Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
B y the time we roll back into camp, it’s weirdly quiet—no usual chatter, just an awkward hush. With Dan driving us home, everything felt off: no Iron Maiden cranked up, no dumb jokes from Gabe—which, annoyingly, I kinda missed. Sitting in the back just made his absence more obvious.
Sure, there’s more space in the back seat and it’s comfier, but I’m used to being up front, practically elbow to elbow with him. It just doesn’t feel the same. Without Gabe’s goofy banter, the truck felt… emptier.
Dinner comes and goes quietly, camp unusually still as everyone tried not to acknowledge the gap he left behind.
After eating, I slip into my cleanest sweats and pull on Gabe’s hoodie from the fly-in block—the one I haven’t been able to bring myself to return. And that I wear every night to bed .
Just as I’m settling in near my tent, the low rumble of a truck breaks the quiet. My heart skips a beat when I realize it’s Gabe, back from the hospital in Rocky Mountain House—James must’ve driven him all the way back.
I peek out of my tent and notice he’s moving a lot quicker than earlier, but he still skips any fanfare of planters, as he heads straight toward his SUV, shoulders drawn tight. Relief surges through me at the sight of him upright and moving, and part of me wants to head over to him and see how he’s doing once he’s settled in his SUV, but before I can get there, someone else rushes in first.
Jessie.
Since his little blow up with her a while back, things have calmed down a bit and I think they might have talked it over… maybe even apologized? Because the tension that was there is now gone.
She appears practically out of nowhere, sidling right up to him with wide, oh-so-concerned eyes. “Oh my God, are you okay?” she frets, voice dripping with pitying sweetness. “I heard you almost cut your arm off with a chainsaw.”
Gabe forces a tight smile, still gripping the side of his rib cage. “I’m fine, Jess. Just a little mishap. I should have been paying more attention.”
“Can I help?” She presses a hand lightly to his forearm, and something in my chest twists uncomfortably. Why should I be jealous? It’s not like he belongs to me. And yet, the sight of her leaning in so close makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Nah, I just need rest,” he says curtly, edging away. The line of his shoulders is tense, his voice polite but clipped, and he’s clearly not welcoming her fussing, although he’s appreciative of her concern.
“Okay,” she concedes, a little miffed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, let me know if you need anything from the kitchen tent later.” With that, she wanders off.
The moment Jessie’s gone, Gabe sags against his SUV, wincing like every breath is more trouble than it’s worth. I hesitate, poking my head out from my tent, trying to figure out if now’s the right time to interrupt. Before I can decide, he looks up and spots me.
I panic and scramble out of my tent, acting on instinct before I can even think. But the awkward truth nags at me: Do I really have any more right to be worried about him than Jessie does?
“Hey,” I say softly, walking toward him.
The tension in his face softens instantly. “Hi,” he greets, his voice tired but warmer now.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Doc says a few bruised ribs and some stitches.” He taps the small butterfly bandage on his brow. “I’ll live to see another day in the bush.” He huffs a half-laugh.
I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, relieved he’s sticking around. Then I notice him struggling to pull off his sweater, his arms tensing, muscles straining—until he winces.
“Do you need help?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. Jessie just asked him that and he refused. Ugh. Soleil, you’re coming across as a little clingy .
“Yeah. If you don’t mind,” he answers with no hesitation.
“Okay.”
One point for Soleil, zero for Jessie.
“My ribs hurt when I try to lift my arms.”
I slide closer, reaching for the hem of his sweater. “Okay, but don’t move too much,” I murmur, rising onto my toes to help ease it off.
He bends forward slightly, trying to make it easier, but every movement pulls another grimace out of him. When the fabric finally clears his shoulders, it snags on his T-shirt, lifting it just enough to expose the bruises lining his ribs. My breath catches as I take in the angry purples and blues spread across his skin.
“Gabe…” I whisper, my voice tight as I pull the hoodie over his head.
He shrugs lightly, though it’s obvious the motion hurts. “It looks as bad as it feels right now, but I should be fine in a few days.”
“Maybe we should get you to bed,” I say, still staring at the bruises.
His brow arches, and despite the obvious pain, he musters a crooked smirk. “Wow, straight to bed? You don’t waste time, do you? First, you’re stripping me, now you’re?—”
“Oh my God.” My cheeks burn as I realize how my words sounded. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t be an ass.”
His laugh is low and rough, a sound that makes my stomach flutter—but that feeling fades as I watch the laugh turn into a grimace, obviously a painful mistake that can’t be hidden away.
I glance down, realizing my hand is still pressed lightly against his ribs. His gaze follows mine, and when our eyes meet again, the air between us shifts. My pulse stumbles, heat crawling up my neck as I snatch my hand away.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“No need to be,” he replies, his voice soft and low, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Right,” I say quickly, folding his sweater and setting it on the passenger seat. “Need anything else?” I ask him before I take off back to my tent.
“Actually…” he starts, his voice quieter now. “Would you mind helping me set up my bed? I feel lame asking, but I can’t really move much back there.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, maybe a little too quickly.
He rounds the front of his vehicle and sits in the driver seat while rummaging around. He pulls out a small bottle of pills from his jacket pocket and pops one into his mouth. “These’ll knock me out, so I don’t roll around too much,” he explains, his voice dry.
I climb into the back of his SUV, bracing myself in the cramped space. His sleeping bag is crumpled in the corner, so I pull it forward, smoothing it out over the foam mattress. There’s barely enough room back here—it’s a miracle he even fits.
From the driver’s seat, I catch him watching me in the rearview mirror, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint grin. “You look like you’re calculating something,” he teases.
I roll my eyes. “I’m thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“How a six-foot-tall man is supposed to fit in this tiny space.”
“On an angle,” he says, chuckling softly. “Or with my legs bent.”
“Right. Sure,” I laugh under my breath
He hops out of the driver’s seat, walks around to the back passenger door, and slides in. Every movement looks like a struggle, but eventually, he manages to stretch out, angling himself awkwardly to avoid bumping the sides.
“This is how I fit,” he says, demonstrating with a wave of his arm. “Promise it’s more comfortable than it looks.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He tries to laugh, but winces instead.
Instinctively, I shift closer, my hand stretching out to readjust the pillow under his head.
His breath warms the small gap between us, his gaze flicking to mine and holding it—should I tell him how I panicked when I saw him hurt today? How much it scared me, even though I’m not sure it should?
His lips part, like he’s reading my mind, and his eyes drift briefly to my lips. The tension between us crackles, and for a second, I wonder what would happen if I just leaned in?—
But then he breaks the moment with a low chuckle. “Woohoo. These meds are kicking in fast,” he murmurs, his smile fading as he lets his head fall back onto his pillow. “I should probably sleep before I start saying things I won’t remember.”
I force myself to nod, swallowing back the knot in my throat. “Yeah… you should rest.”
On impulse, as I move to climb out, I lean down and press a quick kiss to his cheek. It’s over in an instant, but when I pull back, his lips are slightly parted, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Good night, Gabe,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
I slip out of the SUV before I can second-guess myself, the cool night air doing little to calm my racing heart. As I shut the door softly behind me, his scent lingers on my skin, the memory of how close we were replaying in my mind.