Chapter 9 #3
“And Maya?” Daisy asks.
I smile. “Maya’s the reason this operation is operational.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She found one of our early uploads online and emailed me a twelve-page document correcting our methodology and suggested a few sponsors.”
Daisy bursts out laughing. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” I grin despite myself. “It was intimidating.”
“And you liked that?” she asks.
“I respected it.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” I reply.
“It absolutely is.”
I shake my head, smiling as I look down at the trail.
Then she asks quietly, “And you? I know you mentioned your parents, but are they what’s keeping you here still?”
The question settles heavier than the others.
I step over a fallen branch, buying myself a second.
“They believed we weren’t alone,” I say. “They didn’t have blind belief—they were just open to the possibilities. And Bigfoot was the fun possibility my mom latched onto. When we took that trip to this area I told you about, it was just a year or so before their accident.”
I look out at the horizon, debating how much I am willing to say.
There’s a reason I don’t talk about this. Hell, not even the crew knows the whole story.
But when I glance at Daisy, she’s still watching me. Waiting. Like she already knows there’s more.
Fuck it.
I take a breath and keep going before I can stop myself.
“My mom swears she saw Bigfoot. She and I were on a hike together while my dad and Owen set up camp, and she said she saw him—a looming shadow in the trees. I always wondered whether she just said that to indulge me or if it really happened. Either way, that hike was one of my last real memories with them. They just always thought the world was bigger than most people let themselves imagine.”
I consider my words carefully. “I think… I think after they died, I needed that to still be true. Especially Bigfoot. I think that memory with my mom is why I couldn't stop thinking about the reports I'd seen over the years. I had to see it through.”
Daisy is silent. The only sound is the breeze whispering through the trees around us. She watches me with total openness, no jokes or deflection. And somehow that’s harder to handle than skepticism ever was.
“If they were right about some of it, then maybe life isn’t as simple as people pretend. And if the world was strange enough for things we couldn’t explain…” I pause, unsure of how to continue.
“Then maybe losing them didn’t have to feel so final?” Daisy finishes.
I glance at her, stunned. “Yeah. I think that’s it.”
She looks down at the loose rock, finding her footing. “I get it.”
And there it is again. That strange emotional overlap between us. Different lives. Different worlds.
Same fear underneath.
“What about you?” I ask.
She laughs once under her breath, but there’s no humor in it.
“What about me?”
“What happens if you strip all of this away?” I gesture toward her. “The show. The brand. The persona.”
“What persona?” She winks at me.
“You know what I mean, Daisy.”
Her expression shifts immediately. Guarded. Then thoughtful.
“That’s kind of the problem,” she admits after a second. “I don’t know anymore. I really don’t.”
The honesty of it hits me hard. I understand it all too well.
“I think I’m scared of that, too,” I admit.
She looks surprised.
“You?”
I nod once.
“Like, what are you without this?” she asks carefully.
The question lands heavy. It’s a question I have worked very hard to avoid.
If this isn’t real—if I’m wrong—then what does that make me?
A guy chasing stories through the desert because he couldn’t let go of his parents. A lonely kid who built an entire life around possibility because reality hurt too much. The thought makes something tight pull in my ribs.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly.
Daisy is quiet beside me, then says, “Maybe that’s why this works.” She shrugs, picking at the edge of her sleeve.
I watch her carefully, unwilling to misinterpret her meaning again. “This?” I ask.
She looks up at me, her eyes pools of uncertain vulnerability.
The charge between us is instant and strong.
She looks away, flushing. "We're both so used to surviving behind these versions of ourselves. You with all your rules and research. Me with the jokes and the podcast voice. And I know I haven’t known you long, so I might be off base, but… it seems like we both find it easiest to set aside our personas when it’s just the two of us. ”
The trail opens into a clearing overlooking the valley below, leaves starting to change color into vibrant oranges and reds that look even brighter against red rocks.
We stop and take it all in, awestruck. Our hands brush, sending goosebumps up my arm, but we keep our gazes locked on the valley.
The desert stretches endlessly beneath us, alive and fiery and impossibly wide.
And standing there beside Daisy in the early morning light, dread and desire collide in my body, and I can’t deny it anymore.
I don’t just like her. I like being understood by her. I don’t want to be colleagues, and I don’t want to be friends. I want more.