Chapter 2 Ruger #2
When Remi showed up with her insane plan, complete with spreadsheets, immigration timelines, and a PowerPoint titled Men Are Temporary, Opportunities Are Forever, I listened.
Maybe a sane person would have said no, considering I’m risking prison time for a person I met maybe two times, and it was mostly just me helping Remi pile more winter gear on her, but I couldn’t.
While I don’t know Wrenley well yet, I knew from the moment I met her that she’s the kind of person the world needs more of.
She’s kind, passionate, and funny in a way that catches you off guard. If helping her get the life she actually wants means pretending to be her husband for a couple of years? Fine. I can live with that.
Probably.
I’m glad you like it, I say.
I do, she says, looking around again.
Then her eyes land back on me, and something in her expression shifts slightly. I wonder if the reality of this arrangement is suddenly settling in all over again.
This is weird, she says with a small laugh.
Are you still talking about the bat boxes?
No. Well, yes. But also… She gestures vaguely between us. The whole living together thing.
I shrug. It’s… different. But we already made it through a mini crisis, so that’s a point in our favour.
I wink, but she only huffs out a quiet laugh, nerves still behind it.
Well, Remi says brightly, clapping her hands together once, I’m thrilled you two are bonding over wildlife trauma, but I have to go. I missed a batch of line edits, and they were due, like… yesterday. She glances at Wrenley. You going to be okay here?
It’s subtle, but I catch the flicker of panic Wrenley smooths over almost immediately.
Yeah, she says with a breezy wave. I’m already pretty much emotionally recovered from my near-death experience.
Remi snorts. Look, don’t worry. She steps up and pulls me into a side hug. I’m leaving you with a carbon copy of myself.
I scoff, shoving her off gently. Please. I don’t cry walking into a bookstore.
Maybe if you picked up a book, you would, she fires back, grinning. I know that underneath all that camo is a softie that would never be able to get through reading A Walk to Remember without a full box of tissues.
Wrenley lets out a surprised laugh, then claps her hand over her mouth like she wasn’t expecting it. Despite knowing that she is laughing at me… I kind of like the sound.
As Remi breezes to the door, Wrenley shifts closer, and her shoulder brushes mine, light, unintentional.
Sorry, she murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes.
I don’t say anything. But the contact lingers longer than it should.
Anyway, Remi says, pulling her keys out of her jeans pocket. Ruger, come with me and get Wrenley’s bags. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Wren?
She nods, looking stoic, but I can only imagine she doesn’t feel that way.
Make yourself at home, I tell her before following my carbon copy out the door.
I roll my eyes at the thought.
We’re not carbon copies, my sister and me. Sure, we shared a womb. Now, we share a birthday and a handful of childhood memories. But where she’s chaos and insane ideas, I’m… not. I like quiet. Routine. A life where things don’t suddenly shift under your feet.
Which makes this arrangement strange as hell. Letting someone else in my space isn’t something I’d do for anyone other than my sister.
The suitcases are in the back, Remi tells me.
I jump into the bed of her truck and see two bright yellow suitcases.
Who the hell buys yellow suitcases? They must have been on clearance.
I lower them onto the sidewalk, then jump out.
I look at my sister. She’s staring back at my house, and she looks conflicted.
You okay?
Her head twists quickly in my direction, and she slaps on a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I’ve known Remi for thirty-six years. I know when she’s faking happiness.
Of course.
I lean against her truck. You know you could blow off your writing and stay.
She shakes her head, her blonde bangs swinging across her forehead. It’s my job, Ruger. I can’t just not do it. I’d never ask you to miss camp season.
I open my mouth to argue, because technically, it’s mid-season for me.
She points a finger before I can say anything. Don’t you dare say anything about the timing. I had zero control over when the visa got approved.
I close my mouth because she’s right.
Once the K-1 paperwork came through, there was a six-month window to actually get Wrenley moved here and officially start the immigration process.
Wrenley also didn’t feel comfortable hopping off a plane and marrying me immediately.
Which, honestly, I respected. Even if this whole arrangement is about protecting her future, she still wanted the chance to back out if arriving here suddenly made everything feel too real.
Unfortunately, no matter how we timed things, it landed during my season.
I work for an outfitter. Summer’s mostly prep work. Fixing cabins, rounding up horses, clearing trails, getting camp ready before hunting season starts. Then in the fall, we take clients into the backcountry for guided hunts.
