Is he…jealous? I’m not sure how else to explain him dismissing Ben like that, but there’s no time to analyze Reed’s motive.
“Ben’s right. It’s sprained. Good news is, with elevation and ice, we should be able to get the swelling down in a few hours.”
“You good, Evans?” Reed asks as I work the laces open and ease his boot off from the heel.
“Yeah. Thanks, man,” he says.
“Is that all you need from me?” Reed asks me.
I study him. This is not the same guy who stayed and helped the old woman on the airplane. His friend is injured and he’s diving for the tent exit.
“Didn’t know you wanted to be taking orders from someone else. But yes. You’re dismissed, Morgan.”
He scrubs at the back of his neck and turns on his heel, leaving the tent ten times faster than when he came in.
“Wow. I’ve never seen that guy not smiling,” Evans says. “It’s kind of a tragic sight.”
“Me neither,” I add, wondering who it was that destroyed Reed’s confidence in relationships.
CHAPTER TWENTY
REED
My line pack digs into my deltoids and slumps my posture. It’s all I can do not to collapse in the dirt.
One mile to go.
A cramping sensation seizes my left calf, and I roll my toes to stretch it out. The transfer of weight adds tension to my thighs and my knees threaten to buckle with each step I take. But that’s not what’s causing the tightness in my chest.
McCafferty treads the path in front of me, guiding us back to camp. He could balance a bowling ball on each shoulder, but it’s his drive that I admire the most.
Over the last five days he’s cut more trees, moved more fuel, and been the last one to set down his hand tool at nightfall. An exemplary leader who knew it was smart not to overexert himself during my training days. He saved his energy for this.
I study his even steps. Mimicking the cadence like counting sheep. It’s repetitive enough to distract from the throbbing in my feet, and before I know it, we make it back to camp an hour past dusk.
It’s dark and quiet everywhere but the catering trailer. In a single file line, a food crew serves us burgers and fries on cheapdisposable plates. The fried aroma rips at my stomach, and I inhale a bite before I’ve even sat down on the wooden picnic bench. The greasy food eases the pain that’s lingered there most of the day. I cram in every last bite, crumple the trash, and slide out from the bench.
“Morgan, you aren’t sticking around?”
It’s the first time he’s called me by my last name.
In any other circumstance, it would be thefirstthing I notice. But all I can think about at this point is crawling into my sleeping bag and passing out. There’s no more putting on a brave front tonight.
“I don’t know how you guys do it,” I confess.
“You’ll get there,” McCafferty says, nodding at me. Another gesture reminding me how wrong I’ve been about him.
“Thanks. I’ll catch you guys tomorrow, okay?”
A series of good nights follow me as I stumble my way across the dark side of camp.
Signs barely visible in the moonlight stake the ground:Shh, crew is sleeping.
I unzip my red bag and drag the cocoon from it, spreading it out on the ground. A groan escapes my lips as I kneel to untie my boots.
“You want to tell me what happened yesterday?” A soft voice cuts the silence.
I peek over my shoulder. Hailey’s standing there with her arms folded across her chest. She must have found a way to shower today because her hair isn’t in a braid anymore. It reminds me of the plane and the men’s bathroom. Both of which I don’t want to be thinking about right now. In fact, I don’t want to be thinking about anything at all.
