Sarah rolled her eyes, bumping my shoulder as she pushed past me and climbed next to Anderson for a while. I watched them shamefully until she rolled her eyes at him, too, and stalked forward to pace with Momma Von. Anderson stayed behind them, but just in front of me.
I was busy looking around, taking in the scenery and clicking photos on my phone, but his cold shoulder didn’t go unnoticed. I tried not to take it personally, though—he had been sick the past few days.
I’d been looking forward to seeing him after my day with Momma Von in Seattle the other day, but he’d cancelled, said he’d been sick all day and not able to keep anything down. It must have been bad, because he hadn’t come by the day after or yesterday, either. Anderson was a work horse, that much I’d learned about him very quickly, so if he was staying inside, there was a reason.
The past two weeks had been incredible. Once I talked to him about the anxiety I was feeling and heard him say we were on the same page, everything seemed easy. I was into him, he was into me, and we were both aware of the individual issues we each had. It was the best kind of understanding.
Some days we laughed, some nights we shared our pain, and every time his hands touched me, I buzzed to life under his fingertips. He opened me up, both mentally and physically, and it turned out the thing I thought I should avoid in my time in Gold Bar ended up being the very thing that had helped me the most.
And though I was smiling, though things felt okay, and though we’d already talked about how we were feeling and kept that line of communication open, I couldn’t help the insecurity rolling in the longer we hiked.
Anderson had been quiet all morning, no hug or kiss or any kind of greeting that morning when we’d all gathered to make the short drive to the hiking trail entrance. Of course, I knew he was still a little uncomfortable with publicly displaying whatever we were, and I understood that, so I didn’t think anything of it. But now that we were on the trail with plenty of opportunity to be alone and talk, I knew something was off. He’d been so excited to show me this hike, and now he was acting as if I wasn’t even on it.
Insecurity was a tricky bastard. I’d gone from sailing on the highest of clouds to walking under one that was constantly drizzling on my head. He didn’t owe me anything, and I knew that, but I’d seen such a different side of him since the night I found him waiting on my front porch. Gone was the silent, broody man who’d piqued my curiosity. He’d been replaced by a man who loved to talk, to listen, to touch. And he laughed—he had the best laugh. I’d made it my mission every day to hear that sound at least once, and for two solid weeks I had.
The last few days with him being sick had been quiet, and I’d been slipping back into my thoughts. I knew I needed to do that, to face my fears and lick my wounds, but if I was being honest, it was hard—and by far my least favorite thing to do.
I’d asked him if he wanted me to bring him anything, soup or Gatorade, anything to see him. He’d declined, assured me he would be fine and he’d see me soon, and I’d filled my time with FaceTime calls to Adrian and working on Anderson’s clothes.
I missed him.
It was stupid and dangerous and a little crazy, but it was true.
I wasn’t sure if he’d even show today, but here he was, and even if he wasn’t feeling one-hundred percent better, I was glad he was here at all.
I just wished he’d let me in, because I knew something was wrong.
But Anderson and I had a deal of sorts. If and when he wanted to talk to me, he would. And until then, I wouldn’t press it. Instead, I focused on enjoying my first hike with the crew.
I’d never been on a hike before, and even though they all assured me this was an easy one, I knew I’d be sore in the morning. My calves were already burning from the constant incline, but the views were nice enough to combat the pain.
Davie carried little Benjamin in a hiking carrier strapped to his shoulders where he and Yvette followed behind me, and they were a constant source of entertainment. Between Benjamin’s pointing and baby noises and Yvette and Davie bickering over who held what and who walked where, it was the strangest kind of comfort. Tucker held up the back with old man Ron, and even though I was the outsider, I didn’t feel like it.
It was strange how much I already felt like family. Momma Von had taken me in first, but over time so had everyone else. Yvette and I hung out and talked nearly every day, and even Ron had stopped by one afternoon to have a drink with me on the front porch while Anderson cleaned out the rain gutters. Of course Ron didn’t say a single word the entire time he was there, but it was nice to have his presence while I sketched.
