Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
T he morning sky is heavy with clouds, the kind that makes everything feel quieter, heavier, like the forest is bracing itself for more rain. We’re at the edge of the new block by eight, unloading gear onto the damp earth. There’s a massive fallen tree blocking the trail ahead, its trunk sprawled across the path like a barricade. The truck can’t get through until it’s cleared, so we’re stuck until someone deals with it.
Gabe steps out of the truck first, calm and unbothered as always. His eyes scan the tree, taking it in like it’s a problem he already knows how to solve. “Alright,” he calls to the crew, his voice cutting through the stillness. “Emma, Jake, Soleil—start hauling gear into the block by foot. Dan and Rolland, you’re with me. Let’s cut this thing out of the way.”
The others nod and start moving to get their gear out of the back of the truck, leaving me feeling a little uneasy about what the guys need to do to clear the tree out of the way. But I don’t think too much about it as I grab my things and head to climb over the fallen trunk. I see Gabe head to the back of the truck, grabbing his protective gear and his chainsaw. At least he’s being safe.
“We’ll take it in sections,” I can hear him say to Rolland, yanking the cord to start it up. The saw sputters, then roars to life. “Keep an eye on the branches. If anything shifts, let me know.”
Just as we’re almost around the bend in the road, I freeze, remembering I forgot to grab my backpack from the back seat with all the commotion. “Oh shit, I have to head back and grab my pack. Go ahead, Ems, I’ll see you at the cache,” I say as I pivot and start running back to the truck.
I can hear the saw buzzing louder now, and as the truck comes back into view, I watch as Gabe angles the chainsaw into the wood, cutting cleanly through the thick trunk. For the first few moments, everything goes smoothly. Gabe works with the kind of efficiency that makes it look easy, every cut precise, every movement deliberate. But then I see it—the saw catches on something inside the wood, snagging in the cut.
The chainsaw bucks, and my instincts kick in—my voice bursts out in alarm. “Gabe?—!”
The blade jerks back violently, skimming his forehead as he stumbles backward. He hits the ground hard, landing flat on his back with a sickening thud. The chainsaw falls from his hands, sputtering on the ground a few feet away. The guys are immediately at his side, checking him for injuries. Rolland grabs the chainsaw, which is now idle thanks to its safety, and shuts it off.
“Shit!” I drop everything and run toward him, my heart thundering in my chest. He’s lying on the ground, one hand pressed to his ribs, the other swiping at the shallow cut on his forehead. Blood is already trickling down his temple, mixing with the sweat on his skin.
“Gabe!” I climb over the trunk of the tree in front of the truck and head to his side, kneeling in the soft, wet gravel. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice tight. But his eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing shallow, and his face is pale—he’s in shock.
“You’re not fine,” I snap, my hands hovering near his ribs, unsure where to start. “You’re bleeding, and you just fell like a sack of bricks. Let me look.”
He winces as I lean closer, trying to assess the damage. “It’s just a scratch,” he says, gesturing vaguely to his forehead. “The fall was worse. Probably just bruised something.”
I shake my head, grabbing the hem of my sleeve and pressing it gently to the cut on his temple. “You’re lucky it didn’t kick back harder or you would have lost half your face,” I say, my voice trembling slightly.
“Would you still think I was cute?”
“Who says I think you’re cute now?” I say back with a snort.
He tries to sit up, groaning as the movement sends a jolt of pain through his side. “Soleil, seriously, I’m fine?—”
“Stay still,” I cut him off, pushing him back gently. “You’re not fine. Just… let me help, okay?”
His lips twitch into a faint, lopsided smile, even as he winces. “You’re bossy when you’re scared, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips curling into the smallest cocky grin.
I shake my head trying to play it cool and not too desperate, brushing a strand of bloody hair off his forehead. Of course it scared me . If he would have seen me run frantically towards him when he fell over, he’d know for sure how panicked I was. “Yeah, well, you could have waited for a hauler to come and help.”
