Chapter 22
chapter
twenty-two
DAISY
I wake up gasping, my throat raw and sandpapery. A coughing fit tears through me hard enough to make my ribs ache. For one blissfully disoriented second, I don’t know where I am.
The RV creaks. The bunk wall presses against my shoulder.
My throat burns. My head feels stuffed with wet cotton, which could be from the cold meds or crying.
My memory returns with all the softness of a brick.
Miles. The fight. Me exploring options with Marissa I shouldn’t have even entertained, and him overhearing, and everything imploding.
God. I groan and drag the blanket over my face. It smells faintly like cough syrup and cedar. Like Miles.
Outside the curtain, I hear cabinets open. Coffee pours. Somebody coughs—a low, rough sound I know instantly.
My stupid body reacts. It appears heartbreak does not override recognition. Or longing. Or the humiliating ache of wanting to hear him laugh at something stupid.
I close my eyes harder.
Maybe if I stay here long enough, I’ll evaporate.
A quiet knock taps against the bunk frame.
“Alive?” Jax is there. If he’s awake, I’ve definitely overslept.
“Debatable,” I croak.
The curtain shifts open an inch, and he winces when he sees me.
“Oh, wow.”
“What?” I ask, pulling a blanket over me.
“You look worse.”
“Thank you.”
“No, like, medically.”
I throw a pillow weakly in his direction.
He catches it with dramatic concern. “Okay, aggression is still there. Great sign.”
Then his expression softens. Too much. Like everyone’s trying very hard not to step on emotional landmines.
“There’s tea,” he says. “Maya made soup.”
I blink.
“Oh.”
“And—” He hesitates. Something in my chest tightens in anticipation.
“What?”
“Um… there are meds.”
The pause says enough. This all hurts. I’m suffering physically, sure, but I don’t think I’ve been impacted emotionally like this in…
ever. The feeling of letting someone down that you’ve somehow grown to really, actually care about?
Fucking brutal. Now I understand what the heartbroken celebs I’ve interviewed were talking about.
“Cool,” I croak.
Jax studies me for a second like he wants to say something smarter than he’s equipped for.
Then: “You know he looks like absolute garbage too, right?”
I look away. “Great.”
“He coughed so hard earlier Owen asked if we should call a priest.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh.
Jax sighs. “You know we’re not idiots, right?”
Then he disappears, the curtain falling closed. I’m alone again.
Just me, and the hum and creak of the Machine.
And Miles’s voice, somewhere beyond the curtain—low. Controlled. Talking logistics.
Still moving. Still functioning. Still doing it for the mission.
Or at least that’s how it feels.
I hate myself a little for listening. More for caring.
Eventually, the cold meds take me back under.
When I wake again, my phone is hot in my hand and my comment notifications have multiplied into something more concerning than my typical engagement.
At first, it feels almost normal. Funny. Absurd.
I want to see more of my Bigfoot hunting boyfrienddddd
Absolutely not. Blocked emotionally.
Okay, Daisy’s got me questioning my worldview
Not bad? I don’t think?
Need the next episode NOW!!!!!
Sure, we love anticipation.
Then, my stomach drops.
Guys, pretty sure I found the campsite from ep two teaser!
I sit up. Too fast. My head hits the top of the bunk, and I yelp.
There’s a whole thread. Screenshots. Zoomed landscapes. Map guesses. Speculation.
ROADTRIP THIS WEEKEND??
Guys I’m in Arizona already lmao
I’m in!! Let’s investigate.
My pulse hammers in my head. Another post. A blurry photo. Trailhead parking with a 4Runner there. Our 4Runner. Too recognizable.
“Oh fuck,” My voice comes out thin. Wrong. This feels wrong. Not exciting. Not like momentum.
I shove back the blanket and climb down too fast.
The RV tilts around me like a series of funhouse mirrors.
Taylor is standing over a map and looks up, concerned, walking towards me with her hands out like she’s going to catch me.