How fascinating that a place so unfamiliar could feel like home in such a short amount of time. I wondered if the location even had anything to do with it at all.
“I’m glad you came,” I said to Anderson, picking up my pace so I could catch him.
I didn’t want to bother him, but I did want him to know I was there if he needed me. He slowed when I spoke, just a little, enough to walk beside me where there was room. When the path narrowed, he either fell behind to let me go first or helped me up, finding his place beside me right after.
“Are you feeling better?”
He nodded, a hard line between his eyebrows and mouth flat. He didn’t look very well, eyes rimmed with dark rings that told me he hadn’t been sleeping much, but I kept to our deal.
“Good. I was worried I’d have to rush you to that little shack by the grocery store. That’s the ER, right?”
It was a terrible joke, and Anderson’s fake smile didn’t come close to reaching his eyes before it dropped again.
“I was thinking about busting open that bottle of wine I picked up when Momma Von and I were in the city the other day. It’s supposed to be cool tonight, too—might jump in the hot tub. You want to join?”
The muscle under his jaw flexed and he let me move in front of him for a narrow climb of rocks. When we got to the top, he started to answer, but Momma Von stopped him short.
“Wren! Get up here! Give me your phone, there’s a perfect shot of the mountains through this clearing.” She waved me forward and Anderson moved past me, not answering my invitation. He walked straight past Momma Von and Sarah, effectively becoming the new leader.
I just frowned.
“Come on, peaches, give me your phone. Don’t worry about your hair or whatever it is that’s making you hesitate, you look beautiful.” She winked, hand still outstretched and I offered a soft smile in return, handing her my phone. She posed me in an opening that had a clear view of the lush green mountains and only let me go after she’d snapped at least twenty photos. By that time we were the new caboose, and the insecurity cloud was pelting me with rain again.
It took us just under an hour to make it all the way to the top of the hike. It was marked with a simple outdoor bathroom, a plaque that detailed the origin of lookout tower, and of course, the tower itself. It was tall, at least ten flights of stairs leading up to the top of it, and I squinted with one hand shielding my face as I took it all in.
“Pretty awesome, huh?” Tucker asked, sidling up beside me. Davie, Yvette, and Benjamin were already unpacking snacks and laying out a picnic while Momma Von and Ron cracked open a tall boy he’d packed in his bag. Sarah was on her phone, and Anderson was reading the plaque—or just staring at it.
Tucker dropped his backpack to the ground near his feet and wiped a hand over his forehead and back through his damp hair. He wore a light blue tank top and his pretty boy smile, eyes bright as they waited for me to respond.
“It is. I’m definitely going to be sore tomorrow,” I added with a chuckle.
He grinned, too, reaching into the side pocket of his bag to pull a large Thermos loose. “Water?”
He tilted it toward me and I took it graciously, guzzling nearly half of it before handing it back to him. He just watched me the entire time, taking his own drink as soon as the Thermos was back in his hand.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, tucking it back in his pack and letting his eyes follow where mine were focused on the view of the mountains ahead of us.
“You busy tomorrow night?” he asked after a moment. “I was thinking we could go into town to that diner I was telling you about, if you’re up for it.”
I squinted up at him, wishing I’d packed sunglasses but smiling nonetheless. “Oh yeah, we still need to do that, huh?”
“Indeed we do,” he agreed, but his smile slipped as a shadow fell over both of us.
Anderson still wore a tight scowl, his presence like a strong gust of ice cold wind, but his hand was warm when it reached forward to grab mine. He didn’t look at Tucker once, didn’t apologize for interrupting, just stared directly at me—into my eyes, into my soul.
“Come with me.”
