“And we’ll talk…you know,after? You won’t just disappearon me once I’m thrown into an interrogation room, will you?” I quirk my mouth playfully, but my heart knots with the fear that he’ll take the easy way out, using the case as an excuse to vanish.
“We’ll talk.Soon,” he says, the gray in his eyes glowing in the dim light. That word,soon, doesn’t give me any comfort. But the promise in his voice, the same supportive steadiness he’s shown me, makes me want to greedily latch on to any time he’ll give me.
“Sounds like we have a hike to finish, Jack Reacher.”
He grins, and I smile back, fighting the urge to throw myself at him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I use the time while Jack is busy getting the prisoners on the helicopter to find a secluded spot to pee. Nobody warns you how hard it is to dig a hole in the canyon. Like carving into cement, it refuses to give even one ounce of dust to make things easier for those who stain its surface with footsteps and waste. But I get it—why the canyon makes you fight so hard to find the joy in its trials and truly appreciate the beauty in its challenges. I don’t think I’d have learned the same lessons if this had been easier.
I pull out my phone to check my messages.
Mom:
Are you done with your hike? Let us know you’re alive. Dad says he got your internship interview moved to Tuesday.
Two days from now? I thought I had more time. Dad must have jumped through a lot of hoops and sang my praises a bit too enthusiastically to secure this opportunity for me to shadow the team’s PR manager. I’m so close to finishing this adventure and conquering my inner beasts, but it could all mean nothingto him once I break the news that I can’t do the internship. Which also means I could end up with a crippling student loan to pay off. He’s threatened it enough times, and this news will drain the meager amount of grace I had left after my poor track record.
Mom:
Kuroki’s fungus is getting better. We only have to spray her leaves with rose water three times a day and administer antifungal drops every night.
I doubt my dad ever got this many updates about his actual children when he was away for work.
A weighty exhale rolls off my chest. I could sleep for ten days straight, yet a renewed sense of purpose to finish strong energizes my limbs, giving me the strength I need to lift a pitifully limp Marigold onto my back.
I’m finishing this hike forme,not for anyone else.
No more letting fear tell me what to do. No more jumping through hoops to earn everyone’s approval, even if it means sliding farther down the chute of parental disappointment. I think I’m finally okay with all that, assuming I’m not fighting criminal charges when I get out of here. Just thinking about opening one more textbook or sitting through another lecture on athlete branding makes me want to hurl. I’m done with letting my parents pressure me to keep trying things that don’t feel right.
In the words of Patrick Henry, “Give me liberty, or give me death!”
A touch dramatic, but denying myself and the world the use of my true gifts and passions would mean a life void of color—gray, and soul crushing.
Jack joins me with a fresh supply of water and MREs fromthe crew. After the literal dust from the departing helicopter settles, he sets down his backpack and motions for me to sit while he heats our meals, the silence comforting and demanding as it forces me to reflect on the past few days.
Jack hands me a bag of warm stew with a smile and sits beside me.
“It feels like forever ago that I left the South Rim,” I muse, awkwardly scooping out the last spoonfuls of stew. “These things are surprisingly good, by the way,” I say through a mouthful.
“Yeah, I’ve tried a few brands, and these are my favorites. Is your arm okay?” he asks, tucking a stray bit of hair behind my ear. The contact sends my heart rate galloping, and my eyes flick to his, wide and pleading. It’ll rip my insides if tonight is goodbye. I’m not ready to let this man go.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “Yup.”
“You’ve done so well, Lo. I’m so freaking proud of you.”
The milky blue sky draws my gaze as my head falls back with a slow breath. “Thank you. It feels good—finishing this for myself, not for my parents’ approval. It’s made me realize how often I simply gave up because I was afraid of being bad at something. Quitting meant staying safe, and it was easier to say I didn’t want to do it than to risk failure. So I thought bailing on this hike meant losing the credibility I needed to tell my parents I’m doing a complete one-eighty in my degree.”
“And that doesn’t matter anymore?” he questions, his voice soft. Safe.
“No, because I’m not doing it for them. I want to prove to myself that I can do hard things and that I don’t have to bail when things get tough. Because I know I have what it takes to finish something when it matters to me.”
“And this matters?”
My head turns to him, my eyes having fought as long as theycould to not meet his gaze, but when I finally do, it feels like coming home. “Yeah. It matters a lot. Finishing this withyoumatters.”
He draws in a lungful of air, like my confession is painful for him, asking too much too soon. And he’s right, but nothing about our time together has been normal.
