by Teagan Kade
Ava’s curled under the shelter I propped up for us when I come back, so I toss the branches on the nearly extinguished fire and puff some air onto the flames, fanning it back to life before grabbing the pack.
“Hope you’re not too hungry,” I say, as I realize we only have one Cliff bar left.
She doesn’t answer. I look over at her. She’s just staring at the fire, refusing to make eye contact.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wondering if maybe she really did hit her head.
“I’m fine.”
Great. Every guy’s favorite response.
“Then eat this,” I tell her, breaking the bar in half and tossing the wrapped-up larger portion to her. She doesn’t move to grab it. I’ve already swallowed mine whole.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” she says, her tone dull and flat.
I roll my eyes. And this is why I don’t date. As if there weren’t already enough things going wrong right now, like the fact that we’re stranded for one, but yes, please, let’s introduce some emotional drama.
Then again, this might be good. In fact, it’s perfect. She’s determined to be angry with me and why shouldn’t she be? Hell, I’m pissed off at myself. I’m already way too deep into this thing with her. The only logical path is to push her away. It’ll be better for both of us in the long run.
I’ve already almost lost her twice, and while it just about killed me, what’s one more time?
I come up next to her, but she doesn’t uncoil or make any move at all, so I lay beside her, staring up at the fading light of the sky while the heat rolling off the fire dries us both.
“You can hate me all you want, but you still need to eat,” I say to her back before closing my eyes and trying to sleep. I’m not surprised it doesn’t come easily.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AVA
Dean’s gone.
It’s the first thing I notice, even before my eyes open. I’m cold. That’s the next thing, but it seems a lot less significant than my first observation and certainly less hurtful.
I grind my teeth and force my eyelids to lift. I sit up, bringing my knees to my chest, trying to conserve body heat. The sky is light, the fire has died down, and Dean is gone.
There’s an aching in my chest and bitterness in my mouth. It seems impossible to believe he would have just left me out here, not after everything that’s happened, but then, here I am, shivering and alone.
I take in a deep breath and assess.
How could he do this?
My mind won’t allow the reality to fully process. It revolts at the notion. We may have had our moments of rubbing each other the wrong way, but there were definitely others where we were rubbing the right way, too. Not to mention, I’ve known him since I was under five-feet tall and watching Saturday morning cartoons. I know him. Maybe there were a few years in there where we turned into ‘real’ adults, but still, how could he just abandon me?
Then again, my life is marked by all the things I was wrong about, right down the line from my degree selection to my choice in roommates. This is hardly the first. Dean was right from the beginning. I saw it, I knew it, but I ignored it. This was always a mistake, one hell of a bad idea.
Dean’s never going to want something stable and maybe I can handle a little instability after all, but I can’t go full throttle like this all the time. It’s all or nothing with him, isn’t it? Well, I just don’t have the energy to keep that pace, to yo-yo like this with him.
I scrub my face and breathe in the crisp morning air as recognition settles over me. Apparently, Dean is done with that as well. I kind of always knew that would happen, though, didn’t I? Did I ever really think Dean was the type of guy who sticks it out with you through the rough patches? What happened between us was a temporary lapse in judgement for both of us. It looks like we’ve both come to our senses.
Clearly, he still sees me as that spooked little girl, and he’s tired of jumping to the rescue. Well, you know what? That’s fine. Starting today, no one is taking care of me. I can do that myself, damn it.
You sure? Doubt chimes in.
I climb to a standing position, bracing my hand against the rough, abrasive bark, and grit my teeth.
Alright, Ava, let’s do this.
How hard can it be? I only have half a mountain to climb down… and maybe there is a hungry cougar and a pissed-off mama black bear out there. Hell, I’ve survived alone out here once before when I was just a freaked-out little kid. I’m no she-Rambo, but I’ve got at least a slight leg up on that terrified kid. Even if that leg has a sprained ankle.
What’s first? I take a tentative step… Bloody hell!
