Chapter 30 Sadie
I have been a ray of sunshine all day long.
I made it a point to stay chipper: to not complain, even though I had the worst caffeine headache ever, and to be a bubbly fount of optimism since our collective well has run somewhat dry.
I swatted away mosquitos.
I made peace with the sweat.
I didn’t run screaming when I saw a snake on the trail—Thorn reassured us it was harmless, and I chose to believe him, despite my self-preservation instincts kicking into high gear.
And I didn’t cry when said snake made the phrase day beasts pop into my head, reminding me of how easy it’s been to laugh with Thorn about anything and everything—how easy it was, anyway, before he started avoiding me.
All day long, I was determined to be sunshine, overcompensating for the persistent thundercloud hanging over Thorn and, by extension, the whole group. I was determined to not let his sudden coolness toward me get under my skin.
Honestly? I did pretty well, all things considered.
The thing that makes my sunny bubble burst, though, comes out of nowhere: I catch Thorn watching me from across the campfire, the most unguarded look on his face…until our eyes meet, and his shield goes right back up.
Was it something I said?
Was it something I did?
After he slipped out of my tent last night, I replayed his kiss on a loop: nothing about it felt like a final kiss. If anything, it felt like an I so wish we could do more but am restraining myself kiss. I figured he’d be back to himself after a good night of sleep.
This morning was awkward, too, though—something has definitely shifted. I told myself he was just tormenting himself with an unnecessary guilt trip, that it had nothing to do with me…but the longer it’s gone on, the more it feels like it has everything to do with me.
I could sit around and worry about it all night, or I could go do something about it.
Most people don’t even realize they’re making you feel unseen or unheard, in my experience—especially not nice guys who’d never try to hurt someone on purpose. How is Thorn supposed to know he’s making me feel like this unless I tell him?
This is the pep talk I give myself as I make my way across camp, later, when the tennis girls and coffee bros are telling ghost stories around the fire. Zoe retreated to her tent as soon as dinner ended, and Thorn has mostly kept to himself, too.
I find him down by the stream, sitting on a boulder.
My shoes might as well be an alarm with how they crunch in the gravel.
He turns, giving me what he clearly thinks passes for a smile—but I see through it. At least it’s not an outright rejection.
“Mind if I sit?” I ask, climbing up on the boulder with him, because I can already tell he won’t tell me no.
“Go ahead,” he says, scooting over so I have a little more space.
“Little dark to be fishing, yeah?” It’s as good a start as any, never mind that he obviously doesn’t have any fishing gear with him.
“Little bit,” he says, not meeting my eyes.
I lean back, taking in the view. The night sky is much more obstructed by trees than it was at our stargazing site, but there’s still a sliver of Milky Way peeking out above us.
My gaze flicks over to his profile, lit by the faint glow of the campfire behind us.
“So,” I finally begin. “What’s going on with you today?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up, like he’s fighting a smile. “Something’s going on with me?”
“You tell me,” I say. “I mean, unless kissing a girl and then avoiding her the whole next day is how you usually roll?”
He bites his lip. “Point taken.”
I give him space, wait for him to find words for whatever’s weighing him down.
“There is no usually when it comes to this,” Thorn finally says. “I’ve never gotten involved with anyone while on a trek—you’re the first. I thought I could handle myself, you know? I thought I could stay focused and have a little fun for once.”
Thorn is so attractive, so capable, so kind: I’m kind of shocked to hear I’m the first—the only!—person he’s gotten close with like this while out on a trek.
“So, what, you never bring your girlfriends along?”
Surely there have been others besides the ex he told me about, the one who ran off to Peru with Matteo.
“Haven’t had a girlfriend in years,” he says. “I’m out here working pretty much all the time.”
“That sounds lonely,” I say, trying to imagine what it’s like for him.
“It is,” he replies. “I mean, there are always people around—but I’m the one responsible for them. They’re here, and then they leave, and then the cycle starts over.”
His words hang in the air.
It sounds even lonelier than I imagined—especially when factoring in that he’s on the clock the whole time, with the group but not really part of it.
It hadn’t occurred to me that life for him might feel like a big revolving door, new people who are just passing through, none of them staying long enough to ever go deep with.
Does he see me, too, as someone who will inevitably leave?