His gaze softens slightly, his blue eyes locking onto mine for a beat longer. “I should’ve known better.”
I can hear Dan on the truck’s radio, calling for Logan to let him know about Gabe’s accident. “Logan, can you hear me? Over.”
“Go ahead,” comes Logan’s reply.
“We have an emergency. Over,” Dan says, voice tight.
“What happened?” Logan responds calmly.
“It’s nothing serious, but Gabe had a small mishap with the chainsaw—nicked him pretty good. We’re at the truck near the block entrance. He’s bleeding and in a bit of shock. Can you come and help us? Over.”
A crackle of static, then Logan’s steady voice fills the cab. “Copy that. I’m sending James over with the truck. He’s about five minutes out.”
Dan sets down the radio and heads back out of the truck towards us where I’m crouching over Gabe. “Can you stand?” he asks, crouching beside us.
“With some help,” I reply for him.
Dan, Rolland, and I each take a portion of Gabe’s weight, helping him sit up slowly. He hisses through his teeth, his jaw clenched as we pull him to his feet. He leans on us heavily, the solid weight of his body proof of just how much he’s hurting.
“C’mon,” Rolland says, slinging his other arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get you in the truck.”
By the time we reach the passenger side door, Gabe’s breathing is steadier, but he still winces with each step as we help him into the seat. I grab a spare hoodie from the back, draping it over his chest and his shoulders to help with the shock, and take out some gauze from the first-aid kit to stem the steady trickle of blood from the small gash on his forehead.
Right on cue, James’s pickup rumbles into view, fishtailing slightly on the muddy trail. He hops out, scanning Gabe’s condition with a quick, anxious look. “What the hell happened?” James demands, tossing a concerned look at Gabe.
“Chainsaw kickback. There was a giant knot in the trunk I didn’t see,” Gabe mutters, forcing a half-smile.
James shakes his head, opening the door wider for us to transfer him. “C’mon, man. I’ll run you straight to Rocky for stitches.”
Gabe doesn’t argue, just nods, his face pale and drawn. Rolland and Dan help him shift over to James’s passenger seat, wincing every time he sucks in a pained breath.
James fires up the engine, and as the truck pulls away, I catch one last glimpse of Gabe leaning back against the seat, hoodie pulled tight around him.
We all shake off the leftover tension from Gabe’s chainsaw massacre—I might be exaggerating a little—and head back out to work. Eventually, a tree hauler comes by to take care of the fallen tree and deliver the trees we need for the block. By midmorning, I’m heading back to the cache after my second bag-up of the day, ready for water and a banana muffin, when I spot Emma sitting, leaning against a tree box. She’s looking at something—something flowery in her hand—and a faint smile tugs at her lips.
“Hey, what’s that? A present from a secret lover?” I tease, half-mocking as I fish for any crumb about her and Logan.
Emma blinks, then shoves it into her pocket. “Oh, nothing, just…” she mumbles, trailing off.
As if summoned by our thoughts, Logan strolls up, radio in hand. Since his crew is just a few minutes away, he’s been asked to come and check in on us for the rest of the day.
Emma clears her throat, cheeks going pink as she meets his gaze. “Any update on Gabe?” she asks, beating me to the question that’s been on my mind all morning.
Logan nods but his voice cracks as he answers. “He’s fine—should be back this evening.” Before he heads off, he sets a neatly wrapped cookie on Emma’s gear with a quick, almost shy nod. I don’t miss the way her cheeks flush as she tucks it away, pretending it’s no big deal. But from the look on her face, we both know better.
We’re all supposed to focus on planting, but I can’t stop thinking about Gabe—wondering if he’s okay. If he’s hurt badly, could this be the end of his season? The thought sits heavy in my chest, so I try not to dwell on it, but it still leaves me feeling a little hollow. And then it hits me—maybe what I’m feeling right now is exactly how he felt when I told him I might be leaving early. No, there’s no way he would have ever felt that. Is there?