3. Brooke
Three
Brooke
T oday has been so tumultuous, such a wild maelstrom of emotions, and I cannot freaking believe it’s only early afternoon. It feels like years since I laced up my stiff new boots this morning, foolishly hoping that my normal socks would protect me from blisters. Years since I chowed down on a hot bowl of oatmeal, peering through my kitchen window at the mountainside looming over the town. Puffing myself up to be brave.
Surely that was a whole different person who shrugged on her backpack and locked her apartment door behind her, then set off into the crisp, sunny morning. Surely I can’t have done all this in one day: hiked up my first mountain, saw my childhood crush for the first time in years, and sprained my ankle so badly that I can barely limp back down the trail.
“Ouch. Ow.”
Even with Hunter supporting most of my weight, each step makes hot pain flare up my leg. I keep hissing and grimacing down at the rocky dirt, trying and failing not to make a scene.
“That’s it, Brookeworm. You’re doing so good.”
Even after all this time, Hunter’s old nickname for me makes my heart flip-flop in my chest. I press my lips together as a bird swoops low between the trees ahead of us. Its small feathery body zips effortlessly between branches, a flash of vivid red.
Just one more step.
And another one.
And another one.
I can do this if I don’t think about the whole journey ahead.
“You know,” I say, desperate to distract myself, “I could never figure out whether that was a cute pet name or a mean one. Brookeworm. ”
Hunter’s arm tightens around my waist. “What?” He sounds aghast. “Of course it wasn’t mean.”
“It has ‘worm’ in it.”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“And it was always a running joke. I was a running joke. Brookeworm, the girl with her nose stuck in a book. The only girl in town who never did sports or went hiking in the mountains. Even if the nickname wasn’t mean, I was always so out of place, you know? It took me forever to pluck up the courage to get out on this hike.”
Hunter is quiet for a long time. The only sounds are the breeze whispering through the trees, the snap of twigs and crunch of stones beneath our boots, and my own pained whimpers each time I step on my bad ankle. That, and a distant flurry of birdsong.
It’s so calm out here away from everything. It’s not like the eerie silence of my apartment sometimes, when the world is muffled, swaddled in cotton balls, and a dripping faucet can be deafening. It’s not manufactured or unnatural in any way.
It’s… peaceful. Nice.
Even with my ankle throbbing like a bitch, part of me is already making plans to get back out here again soon. Turns out the whole town was right about hiking after all.
Not that I’ll ever admit it to most of them.
“You were never out of place with us,” Hunter says at last, his arm still wrapped firmly around my waist. “Not with me and Jake. You always belonged with us. You always will belong.”
Warm relief seeps through my veins at his words, like I’ve somehow been waiting half my life to hear that and not even realized it. Have I been on edge for this whole time? Waiting and hoping to be accepted by the two people I always cared about most? No wonder I get a stiff neck sometimes.
Momentarily shameless, I lean into my brother’s best friend, and he squeezes my hip in return.
Oh.
Oh, no.
This is a bad time and place for butterflies to explode in my belly . Right? A bad time for me to flush bright red. Jeez, I’d forgotten what it even feels like to get all flustered and turned on, but apparently with Hunter, all it takes is a few minutes and a short conversation.
And a hip squeeze, from that strong, callused hand. Damn.
* * *
Turns out Hunter’s cabin is about a mile down from the peak, tucked in a copse of birch trees with a small, glassy lake nearby. The water is so clear it’s almost invisible, and as Hunter carries me past the water’s edge, schools of tiny silver fish dart in his shadow.
It’s hot and dry out here, the breeze so welcome against my skin, and my overheated body longs to dunk in that lake, even though I know full well it would be freezing. An ice cold shock to the system.
“Do you ever swim in there?”
Hunter shrugs, jostling me a little on his back. He started carrying me piggyback style a while ago, after declaring that my pained little whimpers were breaking his heart.
Needless to say, I did not resist.
“Sometimes,” he says, barely winded even though I’m a pretty big girl. A lot to carry down a mountain, that’s for sure, but he’s sure-footed and strong beneath me. “It’s not that wide or deep, though. For a real swim, the lake two miles southeast of here is better.”
Honestly, I’d have made a way bigger scene earlier on if I knew it would get me a piggyback ride. Up here, I have a front row seat to Hunter’s sculpted muscles where they bunch and flex beneath his flannel shirt, and his clean man musk fills my lungs. I keep taking greedy breaths, sniffing at the back of his collar. God, I was always addicted to his scent when I was growing up, and now it’s matured into something even more delicious.
Pheromones, huh? What a drug.
My thighs grip either side of his waist, and since I’m safely behind him, Hunter can’t see the faces I’m pulling. The way I’m turning to jelly at his low voice, his strong arms, his gruff demeanor. That freaking scent.
But even as I’m drowning in all the Hunter-related sensations, questions still niggle at my brain. Like: why did he move up here three years ago? Hunter was always so social growing up, and I hear they all loved him in the city too. So why hide himself away in this cabin by the lake?
Jake still sees him sometimes. I’ve known from my brother’s offhand comments that the two of them hang out now and then. So why leave the rest of the town behind?
Why leave me ?
“Here we go.” Wooden steps creak faintly as Hunter carries me up onto the cabin deck. It’s like a fairy tale cottage but, you know. Manlier. “Welcome to Casa Hunter. I’ll get you bandaged up in no time, Brookewo—Brooke.”
Okay, now that he’s withholding my nickname, I desperately want to hear it again. But when I open my mouth to tell him so, Hunter deposits me down on the wicker sofa on his deck, and I sprawl in an undignified tangle.
“Wait there a sec.” Those blue eyes are piercing in the sunshine. They scan me from head to toe, like he’s still worried about my fall. “I’ll fetch the first aid kit and some water.”
“And a snack,” I say quickly, thinking of the bran muffin that has surely disintegrated into crumbs in my bag.
Hunter’s mouth tugs up on one side, and that half grin makes my heart flutter. He nods before turning to unlock the door. “And a snack. Got it.”
“Please. Thank you.”
The cabin door swings open, and my brother’s best friend disappears inside.
Deep within, floorboards creak and cupboards click shut, then there’s the drum of a faucet into a sink. Gusting out a long breath, I wriggle around so I can prop my bad ankle up on the wicker sofa, then I lean back and let my eyes fall closed. It really has been a long day already.
There’s the whispering breeze.
The scent of pine and mossy wet rock.
That dull ache in my ankle, hot and uncomfortable but already weaker than before.
Sunshine is warm against my eyelids, and my breaths slow down as I wait for Hunter to come back. He’s pottering around inside his cabin, opening and closing cupboards and muttering to himself in that low voice. Listening to him, I melt into the sofa, boneless. So relaxed. So relieved.
When was the last time I unwound like this? When did I last let my guard down so fully, letting all of my anxious thoughts drift away? It’s been years, definitely. Since the last time I saw him.
Hunter .
I can’t believe my brother’s best friend is only a few steps away. Can’t believe how much he’s changed in a few short years, going from chatty Mr Popular to this rugged mountain recluse.
Can’t believe he brought me back to his cabin. His manly fortress of solitude.
Can’t believe he still cares.