He’d have to, right? It’s not like I’m signed up for another hike after this.
I’ve managed okay out here, far better than I expected, but the thought of not going back to air conditioning and my own bed at the end of all this feels like staring down a deep, dark hole.
I push those thoughts aside, try to focus on what he’s actually said and not just the things I sense simmering underneath.
“You’ve got friends outside of work, though, right?” I ask, meaning it to be encouraging.
As soon as I say it, I can see I’ve struck a nerve: Matteo was his friend outside of work.
“Matteo was my best friend,” he says after a long pause. “Like a brother.” He swallows, picks at his thumbnail.
“I take it he hasn’t apologized yet, then?” I ask. “For…Peru?”
Thorn laughs—a genuine, huge, unexpected thing that probably puts a few owls on high alert.
“Yeah, no,” he says. “If anything, he did the opposite. Told me it was partly my fault, said we were never that close in the first place, said I spent all my time out here and neglected both him and Blair. That if I’d just ‘paid better attention,’ maybe I would have seen it coming.”
No wonder things are still so intense between them—and no wonder he’s having a hard time shaking things off. Matteo’s words have clearly gotten under his skin.
“To be fair,” Thorn goes on, “he’s kind of reeling. He found out a few days ago that Blair’s dumping him in the same way she dumped me.”
“The layers!” I say, eyes wide. “You guys have more drama than The Real Housewives.”
“The real who?” he asks—and he’s serious.
He really must spend all his time out here, looking at the world with his own eyes and not through various screens.
“Never mind,” I tell him. “But wow, yeah, Matteo sounds messy.” And like not a very good friend or a helpful coleader.
Thorn sighs. “It’s a lot of pressure, making sure everyone gets the experience they signed up for—making sure they don’t get injured or lost, making sure they feel safe. It’s all on me right now.”
“You’re used to it, though, right?” I say. “You’re good at it. You must enjoy it on some level…?”
“It isn’t that I don’t enjoy it,” he says.
“I love it out here. It feels more like home than my actual apartment—and it reminds me of my dad. He’d give anything to be out on these trails again, camping under the stars.
And I love seeing people push themselves, discover they’re so much more capable than they thought. ”
For the first time since we started talking, his gaze meets mine.
People like you, he doesn’t say, but I hear it anyway.
“Well,” I say. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know—I know I’m new at this, but maybe there’s something I can help with?”
My words hang in the air between us, like a trail of bubbles drifting into the sky.
He turns away now, and the silence is overwhelming.
For the first time since we met, I feel completely self-conscious, like maybe I said something offensive or wrong. All I offered was help, though.
Is it laughable that I offered?
Maybe it is. What could I—an amateur who couldn’t be bothered to bring the right shoes—possibly bring to the table?
“What?” I say a moment later, when he still hasn’t answered.
“I really appreciate the offer,” he finally says. “I do.”
He still won’t look at me.
“But?”
“But the most helpful thing right now would probably be for us to stop spending so much time together,” he says. “The group’s depending on my focus, and I can’t afford to be distracted.”
It hits like a cascade of embers: just a little sting, at first…and then it burns.
“I— Wow,” I say. “Okay.” Out of nowhere, a pair of hot tears streak down my cheeks. I’m thankful for the darkness. “I thought maybe it would help for you to talk through your feelings, Thorn, but I can stop distracting you now, if that’s really what you want.”
I’m already scrambling down from the boulder, too embarrassed to stay. He’s been avoiding me all day—why couldn’t I just take the hint?
“Sadie…please don’t take it like that.”
His voice is earnest, already full of regret.
“How am I supposed to take it?” My voice cracks, the traitor. “I just offered to help, and you told me it would be most helpful for me to go away.”
I’ve listened to him.
Cried in front of him.
Laughed with him, so many times.
Escaped a lizard attack while half naked with him.
Woken up tangled with him.
Shivered under the stars with him.
Kissed him during a thunderstorm, and behind a waterfall, and inside my tent.
He’s seen me at my most vulnerable—I’ve shown him parts of myself I’ve never even shown Abby, even though I’ve only known him for such a short time.
But it’s too much of a distraction, apparently. I’m too much.
My whole life, I’ve always been too much for most people—
I really thought it might be different with Thorn.