Camp’s a few hours outside town on a rough road, but once you’re out there, it’s worth it.
There’s mostly no cell service, but we do have satellite internet in the cookhouse because occasionally people get hurt.
Most of the hunts are done on horseback while the rest are on foot.
I like using horses because we can access more remote areas without tearing the land apart with trucks and ATVs.
After talking it through, we all agreed it would look suspicious as hell if Wrenley uprooted her entire life to move to Alaska for her fiancé only for me to immediately disappear into the wilderness for weeks at a time.
Since this felt like the easiest stretch to step away, we landed on her arriving in September.
Finding skilled guides in this area isn’t as hard as finding someone who is willing to stick out the sometimes gruelling labour of setting up camp. Guiding is the fun part.
So, instead of heading back out to camp full-time, I picked up more shifts with the conservation office, my usual winter gig. The outfitter wasn’t thrilled about losing me, but I promised I’d be back next season.
Remi, relax. I’m not mad. And I’m not trying to guilt you about working.
She pauses, eyeing me like she’s waiting for the but. When it doesn’t come, her shoulders ease slightly.
I sigh and glance back toward the house. So what exactly am I supposed to do with her?
Start with food. Remi checks the sun dipping behind the mountains, then looks back at me. She’s eaten half a slice of pumpkin loaf, half a cheese Danish, and washed it down with a coffee. And I know she didn’t eat breakfast. Something about a barf bag that I’ve blocked out for trauma purposes.
I stare at her, my stomach churning at the thought of what she ate. That’s it?
Remi grins. Like I said. Food. I’ll be by for breakfast.
I nod. I’ll see you then.
She heads to her truck, pops into the driver’s seat, then leans over and flings open the passenger door. That’s Wren’s, she says, pointing at the blue backpack on the floor.
I grab it and sling it over my shoulder, but Remi doesn’t shut the door. She sits there, fingers gripping the handle, eyes flicking to the house, then back to me.
Am I a bad friend for leaving her?
No.
Her forehead creases. It just feels shitty, you know? Like I dragged her here, and now I’m ditching her.
You didn’t drag her, I say gently. You helped her. You two have been planning this for a long time, and she knew you’d still have to work.
She bites her lip.
And you’re not leaving her with a stranger, I add. You’re leaving her with me.
That earns me the smallest smile. To her, you’re a stranger.
But not to you. And you know who I am deep down.
She nods.
You’re not a bad friend, Remi, I say, softer this time. You’re doing what you two planned to do: give her a fresh start. That’s what this is all about, right? Integrating. Living like it’s real.
Remi nods slowly, and I see the gratitude in her eyes.
Go on, now. You have work to do.
Fine. I’m going. Call me if you need me, okay?
She shuts the door and gives a wave as she U-turns and disappears down the road.
I face the house.
Okay. Here we go.
I haul the suitcases up the porch and step inside my house. Wrenley’s shoes are neatly tucked by the door. I spot her in the living room, chin resting on the back of the couch, watching the street like she’s trying to figure out how hard it’d be to run away on foot.
I drop the backpack and abandon the suitcases, then lean against the doorway.
Uh, I say, running a hand through my hair. Remi said you might be hungry?
Wrenley doesn’t look at me. No. I ate.
Trash. You ate trash.
A quiet settles between us, broken only by the soft creak of the house growing darker with each passing second.
How about a light? I ask, stepping into the room.
I’m fine.
I let my hand fall back to my side. She still won’t meet my eyes. And something about her slumped, defeated posture makes my chest ache. This isn’t the same woman from twenty minutes ago who, even while terrified, looked so full of life. This one looks… small. Lonely.
I’m sorry my sister abandoned you, I say, voice light.
Wrenley whips her head around, eyes flashing. She didn’t abandon me. She has a job. And I’m not here for a vacation. I live here now.
I hold my hands up, smirking. Easy, Canada. I was joking.
Her expression softens just slightly.
I drop onto the couch, careful to give her space. She exhales, her shoulders sagging.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that, she says, voice soft. Reality just hit all at once, I guess.
I nod. I get it. Fake marrying my sister’s best friend wasn’t exactly on my bingo card this year, but life’s weird like that.
And sure, it feels a little off. But backing out isn’t an option now. Not when she’s sitting on my couch looking like that and trying so damn hard to hold it all together.