Okay, that hurt, let’s regroup.
I’m also no MacGyver, so crutches are out of the question. Something tickles my face and I look up. The needles of the lean-to Dean threw together are prickling my chin, but it draws my attention to the lean-to itself. The support is one long, sturdy stick he shaved the sharpest edges off of—not ideal, but it just might work.
I jam it into the ground and put my weight on it, swinging forward.
It holds.
Small victories—that’s how I’ll get out of here.
This is doable. Maybe I’m alone, but I’m not going to die.
I glance back to the collapsed shelter where Dean and I spent our last night together. Some of my gumption flees for a moment, but I steel myself and start walking. The lump in my throat is swallowed down, the wet tears stinging my cheeks are wiped away. I push the emotions back.
I see him and something in my chest squeezes.
He’s walking towards me with the bottom of his shirt lifted, carrying something in the gap of fabric. He looks at me, confusion marking his expression.
“Here, eat,” he orders, helping me back to a seated position and sharing a handful of plump yellow and pink Rainier cherries.
I don’t argue, and the mostly tart, slightly sweet, not-totally-ripe cherries hit the spot. I don’t know how he drummed them up, but I won’t complain. Frankly, I’m still wrapping my mind around what it means that he didn’t leave after all.
Dean nudges the stick with his hand. “You gonna tell me about this?”
I focus on the cherries in my hand, avoiding his eyes. “I… I thought you’d left,” I say, frustrated at the fat tear that drops of its own volition.
The thick, rough pad of Dean’s thumb wipes it away.
“Thought, or hoped?” he asks, more of an edge to his voice than I was expecting.
“You tell me since you seem to think you know me so well,” I answer flatly.
“There’s a baited line if I ever heard one,” he answers, shaking his head.
Hell, can’t he stay nice for one freakin’ minute?
“Does it get you off, being rude?” I snap. Look, I appreciate the breakfast, I really do. But I think I’d rather have an empty belly than a pissy companion.
“I think you know what gets me off,” he says offhandedly. Something in the way he says it feels like an insult.
“Whatever,” I huff. No, not the world’s greatest comeback, but I don’t even know exactly what it is that we’re arguing over.
Finally, he stands up and offers me his hand. “Let’s move.”
I sigh and take it. So he came back and I’m happy not to actually have to do this alone, but my earlier convictions still seem spot on. This, us, I’m pretty certain has been one giant glaring mistake. We can barely manage to get along for a solid twenty-four hours without devolving into this back and forth. It’s mind-blowing and rose-colored one moment and the next we’re sniping illogically at each other.
Grateful though I may be for a companion, I’m none too eager to lean on him for support, to be so close to him. Who knows, I might just lean over and bite with the rise he so effortlessly gets out of me.
Besides, I wasn’t wrong before. I can do this.
Dean swings my arm up, but I pull away.
“I’ll use the stick, thanks,” I say, grab
bing the walking stick and taking a few awkward steps.
His eyes narrow and I can tell he wants to say something, but he holds his tongue. Good move. I’m in no mood to argue over my ability to handle myself.
It proves a good choice, the walking stick. We cover ground a lot faster. We’re not going to be setting any records, but it’s a hell of a lot better than hobbling together with Dean hunched over and my shoulder aching from the awkward position.
Mid-morning comes, and the ground is only a faint incline when something sounds off in the distance. Not an animal, but a strange beating sound.
As it gets closer, I realize it’s a helicopter and the bubble of joy that clamors up from the depths of my stomach is impossible to suppress.
“Hey! Down here!” I start screaming wildly, nearly falling over as I use my walking stick to wave in the air, even though I don’t see the helicopter yet.
“Whoooaaa, calm down. I promise you they can’t hear you. Save your energy,” Dean remarks.
“Pardon me if I, you know, try to get rescued!” I shout back, frustrated by his apathy towards the helicopter.