He’d asked for permission, though his voice was sure and steady as if it’d been a command. I nodded, offering Tucker an apologizing smile as Anderson pulled me away. He led me toward the tower, and an older couple smiled at us as they reached the bottom stair. We pulled to the side, letting them pass, and then Anderson touched the small of my back, guiding me up.
He didn’t say a word as we climbed, and every time I was sure we had reached the top, we turned to find more stairs waiting. I was completely out of breath, calves even more on fire than before, my breaths coming hard and loud from my lips. But when we finally climbed the last stair and made it to the top of the tower, complaining was the last thing on my mind once I looked up.
It was breathtaking.
There were no better words to describe it. Quite literally, my breath was stolen by the sight of the rolling mountains, green and fresh, by the river running, strong yet fluid. From the top of the tower, I could see everything—it was a complete three-sixty view of the beautiful Pacific Northwest. Eagles soared in the distance, a slight breeze rolled up over the hiking trail and up through my hair, and a spark of chills covered my arms. I couldn’t speak, just walked slowly forward until my arms rested on the wooden railing. I was tempted to reach for my phone to take photos, but I knew I couldn’t capture what it felt like to stand at the top of Haybrook Lookout Tower. It would have been impossible, so I just tried to live in the moment, instead.
The mountains we’d just climbed, the ones closest to us, were lush with summery green trees. The mountains that lay behind them were clouded in a light fog, shaded by the sun and clouds as they moved together over the scenery. At the very tops of the highest ones, faint patches of snow still clung as tightly as they could, trying to withstand the warmth of July. The day after tomorrow would be the fourth, Independence Day, and I’d never felt so connected to that holiday as I did in that very moment.
Anderson stood behind me, and though I felt him there it was only faintly. It was as if he knew that I needed a moment to myself, so he stayed back, and my eyes scanned the vast wilderness before us.
It’s difficult to explain what happened to me on top of that tower.
I felt the sun’s warmth sink into my shoulders, heard the quiet whisper of my breath as it left my chest, smelled the fresh pine riding on every wave of the wind. It was sensory overload, and before I could stop it, tears welled in my eyes and fell silently down my cheeks, dropping with a pat against my sneakers.
I felt free.
Free from the pain I’d inflicted on myself, free from the judgment of others, free from the inexhaustible expectations of my ex-husband. I didn’t know how long my life would be, or who I would touch while I walked this Earth, but I did know I had spent way too much time living a life that didn’t make me happy—not truly, not in the way where happiness flowed through and out of me.
But now, I had a fresh start, a new beginning—and I vowed to never spend another moment being dishonest with myself. It may have been easier to do so, more comfortable and judge-free, but it didn’t serve me.
I was ready to live again.
Or maybe it was for the first time ever.
And it was then that I realized that though I was bruised, and maybe a little fractured, I was not broken.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, crying softly and silently as I tried to fully understand how small my problems really were and yet how large my life could be. But after a while, Anderson’s warm hands found the sliver of exposed skin on my hip and I turned into his touch, into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and stepping closer as I faced him.
And then my heart stopped.
Because his cheeks were damp, too.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, leaning into me, his head dipping as it met mine. He kept his eyes closed, breathing as steadily as he could, and I ran my hands back through his hair to soothe him.
“It’s okay, Anderson. You’ve been sick.”
We both knew it was a lie now. He’d never been sick, but something had been infecting him all the same. It was the demon of his past, the dark ghost that encompassed all the thoughts he’d never speak out loud. Whatever the reason, he’d needed to stay away from me, and I understood.
Anderson winced, his hands gripping my hips hard as he pulled me closer and pressed his lips to mine. It was the final spark to my already over-stimulated senses and my knees buckled at the touch. He caught me easily, holding me tight against him, my feet just barely touching the ground as he kissed me with an intention so pure and powerful I knew I’d never experience it again—not in all my life.
It was one of those singular moments, the ones that tattoo themselves on our hearts, embed themselves under our skin and further down still until they exist as part of our blood stream. They connect to our hearts, our brains, our organs that we rely on, and in turn they become a very source of life, themselves.
