He just nods, like Kansas is a perfectly reasonable place to be from.
"And now you are here."
"Yep."
"Why Jackson Hole?"
I should have expected this question. It's a normal question. A reasonable question. But answering it means explaining things I don't want to explain. Things about courtrooms and prison sentences and the way my father looked at me before they took him away.
"Fresh start," I say finally.
"From what?"
"Just—life. Kansas. Everything."
He's quiet for a moment, and I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the trail ahead. Then: "You do not have to tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"Whatever it is you are not saying."
I look at him sharply, but his expression is neutral. Not pushing. Not prying. Just...acknowledging that there's something I'm not saying, and that's okay.
"I'm not—"
"You are." He says it gently. "But you do not have to. I only asked because I wanted to know. Not because I expect an answer."
Something in my chest loosens slightly. Just slightly.
We keep walking. The trail climbs gradually, and my breath starts coming harder, white clouds in the cold air. He's barely winded. Of course he's not. He's a professional athlete.
"Working student?" he asks after a while.
I nod. “Night classes mostly. I'm almost done with my associate's degree."
"In what?"
"Something practical."
“Such as?”
“Business administration.”
"Good choice.”
"Is it?"
"It means you think ahead. You plan."
I almost laugh at that. If only he knew how little I've planned, how much of my life has been reaction and survival and trying to keep my head above water.
We reach the steep section of the trail—the part where it climbs up along the ridge, where the trees thin out and you can start to see the valley below. My breath comes harder now, and I focus on counting steps instead of breathing. Seventeen to the next switchback. Twenty-four to the outcropping of rocks. Thirty-one to where the view opens up.
He stays beside me the whole time. Never ahead. Never behind. Just there.
We reach the overlook point.
It's exactly as beautiful as I remembered—the frozen lake spread out below us, a sheet of pale blue-white ice surrounded by dark trees and distant mountains. The sky is that particular shade of winter gray that makes everything feel quiet and still, like the world is holding its breath.
