Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The sun bites into my skin as it sneers from its looming angle above us, a magnetic force pulling my boots to the ground.
The canyon is greedy for every step I take, making my calves ache in places I didn’t know had muscles.
But I can’t stop or show weakness. Jack’s finger is just itching to call a helicopter and send me out of here after all of my unfortunate accidents, and maybe a little because I’ve basically forced him to confront his trauma.
What a great start to a relationship.
I roll my eyes at myself, tripping over a rock. Jack turns, flashing that guilty, concerned look at me.
“Stop trying to burn a hole through me with your eyes. I’m fine!” I snap a little too sharply. He steps forward, holding the back of his fingers to my forehead.
“We’re stopping.”
“No. You said you want to make it to your friend with enough time to get us outta here before nighttime. So let’s hustle.” I motion behind him, hoping he’ll ignore the strain in my eyes.
But, of course, he doesn’t. He’s never ignored a single one of my needs. Before I can protest, he’s got an arm under my legs, lifting me bridal style while I contemplate a new strategy involving mouth-to-mouth.
Hmm, maybe I do have a fever.
“Stop being stubborn,” Jack grumbles, though I’m certainly not fighting him anymore.
I allow him to carry me to a shaded outcrop and gently deposit me onto the dusty ground. My skin has changed color with the layer of red dirt I’ve accumulated. Everything is so dusty now that I can’t even remember the luxury of having sandless crevices.
He scowls, lifting the seam of the bandage on my arm to peek at the wound. “Rest,” he commands. “I’m going to call Danny at the dig site. I think I can get a signal from here.”
“Really?” I perk up, thinking I can check my own messages. I should probably tell my mother that I’m spending a few extra nights here. I’ll leave the gunshot wound and smuggling debacle out of it for now, though.
“We’re high enough.” He drops his backpack before piercing me with another stern look. “I’ll be a few minutes. Don’t move.” And then he takes the straw of my hydration pack and sticks it in my mouth. “Drink.”
I give him my best pout, trying to hide how much his bossy commands and grouchiness make me want to throw myself at him.
I am unwell.
He saunters down several switchbacks with the ease of a panther, making me feel like a dust-covered cave troll in comparison. It’s not fair how hot he still looks.
I pull out my phone and switch it on. After a minute, a few texts from Hayley and one from my mother ping through. I scan through Hayley’s, hearting the photos of Giorgio and texting a vague reply with a promise to call her soon before opening the text from my mom.
Mom:
Kuroki has a fungus. Taking her to a specialist in Tahoe. Hope your hike is going great! Chat soon.
“Beyonsai, you little diva,” I muse, shaking my head. She always finds a way to upstage everyone.
Jack paces back and forth, making for a very nice view.
I watch him shamelessly, almost daring him to see the appreciation and longing in my gaze, but he doesn’t notice.
The little crack in the window to his heart that allowed me a small glimpse last night has been boarded closed, and there’s a freshly hung stay out sign.
But it’s so unfair. He’s helped me recognize a strength I didn’t know I had, and I’m so desperate for the chance to help him experience the same that it physically hurts.
Sure, I’m still fighting the voice in my head that says I need to prove my worth to be valued, but Jack has shown me that my dreams are worth fighting for.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing out here the whole time—fighting to prove to myself that I can stick with something long enough to see it through. Fighting for boldness in choosing to pursue something that matters. Fighting to accept that I’m not a quitter, I’m just cut from a different cloth.
My head rests against the rock wall behind me, and I get a glimpse of the canyon’s vantage point where it judges all the marching little humans from above.
My gaze shifts to the side with a weary roll of my neck, and I frown at the patterns on the ground.
It takes so much effort just to hoist myself up that I almost regret sitting, but something about the unnatural scuffle marks draws me in closer.
Angry footprints are stamped into the sand leading around a corner, calling me like a breadcrumb trail.
I know I shouldn’t follow it, but my curiosity has been piqued, and I must follow.