The kiss I shared with Anderson on top of Haybrook Tower wasn’t a kiss at all—it was a state of awakening.
For the first time in my life, I was completely aware of my existence. I felt my heart beating, pumping blood, pushing me forward despite the inadequacy and thoughts of failure that had been trying so desperately to cripple me.
I was alive. I was okay.
And I knew I’d never be the same again.
I went back to Wren’s cabin with her after the hike. There was no other option, we both knew it, because something had happened at the top of Haybrook Tower. I didn’t have words for it, neither did she, but then again, words weren’t necessary now.
She kicked off her shoes by the door, dropping her small backpack, and I simply stripped my shirt up and over my head and let it fall on her bottom stair before I started making my way up. My shorts came next, left abandoned at the top of the stairs, and I smirked when I looked down to find Wren following suit. I let myself watch her peel her still-damp tank top off and toss it over the railing before I ducked into her bathroom.
It turned out trying to ignore my feelings for Wren was impossible. Sarah had been in my head, her words on a constant repeat telling me I was stupid for opening myself to Wren. But seeing Wren today had reminded me that we both knew what we were getting ourselves into. No, I didn’t have the answers for what would happen at the end of the summer, but I knew I didn’t want to waste the time I did have with her.
And when I’d seen Tucker with her, something inside me had snapped. I didn’t have a right to feel possessive over her, but it didn’t change the fact that I did. So I’d lea her up to the top of the tower, mostly because I wanted her alone.
I couldn’t have known what would happen up there.
There weren’t words to tell Wren what today had meant to me, so I’d show her with my hands, instead.
I started her shower, turning the knob as far right as it would go. By the time Wren rounded the top of the stairs and kicked her panties off the ankles they’d fallen around, steam was already gathering. She walked straight through it, eyes still a little red from her tears but laced with hunger, nonetheless. Her arms wrapped around my neck just as mine found the backs of her thighs and I lifted, turning enough to pin her to the wall opposit
e the shower.
Her legs wrapped, hooking at the ankles behind me as I grabbed her wrists and lifted them above her head. I pinned them there with one hand, leaning into her to hold her weight, mouth greedy on hers, and my free hand trailed down her arm, her neck, her chilled ribs, grazing just the side of her rounded breast before it dipped between her thighs.
She gasped into my mouth, the sound a direct link to my cock and I hardened against her stomach as I thrusted two fingers inside. She was so tight, opening for me just marginally, and I groaned at the feel of her already pulsing around my fingers.
Touching Wren was like taking ecstasy, every sense enhanced. My skin was almost too sensitive to her touch, my ears too aware of her breaths, my tongue too tender for the taste of her. If she really was a drug, addiction wasn’t just a possibility—it was a certainty.
My mouth moved to her neck next, kissing and sucking in time with my hand. I wanted her to feel how I’d tried to stay away from her and failed. I wanted her to understand. But I couldn’t tell her, so I showed her.
I licked my way down to her nipple, soft pink and pebbled. When I pulled it between my teeth with a gentle bite and sucked hard, she moaned even louder, back arching off the wall and wrists squirming in my grip. I held her tighter, letting her weight rest completely on me—on my hands, my legs, my arms. I wanted to take it all, leave her weightless, let her feel everything I was doing to her.
Slowly, I lowered her legs to the ground, dropping to my knees in front of her and pressing one, feather light kiss on her lower left hip.
“Yes,” she pleaded, hands weaving into my hair. She pulled it gently, guiding me, and I obliged with a smile against her skin as I lifted her leg. She hooked it around my shoulder as my mouth found her clit, tongue swirling with a firm pressure before I sucked it between my teeth. She arched, breaths hard and unsteady, gasps lost in the steam as it covered both of us.
I loved her like this—no makeup, no filter as she cursed, no embarrassment as she pulled my mouth down to her clit even harder.
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