Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
W e stand by Gabe’s SUV at the edge of camp, the later-morning sun illuminating the now-deserted tents behind us. Everyone else has already headed out to work, leaving an eerie hush in the air. We’ve spent the last hour stuffing my duffel bag and gear into the cargo space, getting ready for the long haul to the Calgary airport.
“You can go ahead and keep that hoodie if you want,” Gabe says, giving me a slow once-over. I’m still wrapped in his favorite sweatshirt. I made him wear it all week so it would hold his scent, and suddenly I realize I don’t plan on ever returning it.
“Good,” I reply with a small, teasing laugh. “Because I wasn’t going to give it back.”
“It’s a long ride to Calgary,” he murmurs, glancing toward the SUV. “We should get going.”
His voice is quiet, and the reminder that I’m leaving this place tightens something in my chest. But he’s right—our time is nearly up, and we still have a few hours of driving ahead of us before my flight.
Earlier this morning, I made my rounds and said goodbye to the crew before they headed out to the block. Some were too bleary-eyed to grasp that I was really leaving; others hugged me so hard I thought my ribs might crack.
Emma was one of them. Because of her, I’ve had one of the best summers of my life. I discovered I’m stronger than I ever imagined—and, to be honest, I can now pee anywhere, anytime, even if people are around, and not feel the least bit weird about it. I also learned to love her fiery energy. She’s the reason why I’m out here, testing my limits and pushing past my comfort zone—though I’m still gonna pass on planting topless. That’s a line I’m not ready to cross.
Gabe took the day off to drive me to the airport in Calgary, and he’s been uncharacteristically silent since breakfast, like his words might run out if he tries to talk at all. I see the set of his shoulders tense slightly as he unlocks the truck.
Before I slip into the passenger seat, I pause and let my gaze wander over the gravel area where camp sits. Every little spot on this dirt patch marks a memory with someone or something: my first time using a shitter, my first shot-gun experience, my first time sleeping outside in a tent for days on end—and, shockingly, not hating it. It’s crazy how this place, with all its dirt and discomfort, ended up feeling like home for nearly two months. A knot tightens in my chest as I realize I won’t be waking up here tomorrow. And then it hits me—even if I wanted to come back here one day, it’d be empty, as though we never existed in this place for a summer, planting trees. Everything is just so painfully temporary.
I blow out a shaky breath and finally climb in, the door barely shutting before Gabe reaches across the console, grabbing me by the front of his hoodie and pulling me toward him. Our lips meet, soft and desperate, like he’s trying to make this moment last longer than it possibly can.
My breath catches, my hands gripping the fabric of his jacket like it might keep me here. “Gabe…”
He shifts just enough to look at me, his fingers grazing the sleeve of the hoodie I’m wearing—his hoodie. His voice is quiet, almost unsteady. “Just… remember this, okay? All of it.” There’s a crack in his words, barely there, but it’s enough to unravel me completely.
How could I ever forget him? He’s going to be the one that got away.