6. Blaze #2
“Baseball doesn’t pay much until you make it to the majors,” he explains. “Most guys have another gig in the offseason. I liked working with my hands.”
I don’t let myself turn around and look at said hands.
I remember them in enough detail from fishing and playing cornhole yesterday.
“I didn’t know that.” I try to picture a younger Shawn Camden working construction.
I get a flash of sweaty, dirt-stained muscles and push the image away again.
Not something I should be thinking about as we climb the mountain.
“Did you design the house?” He sounds legitimately interested, and I pull my thoughts back to the conversation.
“The architect did the real work, but she let me have a lot of input. I added in some extras that I hope Brooke appreciates.”
“Brooke—that’s your sister?”
“Yeah.” Brooke is currently single, but it occurs to me that I wouldn’t mind having a guy like Shawn for a brother-in-law someday.
And the dating scene in rural Maine is not the greatest—I should know.
But when I try to picture Shawn and Brooke going out together, my mind shuts down, then refocuses on the way I imagine Shawn looks in a tool belt.
Well, it wouldn’t be that professional to set up a guest with my only family member.
“Want to take a water break?” I hold up next to a granite boulder, pull two reusable water bottles out of the pack, and hand one to him.
“Thanks.” Shawn twists the top off the bottle and takes a swig.
I find myself watching his throat work as he swallows and avert my eyes when it feels like I’ve been looking for too long.
I busy myself by pouring some water into a little plastic dish I brought for Misty, which she makes quick work of.
I pour her a little more, then take a drink myself.
“It’s awesome of you to take me up here, Blaze. You’re really going above and beyond.”
I choke mid-sip at the unexpected compliment.
“Just doing my job,” I say when I can take a full breath.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been a mess lately. But then, I guess a lot of people come to Sanctuary Lake to get away from something, huh?”
“Or find something.”
“Yeah. Wish I knew what I was looking for.” He gives me a bleak smile that wallops me in the gut. How did a guy as talented and successful as Shawn Camden get so lost?
I glance up the swiftly darkening trail. We’re near the rock-studded part of the path that leads to the lookout. We should get there just in time for sunset.
“Nearly there?” he asks.
“We’ll get up there before it gets full-on dark. Not gonna lie—I’m excited about Nolan’s picnic dinner.”
“Oh man, I’m already addicted to that guy’s cooking. For lunch I had steak that was so good I almost thought I was in Texas.”
“Nolan’s got a gift, no doubt. Too bad he has to tell everyone about it all the time.”
Shawn laughs. “You don’t get along?”
“No, we’re cool.” When Nolan arrived last year, I clocked him as gay right away. Part of me hoped maybe we’d hit it off. But Nolan loves himself too much to make a good partner to anyone else, in my admittedly inexperienced opinion. “He keeps to himself.”
“And you don’t?” He hands me the water bottle back, and I stow everything away.
“I—” I think about the question. “I’ve lived here my entire life, so I pretty much know everyone by now.”
“Must be nice,” he says as we start up the trail again.
“What?”
“To be part of a community like that. Where someone notices if you’re not around. You can’t just be lifted out of the fabric here. There’d be a hole.”
He sounds bitter. Is he talking about himself?
“You don’t feel like part of a community?” I ask carefully, not wanting to poke a sore spot. I’m an outdoor guide, not a counselor. But Shawn’s clearly got something on his mind.
“I used to. It was more than being part of a community. I was part of a team. I was good at being on a team.”
I hear a scuffle and glance behind me. Shawn’s trudging heavily along the trail as if he’s got a backpack full of rocks weighing him down.
“I was a Laurel one moment and then…nothing.”
That makes me pause. I get being depressed over being cut from the team, but he’s talking like he’s got no value at all, which can’t be true.
I saw the way he was with Max yesterday, the simple enjoyment he’s gotten out of fishing and hiking since he’s been here.
Sure, I don’t know him that well. I don’t know what makes him angry or gets him out of bed in the morning. But I know he’s a decent person.
“Hell, I probably sound insufferably self-centered.”
“You’re just human. Which means you aren’t nothing,” I say firmly.
“Maybe. I don’t know what I am.”
I glance back at him, the brim of his cap hiding his face from me.
But by the set of his shoulders, there’s something really young about him right now.
He’s older than me, but I feel like the wise one.
I’ve been through the worst and come out the other side.
Do I have everything figured out? Of course not. But I know where I am, why I am.
“You can figure it out,” I say. “Shawn Camden isn’t just a former Laurel. You have more than that going for you.”
“I’ve done literally nothing but play baseball since I was five years old.”
“Come on, you’ve got to have hobbies, interests. You like fishing.”
“I don’t think I can build an identity around fishing,” he says, laughing a little.
“It’s been done.” I point ahead. “Almost there—we just have to get past this rocky part.”
“Isn’t that always the way?” His voice is wry.
“It’ll be worth it,” I say firmly. “Come on. Where we’re headed is a great place to get perspective.”