The footprints lead me down a narrowing path to a passage that feels like it would prefer to stay hidden, the air thick with heat and secrets.
An out-of-place stone mars the path, begging investigation, and I find the tiniest smudge of burnt umber on one side.
I’ve studied the colors of the canyon almost obsessively over the past three days, and this anomaly in the hues of the grapefruit-sized rock is like a magnetic force, calling my fingers with promises of satiated curiosity.
The stronger force, though, is the whisper of more questions.
I can understand why people become obsessed with solving a case or chasing rumors of lost treasure.
Each clue is like a hit of adrenaline. For the first time, I’m beginning to understand a little bit of what my family feels when they achieve something.
My squat to retrieve the lone rock is slow, and I fight the stars crowding my vision when I stand.
In all the dismemberment of Marigold, my ziplock bag of iron tablets has been lost and forgotten.
Some squirrel is riding a hemoglobin high while I suffer through the light-headedness associated with multiple injuries and being way out of my depth.
Once the pounding in my temples finally recedes, I turn the rock over, careful not to touch the red smudge—the one that looks eerily like dried blood.
My steps carry me forward, curving around the path that hugs the canyon as I frown at the coppery smatter on the jagged rock.
My feet freeze when I turn a corner, and I let out a yelp.
There’s a body.
I grab the rock wall with my injured arm to avoid falling on top of the lifeless form splayed awkwardly on the ground.
I wince at the burn of my injury, bringing a hand to my mouth as the other still grips onto the rock in my hand.
This isn’t good.
An iciness coats my skin, my back stiff.
I stare down at Brandon’s motionless body, his cold gaze holding secrets. The thudding of hurried footsteps gets closer before Jack appears, breathing heavily and cataloging the scene with that beautiful, detail-focused mind of his.
He’s got a gun in his hand—a different one from before, and a look of danger lighting his eyes.
It’s the kind of look that means he’s prepared for trouble, not afraid of it.
He stoops down and presses his fingers to Brandon’s neck, checking for a pulse that’s obviously not there.
But then a trace of confusion sweeps across his face, reminding me I’m standing over a dead body with the potential murder weapon in my hand.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
He furrows his brow. “It looks like you’re not where I left you, and you’re standing over a dead body with a weapon.”
“Circumstantial,” I grimace, trying not to meet Brandon’s frozen stare again.
“Did you touch the body?” He frowns at me before his eyes flick to the canyon walls above us.
“No! Also, ew.”
A snort escapes before he brings his gaze back to me. “I know you didn’t kill a man, Lo.”
“Well, obviously.”
I look at Brandon’s clothes, shaking my head at his state. The secrets in this place just keep getting stickier. If Brandon is dead, then who the heck killed him, and what are they going to do next? And how pissed are they at me for sabotaging their diabolical plans?
That surge of panic begins to throb in my neck as the danger lies mockingly at my feet. I tamp it down, packing it into a tight little purse for later, choosing to focus on what I can wrap my mind around now.
“Can you imagine going out like this?” I frown.
Jack scoffs. “In the Grand Canyon with a rock to the head?”
“No, in these colors! They’re doing nothing for him. The man looks gray, and it’s got nothing to do with the fact that his heart is no longer working.”
Jack’s mouth moves like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. The silence grows before he speaks. “You’re handling the presence of a dead body pretty well…”
“Oh, I’ll definitely freak out about it later when my eyeliner won’t go on right or when I pick a shopping cart that only wants to turn left.”
“Yeah. This kinda thing can hit you at the most arbitrary times. But if you wanna talk about it now…I’m, uh…I’m here.”
This teddy bear.
I need to shake us both out of a potential free fall to freaking out.
I can see it in his jaw, just as I feel it in the tightening of my own muscles.
He’s about to go into full-on damage-control mode and shut me out, and I’m seconds away from rocking back and forth in the fetal position.
Maybe it’s my own way of not fully dealing with the fact that, yes, there is a dead body at my feet.
