And I put her in the middle of a fire I lit with my own damn hands.
But she’s loyal.
Even still, now I’m up here.
Just me. And Tuck. And the wind.
The trail’s one I haven’t explored yet, winding, narrow, choked with pine needles and memory. Tuck bounds ahead, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth like this is the best day of his life.
Wish I could say the same.
I hike until the air burns my lungs and my legs ache, until the only thing left is the sound of my boots on dirt and Tuck’s paws crashing through underbrush.
When we finally reach the overlook, I collapse on a mossy rock, elbows on knees, head hanging.
Tuck circles, then plops beside me with a dramatic huff.
For a minute, neither of us moves. Then…
“What the hell am I doing, man?” I say into the silence.
Tuck blinks at me. Barks once. Chases a bug.
I scrub a hand down my face. “I’ve torched everything. The restaurant. My rep. Josie…”
Her name sticks in my throat like splinters.
“I don’t even know if she got my note,” I murmur. “Maybe Dee found it first.”
Not a call. Not a text. Not even a voicemail I could replay like a masochist.
“She’s gone. And I don’t even blame her.”
Tuck stares at me, then abruptly takes off running after a squirrel, and slams face-first into a low branch with an audible thunk.
He flops backward, dazed.
I stare. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”
He shakes it off like it’s no big deal, then trots back with that goofy dog grin like the world’s still fine.
I look out over the trees, the sharp edges of Silver Peak fading into the clouds. The sky’s open, endless.
And I can’t breathe.
It sneaks up on me. The pressure. The way my chest tightens, like someone’s cinching a belt around my ribs. My vision blurs. Hands shaking. Heart racing.
I try to stand.
Try to suck in air.
Try to think.
But my brain’s stuck on a loop:
You lost her. You blew it. You’re done.
Tuck whines and nudges at my leg, confused. I grip the edge of the rock so hard my fingers ache, trying to stay tethered to something, anything.
