turning in for the night and the distant echoes of laughter that bounce off the towering spruce.
I’m glad I decided to come out tonight—it was nice meeting people who aren’t on my crew, sharing a few laughs, and seeing how, in its own rugged way, this camp is a tight-knit community. Sure, I wouldn’t say everybody’s got everyone else’s back one hundred percent of the time, but there’s a strong sense of solidarity here. It feels… good.
I turn toward my tent, each step a reminder of how stiff my thighs and shoulders still feel. I kick off my camp sandals, tucking them neatly into the narrow vestibule. The zipper whirs, and I pull back the flap. I duck inside, knees aching from a day of constant crouching in the dirt and bagging up at the cache. Once I’m inside, I zip both the vestibule and the tent door behind me.
My limbs protest as I drop down onto my sleeping bag; every shift sends a dull ache through my hips and thighs. In a moment of sheer laziness—or self-preservation—I decide to sleep in my sweatpants and hoodie tonight. I know I’ll probably overheat a bit once the tent warms up, but the idea of peeling off these layers for something cold and clammy is the last thing I want.
At long last, I tuck myself into the snug warmth of my sleeping bag and click off the small LED lantern overhead. The muffled quiet of camp outside wraps around me as I exhale, letting the day’s exhaustion and satisfaction settle in my bones.
I made it through my first shift as a tree planter—even though a month ago, I barely knew what this job entailed. Now I’m bug-bitten, bruised, and somehow still standing. I’m proud of myself for that. Of course, it’s no cakewalk, but lying here, sore all over and more alive than I’ve felt in ages, I can’t help smiling to myself—ready to face whatever this summer brings.
A distant guitar riff floats through the night air—someone must be playing around the firepit. I close my eyes and let the soft melody thread itself into the hush of the forest, mingling with the lingering echo of Gabe’s low chuckle in my mind. There’s a depth to his voice, a slow, rumbling warmth that resonates even after he’s long gone. The memory of it settles over me like a soft blanket, and with the guitar’s last notes fading in the background, I drift off to sleep.