The helicopter’s blades show up above the tree-line in the distance and I start screaming at the top of my lungs.
I’m not entirely sure the sounds are coherent or, you know, actual words, but I can practically feel that hot bath I’m itching to drop into. Unfortunately, the helicopter shows no signs of recognition, no slowing, no circling. It just continues up the forest line.
Enraged, I reach down and grab a stone, throwing it into the air in some pitiful attempt to catch their attention.
Dean’s still walking, twenty feet ahead of me now as the helicopter slowly disappears, taking my excitement with it.
“You’re better off channeling your energy into walking faster than hoping they, or anyone, is going to rescue us. That helicopter is just as likely to be doing a tour or flying a charter as it is searching for us. For all we know, no one even knows we’re missing. If the trip had gone according to plan, we’d barely be heading back this evening.”
I stare at his back, aiming figurative daggers. “Thanks, Mr. Optimism.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DEAN
With every footfall, the coil in my stomach seems to wind tighter. This is all going to come to a head soon. The incline is getting less and less pronounced. Ava’s pace has improved with the walking stick.
I’m sure that means something. She’s doing better without my help, probably. Something to remember, I guess. She seems to know it too. The way she looked at me when I came back with the cherries this morning… It sure as hell didn’t feel good.
She’s right, of course. She shouldn’t count on me. I’ve never tried to be a decent guy, and no one has ever accused me of it. It’s pretty open knowledge I live my life one adrenaline rush to the next, wrecking myself in the process.
“Come on. We riding, or you being a pussy?”
The words of that unibrowed Neanderthal ring back in my mind. I wasn’t as drunk as I should have been to make that dumb of a choice, but there was enough alcohol in my bloodstream to dull the logic of it.
“Nah, mate, you’re the pussy and I’m about to lick you good,” I sneered back.
It was already well after 10pm in Rotorua, New Zealand, meaning the time trial course on Mt. Ngongotaha was going to be pitch black and deserted. Somehow this made the idea more exciting. Stacie only egged me on. She loved cocky, dumbass Dean. That is, as long as I had the skill to back it up.
Who knows, maybe if I hadn’t been drinking, maybe if we hadn’t raced side by side on course for one, it would have been a different story. As it is, I’m fucking lucky to be alive. People have died from lesser crashes. Unibrow certainly didn’t walk away from it any better than I did, but at least we both walked away from it.
Just thinking about it has my pulse picking up, sweat beading up on my face. The moon was a tiny sliver, the weak light barely penetrating the canopy. It was a small crowd that gathered—mostly our own inebriated teammates and a few riding groupies there to play witness to our grave lapse in sense.
There is nothing like the thrum of anticipation before a race—people cheering, the focus, the energy, and then the ride. It was uncommonly warm for Rotorua, the air balmy with a mixture of adrenaline and summer heat. Even in the dark you could make out most of the track, where it snaked through the giant, ancient trees. I’d studied the route too, of course, so the direction wasn’t entirely foreign. The variation in the surface was another story.
All I have to do is close my eyes and I’ll see that dirt jump again—a minor little rise in the trail neither of us saw in time. I hit it first and the unexpected jolt surged through my handlebars, bucking my hands for a fraction of a second, long enough to cause me to land at an angle. And that’s all it took, with Unibrow right on my back. It was already dark, but when his front tire slammed into my face, it went black.
A shiver rips through me now remembering the impact, the wracking pain of it. I should have died. Maybe it’d have been better if I did. My father didn’t teach me much of his native tongue, but one word I’ll always remember is his nickname for me.
Lemolo.
He’d catch me climbing the side of the house or sneaking outside to take the training wheels off my bike and go for a ride with the other kids and he’d laugh that throaty, warm laugh of his. The light brown skin of his face would be wrinkling at his eyes, brilliant white teeth throwing his smile into relief.
It meant wild, dangerous, and couldn’t have been more spot on.
