“And I will calculate your trajectory, velocity, and force of impact,” he fires back. “Physics, baby.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” he lifts an eyebrow, “here you are. With me. In the wilderness. Alone.”
“Dude. You really do sound like a serial killer.”
“Nah. Serial killers don’t pack snacks.” He pats the backpack. “Rookie mistake.”
We fall into a rhythm: crunch, crunch, breath, flirtatious insult. Sunshine sifts through the branches in skinny gold bars, and the valley flashes between the trees every time the switchback turns. My sweater sleeves are shoved to my elbows by the second turn; by the third, the knot behind my breastbone starts to loosen. I’d planned to stew all day, to marinate in my righteous rage—Chase, my father, the whole flaming pile—but apparently the forest didn’t get the memo.
Relax, it says.Breathe, the breeze beckons.
“Observe,” Leo says in his best nature-documentary voice, pointing at a tree. “The majestic ponderosa pine, otherwise known as a giant air freshener.”
“Okay, Attenborough.”
His grin is easy. So is the silence that follows. Every few minutes he points out something—lichen on a rock, a woodpecker tattooing a trunk, thegreen besideus(seriously, he is such a dork), clouds stacking like meringue over the far ridge. It’s… nice. Uncomplicated in a way my life is not.
About an hourlater we reach a flatter stretch.
Leo glances over. “How’s the heart rate, Foster?”
“Elevated,” I deadpan. “Due to your proximity.”
He winks. “Acute observation.”
“Stop.”
“Can’t. Rising slope. We’re approaching a peak in this function.”
I groan. “You’re banned from math.”
“Impossible. That’s like telling a fish to stop calculating wave functions.”
I snort so hard a bird complains and darts deeper into the trees.
By the time the trail opens onto a shoulder of rock with a clean view, my hairline is damp and my bad mood has retreated to a manageable simmer. The sky is that too-blue Colorado does better than anywhere else, and the pines below us look like someone combed the mountain with a green brush.
“Snack break,” Leo announces, dropping the backpack by a sun-warmed boulder.
I climb onto the rock so I don’t sit in dirt and immediately stretch out my hands, reaching for snacks like a hungry child. Leo hands me water and a granola bar like I’m his favorite cranky hiker. He doesn’t crowd. Just leans against the boulder, forearms braced behind him, head tipped back like he’s letting the sun find the parts of him that were too busy hiding beneath the trees.
For once, he’s quiet.
“Thanks,” I say, twisting my water bottle open.
Leo opens one eye, waiting for me to continue.
“For, you know.” I make a vague gesture that means the whole day.
He nods like, yeah, he knows. A breeze moves through and lifts the hair at my nape. The quiet changes—stays easy, but deepens. Now he’s lifted his head, looking out over the trees, jaw working like he’s chewing something he isn’t sure how to swallow.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I offer, because silence doesn’t scare me the way it used to.
He huffs a laugh, small. “I kind of want to.” He doesn’t look at me when he starts. “I’ve never really told anyone the whole… thing.”
Thing?
