Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
REED
S even-day extension.
Three of the worst words to wake to after spending twenty of the shortest, most earth-shattering minutes of your life alone in a barn with the girl you’re falling for.
I didn’t even have time to kiss her good morning. The first stop on the get-McCafferty-to-forgive-us tour involved getting up before everyone except Jack. Which wouldn’t be a problem if my body didn’t feel like it had taken on The Rock in a back alley.
Slamming a double-edged ax into tree stumps ought to be interesting today. But what’s another hundred and sixty-eight hours of this place? Piece of cake.
My limbs drag through the tent opening.
“Regretting begging to come back here after that dispatch call the two of you missed?”
I still haven’t apologized on my and Hailey’s behalf for that. Not officially. But I’m about to when I catch the fade of Jack’s smirk.
Oh . He’ s joking.
“Add twenty-seven years of this job and you’ve got my physical condition,” he says.
The groan that accompanied my exit must have been audible.
“Just the guy I was hoping to talk to.”
“If you came to talk about my daughter?—”
“I’d like to work on McCafferty’s team today,” I interrupt him. “I don’t think he’ll assign me himself, so I need you to do it.”
His head tilts.
“I… can do that.”
“Great! Than?—”
He stops me with a hand to the chest. “If you do something for me in return.”
Here we go .
I pull back, giving him space. He takes up a lot more of it when he’s trying to act authoritarian.
I haven’t forgotten that he’s told me to stay away from his daughter. Not only have I actively disobeyed that request multiple times, but I’ve now—as he would see it—defiled her in a barn too. What if he knows about that? It’s baffling he hasn’t kicked me off this crew yet. It must have been one hell of a favor he owed my father.
“That camping trip,” Jack starts, “think it can stay between us?”
My eyebrows pinch. Meaning … Then they rise high enough to meet my hairline. This has nothing to do with my father .
“You want me to keep it from Hailey ?”
I should be elated by his request. At this point, I’ve waited too long to tell her I’ve met her dad before. But why does he care so much?
“No. I want you to pretend it didn’t happen,” he clarifies. “I just got my daughter back, and I can’t ruin that by making her believe I didn’t want her around.”
But he didn’t invite her on his weekend off. I’m no psychologist, but isn’t that the definition of not wanting someone around?
“What did you want then?” I ask. Because I know for a fact she would have jumped at the chance to be close to him had he let her.
The muscles in his jaw harden with his swallow. “I wanted her mother back. Can you just do it, please?”
The reality of his answer hollows out my chest cavity. It had nothing to do with Hailey.
“Okay,” I agree. “I won’t say anything. But respectfully, it’s because I don’t want her to hurt over the past any more than she already does.”
He winces.
It’s a truth he already knew, but nonetheless one that needed to be said.
So why does this feel like a bad idea?
A gloomy shade of gray hovers over our crew. It seeps into the long drag and pull of ax swings and smothers the banter of eighteen men. We’re simply a metronome, keeping time with the sky. A hot, barren wasteland of doubt with Jack as our guide.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the back of Dean’s dingy shirt for the sixteenth time.
The silent treatment was not a part of my plan.
“We’re supposed to be?—”
“A team,” Jack finishes for me. “It seems the two of you have forgotten how to work together in the last twenty-four hours. Good news!” He claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder, his ax over his own. “We’ve got a rogue section of the fire burning a mile up that slope. Figure out your escape route and work your shit out while you’re there,” he says, slapping the extra radio against Dean’s chest.
Tandem hiking . This ought to be good .
Thank you , I mouth to him, but his acknowledgement is a flash to Hailey. A reminder to hold up my end of the deal. A promise I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep.
Twenty feet in front of me is the distance Dean retains on this climb. Thp, thp, thp . I sputter against the onslaught of debris showering my face. An avalanche of dirt and foliage fragments follows the careless clunk of boots and hack of his hand tool.
“Do you think you could?—”
That sentence is silenced with a snarled ball of sagebrush tumbling toward my face. I catch it one-handed in midair and dump it with the others in staggered heaps along our path.
No talking . Got it .
“Let’s start here,” he says when we come upon a section of the fire that juts out like a finger. He tags a tree bough with a brightly colored strip of ribbon. Hot pink, to be exact. That’ll be hard to miss.
“Does this mean you’re talking to me now?”
Everybody knows silence is my version of torture, so I’m certain I imagined it when he says, “You were right. That first day we met…” he starts, and I slam my eyes shut, knowing exactly where he’s going with this. I didn’t want to be right. Not about this. “You said I shouldn’t waste my time with a girlfriend who would probably cheat on me while I was here.”
I lean my weight against my hand tool and blow out a breath. “I was an asshole when I said that to you. I didn’t know the first thing about your relationship with Madison. It was coming from a place of insecurity.”
“Well, I’m not sure anyone can be more insecure about it than me. The first time she cheated was only three weeks into my first summer on the job.”
“ First time?” A breath gusts from my lungs.
And he stayed with her? Then again , I remind myself, you didn’t up and leave when your girl picked the other guy either .
