We do the loop. Nothing bad happens. No threats. No other hikers. Just trees and dirt and the sound of Ben asking Frederick if snails eat pinecones.
By the time we circle back to the Range Rover, some of the tension has left Jess’s shoulders. Not all of it. Not even most of it. But enough that her hands aren’t shaking anymore.
“See?” I tell her as I unlock the vehicle. “Boring.”
“Boring is good,” she agrees.
I load Ben into her seat. She’s already half asleep. The fresh air and excitement hitting her like a full stomach after Thanksgiving dinner.
“Daddy?” Her voice is drowsy. “Can we come back tomorrow and actually hunt?”
My eyes meet Jess’s over the roof of the Range Rover.
Tomorrow. Saturday. The real test.
“We’ll see,piccola,” I tell Ben. “Rest now.”
Jess climbs into the back beside her. I take the driver’s seat. Unclip my bear spray and set it down in the cup holder of the center console. We’ve got a ten minute drive along the dirt road to the cabin itself.
Plenty of time to think about what tomorrow means.
Plenty of time to wonder if I’m making the right call here.
If bringing my daughter hunting is about teaching her courage or proving something to myself.
If insisting Jess come along is about safety or something darker. Some need to push her past her fear because I don’t know how else to connect with people except through controlled crisis.
Control masquerading as care.
I push the words down. Lock them away with every other doubt I can’t afford right now.
I’ve got a weekend to execute. A daughter to protect. A woman I’m falling for who’s terrified of the very place I’m dragging her into.
Standard Friday service.
High stakes.
Tight margins.
I can handle this.
I fucking better.
36
Jess
The cabin smells like cedar and rain and there’s absolutely nothing threatening about it or the woods outside whatsoever.
When you’re actively lying to yourself and hoping it works.
I’m standing at the window watching the last light filter through the pines while Marco unpacks our gear in the main room. Ben’s down the hallway in the bedroom, her voice carrying as she arranges Frederick and narrates their entire setup process.
“This is your side, Frederick. And this is my side. And we’re going to be very brave tonight because Daddy says there’s nothing scary in the woods.”
From the mouth of a five-year-old.
I grip the window frame and count breaths. One, two, three. The trees outside are just trees. Not threats. Just regular ass trees doing tree things.