“Whoa, babe,” she says, calming and corralling me like I’m a wild animal. Which is probably what I look like.
I look around, making sure everyone’s there.
Maya is inventorying batteries. Owen is in the back making eggs while also mumbling about satellite imagery.
I don’t spot Jax, but Miles is near the monitor wall.
And for one terrible second, he looks up.
The first eye contact since the fight. His whole expression softens instantly.
Like relief snuck through before he could stop it.
“You okay, Daisy?” he says quietly.
My throat tightens. I look away first.
“We have a problem,” I say, holding out my phone. Business voice.
Owen comes up from behind me and snatches the phone from me while Taylor puts an arm around me, helping to hold me up. Holding the phone out for everyone, Owen and Taylor start reading.
Miles crosses to be on my other side, too close. Always too close. His shoulder brushes mine. I hate that I want more of his touch.
Taylor swears under her breath. Owen mutters, “Well, shit.”
“What is it?” Maya asks.
Jax opens the door, looking back at the site. “Hey, did you guys notice a bunch more cars here, like, overnight?” He stops when he sees us all, huddled around my phone, our faces serious.
Miles reads faster than everyone else. Jaw tightening, eyes sharpening.
“How many cars are out there? This is an RV park next to a minor trailhead. Logistically, it can’t fit that many more…” Miles is starting to spin out.
Jax shrugs. “There are maybe ten more. I’ll go check them out.” He jogs back down the stairs as Miles turns to me.
“When was that clip posted?”
“A few hours ago.”
He’s already moving—laptop open, scanning routes.
“We need to pull references from the clips,” he says. “Taylor, trail access. Maya, ranger contact.”
I tune out as dread twists in my chest. Ten minutes pass as everyone handles their tasks. I just sit there, frozen in shock.
There’s no accusation or acknowledgment that this is my fault. No banter. No more checking in on me, and it’s just now that I’m realizing how much I’ve liked being thought of. It feels selfish, but it still hurts.
I’m not Miles’s focus. The mission is. And he dove right in, fixing and solving.
I’m back in the fight all over again.
Miles glances toward me, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “You should stay here,” he says.
Something inside me snaps.
“No.”
His brows pull together. “Daisy—”
“No.” I hear myself laugh once. “I think I should see the consequences of my actions.”
The room goes quiet. Miles’s face changes.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
His voice lowers. “Blame yourself.”
But before either of us can say more, Jax bursts back through the door.
He’s ashen. No jokes. My nerves skyrocket.
“We’ve got a problem.”
“What?” Taylor asks.
“There are little newbie crews out there.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”
“They’re trying to get in on it. Probably listeners.”
The words hit like a slap.
Jax runs a hand through his hair. “Three college kids. Cameras. Trail cams. One guy livestreaming.” He swallows. “One of them fell.”
Everything stops.
“What?” I whisper.
Miles moves first, already grabbing gear.
“How bad?”
“Bad ankle. Maybe broken. They said he slid near that drainage area where Daisy almost fell.”
Owen swears.
Maya grabs the medical kit.
And Miles becomes someone terrifying. It’s not him being cruel or cold. Just focused.
“Jax, you grab coordinates. Owen, you’re with me. Maya, prep thermal blankets. Taylor, ranger dispatch now.”
Then his eyes hit mine.
Only mine.
For half a second, the sharpness of his focus cracks.
“Stay here.”
Maybe under different circumstances, maybe before the fight, maybe before the comments and guilt and all of it, I would have heard care.
Instead I hear dismissal.
“No.”
His jaw flexes. “Daisy.”
“I’m coming.”
“You’re right. This is probably great content,” he says coldly before leaving.
The kid can’t be older than twenty. Nineteen maybe. Mud streaked across his college sweatshirt—Flagstaff, maybe. Face pale from pain. Leg bent wrong enough to make my stomach twist.