“I have no idea who you saw her with, but he’s at least number five by now.”
In the interest of being fully transparent from here on out…
“It was Ben.”
An amused look transforms his face. “As in that twat from the medic tent?!”
“I don’t like him either.” I smirk.
We both chuckle.
“Why do you stay with her?” I ask. It’s a fair question now that I know this isn’t her first offense.
His posture wilts with his upside-down smile. “Why does anyone stay when their person wants to be with somebody else?”
The answer to that one is simple. Because you love them . But I don’t think that’s what he needs to hear. “Because it’s hard to let go.”
He nods.
“And you don’t just get over your first love because they want somebody else,” I add.
The hem of my shirt catches on a sharp stick, snagging a hole in the fabric. With the constant stream of sweat gathering along my hairline and pouring toward my eyes, I work my finger through the circle and tear a strip.
“You let yours go, didn’t you?”
I nod, fashioning the homemade bandana around my forehead. Much better.
“Add that to the laundry list of reasons why I’m jealous of you. ”
“Jealous?” My jaw hinges open. “Of me ? The screw-up who will never live up to his parents’ expectations?”
“Dude, have you seen yourself?” he argues.
“You mean with all the mirrors out here? Not lately. Why? Something wrong with my beard?” I stroke the short stubble of my five-o’clock shadow.
“What beard?”
We laugh together.
“Not what you look like , your life . You’ve got this gorgeous girl who can’t take her eyes off you and a superintendent who you’ve managed to win over in less time than I ever did. For the record, man… I’ve seen the way you doubt what you deserve, and it’s not true, that lie you tell yourself. That if you show up as you, somehow it won’t be enough. You already are more than enough. You’re one of the best guys on this crew.” He throws a small branch near my feet. “Don’t tell the others I said that.”
I smile. I didn’t know validation could feel like this.
“Thanks, man.”
He taps our saws together. “Don’t mention it.”
With a clean slate between us, we spend the day talking. He tells me about his cowboy ranch plans, and I tell him all about Bear Lake. I remember what it’s like to have a friend again, and for the first time in a long time, I let go of the fear of being myself with someone else.
“We need to call it,” he eventually says as the fire pumps thick charcoal clouds toward the moon. We made a 95 percent dent on our line today, but it’s way past dinner and becoming increasingly difficult to see.
“Tac 3, descending the hill,” Dean blows into the radio speaker.
“ Roger that ,” Jack’s voice transmits back.
I catch a glimpse of the sky as I hoist on my line pack. Are those storm clouds? It’s looking ominous now with the fading light.
Crack .
I squat to the ground, shielding my head. A snap, a whoosh, and a gust of wind domino behind me. Then a thud and a scream, like they happen in the same breath, rattle the black earth beneath my feet.
I turn around, and my own scream lodges itself in my throat.
It wasn’t thunder but a twenty-foot fallen pine. And the screams are coming from the body trapped beneath the trunk. Dean’s scratching and clawing at the bark with his gloves. He compresses the sides with his palms and shoves against the weight of the limb like he’s trying to bench press it toward the sky, but it doesn’t budge.
I drop everything I’m carrying and run to him. I straddle the trunk, wrapping my arms around its girth, and bury my weight into the heels of my boots.
Come on, come on, come on .
I lift. The tree doesn’t flinch. It’s too long, too heavy. I need my saw.
I run back to where I dropped my equipment and spot the familiar handle. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, including me, as I pump my legs to get back to him. Faster and faster I run, until I’m at his side and the knife-like grooves of the saw eat at rough bark. I grind it a foot below his thigh. In seconds, my makeshift bandana is soaked and dripping on his pant leg.
The sound of his tortured wail claws at my heart.
“You’re okay,” I tell him as his terrified eyes sear into me.
Back and forth, back and forth, his screams propel me on. The groove I’ve made is at least a couple inches deep now, but it’s not enough. It’ll take me an hour to get through this by hand. I need an electric saw .
But it means I need to leave him.
His face is twisted in agony. I can’t tell if it’s sweat pouring from his forehead or if he’s crying now, but his cheeks are drenched too. He’s still pushing and scratching and wrestling with the log, but all he’s doing is wearing himself out.
I give one last glance to the crush injury and notice a red pool gathered in the dirt. Down on my hands and knees, I try to figure out where it’s coming from, but there’s nothing visible.
He whimpers, and I tear another section off the bottom of my shirt, wrapping it across his forehead to protect his blinking eyes. I hate the thought of leaving him here all alone. Every minute that passes, his struggle lessens, and I have no choice.
“I have to go back for a chainsaw,” I tell him.
He’s fighting to keep his eyes from closing. If I leave him, will they close completely? What if he never wakes up again?
“DEAN, look at me!” I scream.
He drags his head from where it lolls against the dirt.
“I will get you out, okay? I promise . I’ll be right back.”
I shove my palms against the ground and jump up, ready to break away, when an explosion sounds several feet in front of me. I duck and cover once more and have to shield my eyes from the light. I gape in horror as a patch of sagebrush lights on fire.