Hell, Dex is right. I am self-destructive. Giant was right to kick me off the team, as was UCI to ban me. I would have gotten myself killed eventually.
“Any ideas how much further?” Ava asks, sounding tired.
“No,” I lie.
I don’t even know why I’m lying. I don’t want to be back in Tamanass. Awkward and prickly as it is between Ava and me right now, I know as soon as we get back this is totally over and part of me isn’t quite ready to face that.
Working at the Den has been a pit stop for Ava. Hell, I have been a pit stop, a wild oat for her to get out of her system before she moves on to the right kind of guy.
My fist flexes with rage at the thought, but I force it open. This is how it needs to be. She wants and deserves more. Even if she hadn’t said as much from the get-go, Deric made it clear she wasn’t thrilled to be out there working for him, us.
Even if I wanted to convince her I could be more, that we could be more than just some ill-advised fling, I doubt she’d stay. Ava’s smart. She’s made for more than working the front office of a guide service. Someone like her… she’ll have some fancy six figure career someday. I have no doubt.
She’s going to grow, but me? I’ll just be another reckless asshole out in the woods.
*
There’s a distance growing between us the further down the mountain we get, and not just figuratively. Ava’s a good ten feet away from me. I keep pace with her, though, constantly scanning the trees. It would be nothing for that cougar to track us. A big cat like that can cover miles and miles without a second thought.
It looked to be a juvenile from what I could tell of its frame and the ballsy way it came straight at us. Adults don’t hunt like that. They don’t give themselves away until they’re on top of you. So, it was young and probably hungry if it was willing to take on such large prey. Not good for us.
The stream disappears under a rise. We’ve hit the trail again where it passes over the stream early on. Ava doesn’t know it yet, but we’re close. I look over to her and I’m about to say it, to point out the path, when I see the tracks beside her.
They’re big and they’re fresh—another bear. Or the same bear. Hard to say, but the pointed ends turning each toe print into a threatening teardrop shape, illustrating the deadly length of its claws, are unmistakable.
It rained last night, but these prints look wet still. My blood runs icy cold, the hair at the
back of my neck standing straight on end. I cover the short distance between myself and Ava and grab her hand, raising a finger to my lips, trying to quiet her.
Everything in my body feels tensed, primed for fight or flight. Considering Ava is with me, flight isn’t an option.
Fight it is.
We creep along quietly. The alarmed expression in her eyes tells me she got the message and we both keep a wary eye on the brush.
My boot hits something—a nice, thick stick about the length of my thigh. It’s not much, but if I have to face off with one of Nature’s deadliest creations, it’s better than my bare hands.
Leaves rustle and a loud huffing sounds emerge somewhere in the brush.
Another black bear.
Black bears are usually silent animals, but they won’t hesitate to communicate their displeasure if humans venture too close. It’s a sign of agitation, a warning, but it sounds like it’s behind us, so I urge Ava forward. The trail isn’t too much further, and it’s come into sight now, I’m sure Ava’s spotted it.
“If it charges,” I whisper quietly, “get to the trail and don’t look back. Follow it until you’re at the Den.”
She turns her face to me. “You didn’t leave me. I’m not leaving you, you idiot.”
“Yes. You. Are,” I hiss.
The set of her jaw makes me nervous. The last thing I need is to worry about her making some stubborn stand. We stumble over rocks and forest debris along the side of the stream, the creature moving around in the trees sending louder and louder warnings, which I’m glad to heed.
We get to the trail and I boost Ava up. Her ankle looks gnarly and it’s a brief climb up to the trail. I follow and, once I’m up, we both start down the trail in a hurry, eager to get away from the predator behind us.
The grunting is still close, telling me the creature is following us. It can’t be a mother with a cub; she would have charged by now if she thought we were a threat and once we cleared the area she would have fled with her baby. Black bears are normally not aggressive and rarely attack humans for food, so the fact it’s following us isn’t making any sense, not that this is the time to examine the issue.