Page 20 of Under Pink Skies

For just a heartbeat, I closed my eyes, and I imagined I could take it all back.

That I’d never left Watford. That I was the same person I’d been. That my uncle wasn’t a terrible human being. That we could have made a life for ourselves in Watford. That I’d given Abbie everything she’d dreamed of. That she was mine in the same way I was hers.

The last part had been true for longer than I dared to admit aloud.

A heartbeat later, I focused my eyes on the road ahead. I turned the volume dial up to the max and let my mind become white space.

I wasn’t that person anymore. I knew I would never be the object of Abbie’s innermost desires ever again. The dreams we shared and promises we made to one another had gone up in smoke the moment I left her behind. No matter how much I wanted to believe she could love me again, I wouldn’t allow myself to bask in her glow. I was a coward before. I let my emotions and feelings control me in a way that destroyed the people I cared for the most.

I’d make my peace with that one day. But I knew, as I turned off the dirt road and onto the main highway leading me deeper into the mountains, that day was nowhere in sight.

I spent the entire two-hour drive struggling to ease the tightness gathering in my chest. My unease peaked as I passed the worn-down sign advertising that I entered Watford County. Lucas was knocked out in the seat beside me; he didn’t snore or seem bothered by the volume of my music, both of which I was grateful for.

My grip on the steering wheel slipped slightly as sweat gathered in my palms. I cranked the air conditioning up. Lucy shuddered with effort, and I rubbed my thumb over the top of the steering wheel. If I’d been alone, I would have given her some words of encouragement. The rational side of me knew I was pushing my old girl to her limits, but the stubborn part of me had faith that she wouldn’t give out on me.

Not when we were this close to home. To Abbie.

I fought to keep my breathing even, turning onto the gravel path that would take us directly to the campsite off the back roads into Watford. I’d once joked with my friends that the only way into Watford was through back roads because this was the most remote place I’d ever lived, but there was still one main road that cut right through the center of town that most people rode in and out.

I wasn’t ready to face the masses in Watford. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think that my old blue Chevy was still a recognizable landmark in Watford the way it had been five years ago, but small-town folk had good memories.

I was barely ready to face Noah Wilkinson, the owner of the Watford Campsite.

I rumbled down the gravel road, passing the broken barbed wire fence. I rolled my eyes. It didn’t exactly surprise me to see they hadn’t fixed it, but part of me wanted confirmation that this place had changed like I had. That it hadn’t been stagnant these last few years. It was a constant war in my mind, whether I wanted things to change or stay the same.

I didn’t know which would bring me more comfort.

Craggy rocks and dry wood lined the two-lane road, and as I drove further into Watford, the arid wilderness of the mountain desert faded into dense trees and lush pinewood forest, in classic Pacific Northwest fashion. The gravel back road became a dirt one, leading us to the campsite.

When we cleared the last curve, the cabins came into view. I let out a low whistle as I pulled into the unpaved space next to the first cabin. The dust from my tires was settling as I shook Lucas awake.

They’d taken the word renovation to heart. When I left Watford, there were two one-bedroom cabins, both of which had originally been decorated in the early seventies. Now, there were ten cabins, all of which were larger and modernized. They were mostly uniform in color and shape, with gorgeous stained pine logs stacked high, and tall windows framing the rustic French door entrance. They’d even added a small balcony awning with a rocking chair on the second story, where people could gaze out at the forest and the desert beyond as they sipped their morning coffee.

My heart twisted at the sight of the beautiful cabins. How many times had Abbie and I talked about wanting a house that looked just like this?

“Hrmph—oh, shit, we’re here already?” Lucas groaned, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

“We’re here,” I said, willing my heart to slow. “Did you talk to Noah on the phone?”

“Yeah, says here we’re in cabin two,” Lucas said, sliding his phone out of his back pocket and swiftly tapping at it. “Just gotta pull up our key.”

My eyebrows shot up. “They have electronic entry now?”

Lucas gave me ayes, old manlook before going back to flipping through his email. I cranked off the ignition and swung my door open wide, jumping down to the forest floor and gazing up at the trees.

The ground didn’t shudder beneath my feet, and the songbirds still sang in the forest, so I at least had that going for me.

My heart skipped as I glanced to my left, catching a view of the newly installed campsite map. There, in the middle, marked with a bright yellow star, was Watford town center—less than a mile west of the campsite.

“Christ,” I muttered. The familiar creak of Lucy’s passenger door opening boomed loudly in the quiet clearing.

“Got the key. Grab your bag and let’s get settled. We’re supposed to meet with Noah here in about an hour to talk about the festival. I think he’s interested in helping us out with a giveaway.”

I did as I was told, gazing at the forest beyond. Even with my complicated feelings about what was to come, being back in this forest still felt like coming home.

Chapter 7

Abbie

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