But can you blame me after the insanity of the past four days?
I clear my throat and glance down at Brandon again. “There is something you can do for me…” I tell Jack.
“Anything.”
Ugh, he’s making it really hard not to climb him like a tree and never let go. If I weren’t injured, I’d consider it.
“If I die out here, don’t let them bury me in anything with a cool or gray undertone.
I refuse to look lifeless at my funeral.
And absolutely no charcoal. It’s the worst color on me.
” I bite my lip. A few days ago, my seemingly insurmountable challenge was how to tell my dad I can’t finish my degree; now I’m staring death in the face.
And I can’t hold back the slightly hysterical sob that thought elicits.
Jack’s nostrils flare as he pins me with a glare, heated and stubborn. “You’re not dying out here.”
“You don’t know that. I mean, I’ve come pretty close.” I sniff, wiping away a tear. “A rock could fall on my head, or a herd of squirrels could attack me.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Some things are just out of our control, Jack,” I say, hoping maybe some of this will reach the wound he’s kept plastered up. “It’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on yourself, and you’re not responsible for saving everyone.”
He huffs, throwing his hands up as he steps back. “I know I can’t save everybody.”
My heart is beating a frantic rhythm in my chest, pleading with him to get the truth out, to acknowledge his fear.
His eyes are wild with agony as they widen my way. “But I sure as hell can’t survive losing someone again. How do I live knowing something could happen to someone I care about?”
There it is.
The silence grows as my heart rate pounds in my chest and the canyon holds its breath. This is the moment he chooses fear or courage.
“You do it by being grateful for what you have now,” I tell him, making my tone gentle again.
I step over Brandon’s body, grimacing with an “Excuse me,” before shaking my head and bringing my gaze back to the storm brewing in Jack’s eyes. I’d rather focus on him than the corpse at my feet.
“You get through it with gratitude.” My hand tentatively reaches for his.
“You live each day, grateful for this moment, thankful for each day you have with the people you love.” My shoulder lifts with a shrug and a prayer that some of what I’m saying gets through to his beautiful heart.
Yes, this conversation is unfortunately happening over a dead body, but all that matters is that it’s happening.
Panic swirls in his eyes, and I have no idea what he’s going to say next. I brace myself when his jaw unhinges, but another voice booms out beside us.
“You killed him?”
We both spin, bodies tense, Jack with his gun raised.
Chad’s bulging eyes lead him closer with slow steps that drag along the pebbles at his feet.
“What? No! No. This is not what it looks like,” I say again.
“It looks like you’re standing over a body with a weapon!” Chad’s voice echoes off the rocky walls as his hands form fists. I roll my eyes as he steps closer. Jack is in front of me within a second, blocking Chad.
“She had nothing to do with this, Wickman. We just found him,” Jack declares gruffly.
Chad’s eyes are glazed, and he doesn’t seem to register the use of his last name.
Apparently, Jack has been using those phone calls and texts to do some investigating.
A crow swoops low, shrieking, and Chad flinches before his gaze turns to Jack.
“Your girl flirts with another man, and you kill him?”
“I wasn’t flirting! I was very clear about not being interested. I can’t help it if you and Brandon both consistently misread the vibe.” I throw the hand of my uninjured arm on my hip. Of all the things.
Jack clears his throat and glares at me expectantly.
“I mean, of course Jack didn’t kill him, either,” I correct myself, glancing at Brandon as a shiver runs down my arms.
“Neither of us murdered your friend, but I do intend to find out who did.” Jack pulls the badge out that he keeps on a chain under his shirt and flashes it at Chad. “Tell me what you’re doing off the trail.”
“You’re a cop?” Chad blanches, his face turning pale as he lets out a curse.
“Law Enforcement Park Ranger,” Jack replies, straightening.
“Crap…” Chad exhales a sharp breath, his eyes darting around frantically. “I should probably tell you some stuff then.”