He’s rain-soaked, shivering, and terrified. He tries to smile when he sees me.
“Oh my God,” he says weakly. “Daisy Bennett.”
Something inside me breaks.
“Uh—hi, there,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says, wincing hard. “We just… We heard your show.”
My stomach turns.
“We just wanted to look, too.”
Tears sting unexpectedly.
Nearby, Miles kneels in mud stabilizing the leg while directing Owen toward comms and coordinates. Calm. Competent. Focused.
Perfect. Terrible. Beautiful. Untouchable.
“Stay with me, okay?” Miles tells the kid evenly. “You’re fine. Medics are coming.”
The kid laughs weakly. “Worth it though.”
This isn’t what I wanted. My mind spins.
This sweet kid is validating all of the reasons I want this show to work.
Give people something or someone to root for.
Something to believe in. But not at the cost of kids getting themselves hurt.
The board definitely wasn’t asking for this. They want a show—fabricated fun.
If that’s all they want, I can give it to them without being here. If I’m not here, I’m not giving any real-time indicators of where the team is, and fans aren’t literally tripping over themselves to find me or cryptids.
Everyone is better off with me back in LA.
This thought takes root over the next few hours as we get the kid to safety and tend to other stragglers. I put on my best DL with Daisy persona, flipping my hair, cracking jokes, and thanking them graciously for their listenership. All just to get them to head the fuck home.
Hours later, after medics and statements and mud and silence, I find Miles outside the RV.
Rain is starting again, and Miles packs up the maps he’d spread across the hood of the 4Runner.
He looks up at me like he’s been waiting. And suddenly I can’t breathe.
“Daisy—”
“I think I should leave,” I blurt before I can let any emotions change my mind.
He freezes.
“What? I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I just—”
“People got hurt.”
“That isn’t your fault.”
I know he’s just thinking about that kid. I’m really thinking about him.
My smile is grim. “It quite literally is.”
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Grant escalated this. The listeners—”
“I brought them here.” My voice cracks. “I made this into content.”
“You told a story.”
“Or I tried to. But the execs don’t like my angle, and my only angle is honesty. So what’s the point?”
Silence.
Rain ticks softly against metal.
Miles exhales once, trying so hard to stay calm.
“We can contain this. Keep moving on the trail in the morning.”
Contain. There it is again. Something ugly blooms in my chest.
“Do you ever hear yourself?”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“You’re already back to the mission.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No?” My laugh shakes. “You didn’t even look at me today, let alone talk to me or check on me.”
His expression flickers.
“Daisy—”
“You believe in this,” I whisper, gesturing helplessly toward the trees. “You believe in Bigfoot.”
He goes still.
“You look at it like something magical. Impossible, but real.”
Rain gathers in my lashes.
“And I don’t think you look at me that way.”
His face changes, like I hit something unguarded.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Then why does it feel like you don’t believe in me? At least you know I’m real. But maybe that’s the problem.”
He reaches for me. Too little, too late. I step back. Pain flashes across his face so quickly it almost undoes me.
“You believe in impossible things, Miles. You fight for them.” My voice cracks. “But I think people only fight for me when I’m useful.”
He looks at me, torn apart, trying to find words. The rain falls harder.
“I’m funny. Interesting. Easy. But the second I become complicated or make a mistake?” I shake my head. “I know you felt something for me. But when I become inconvenient—as human beings do—I’m always just a means to an end. I don’t think you’ll ever choose me the way you choose this.”
Then, because I can’t leave this too serious: “And I can’t have kids falling into ditches over me. I mean, trust me, men fall over themselves for me back in LA, but not in this terrain. So, yeah.” I stall, mortified at my awkward fumbling of this. “I’m leaving.”
I take a step closer and reach up to put a kiss on his cheek.
“Maybe in another timeline, Adler.”
Raindrops drip from his glasses. His mouth opens, closes.
Nothing comes out.
Miles Adler always has words.
Tonight, he just watches me leave.