Page 78 of Pain in the Axe
Finn’s smile was warm and also a little apologetic. “He’s got a sat phone in there. Call me if you can’t stand him, and I’ll come back early.”
I gave him a nod of thanks, then, with a deep breath in, followed Gus into the woods.
“What is your endgame here?” I asked as I caught up. “I might be small, but I’m scrappy.”
“I’m aware,” he said over his shoulder.
“I will kick you right in the balls if I have to.”
“Damn.” He chuckled, slowing until I was by his side. “Now I’m thinking I should have brought a cup on this trip.”
“You didn’t? Massive oversight on your part.”
“Sadly, I’m realizing this now.” He adjusted his grip on the strap of the cooler. “But hopefully, the tranquility will be soothing to you. We don’t have much farther to go from here.”
I followed behind him, appreciating how capable he looked trekking through the woods with all our gear. It might have been the pregnancy hormones, but he was looking especially manly, and it was lighting me up inside.
His T-shirt was a faded navy color. Between it and the dense forest around us, his blue eyes popped.
“There’s a special place I’d like to show you. I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been going through. All the chaos and change you’ve endured.”
He tipped his head back and surveyed the trees around us.
“And then it hit me. The best thing I could do for you would be to give you a little stillness. Some quiet. A chance to catch your breath and think.”
My heart panged, and my nose tingled, signaling tears that I had to work to hold back. He wasn’t wrong. I’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him that, but the reality of my situation—this pregnancy—along with my work schedule and the madness that had been the last few months, was starting to catch up to me.
“In town, there’s only so much quiet, even in your lakefront compound. But out here.” He held his free arm out wide. “Out here, it’s everywhere.”
“So you want me to be still?” I asked, garnering all the sarcasm I could to hide how touched I was.
“Your mind. Not your body. Keep walking, Dragonfly. We’ve got a little way to go before we hit our campsite.”
“Does that mean I’m required to make polite conversation with you?”
“Since when have you ever been polite to me?” he asked. “And no, I’m very comfortable with silence. I’m here because I need some stillness too.”
“You would hate the city,” I mused, watching the path ahead of me.
“I don’t hate anywhere.” He peered at me over his shoulder. “In fact, I enjoy visiting Owen in Boston. The city has its own type of stillness.”
“But I know what fuels me, what fills me up. To do what we do, to take care of everyone, worry about the details, work nonstop to ensure things run smoothly, we gotta fill our own tanks.”
“And this is how you fill yours?”
“Yes.”
We hiked along a partially cleared trail, and at every fallen tree, Gus stepped over, turned back, and held out a hand to help me over. By the time we’d crossed a small brook, I was beginning to lose faith in him. But that concern died quickly when we reached a small clearing flanked by a thick copse of trees on one side.
In the middle was a stone circle, and next to that was a rudimentary picnic table built from logs. Beside a boulder nearby sat a large plastic storage container with a padlock on it.
Gus set his backpack on the table. “This is our spot.”
I eyed the random plastic shed-like container, thinking its presence was a bit strange. “I take it you’ve been here before?”
He nodded. “Dozens of times, though I don’t usually make Finn fly me out here like an airborne Uber. Jude and I hike out here from the road. It’s about five miles and pretty dense, but I’ve been coming out here to camp for most of my life.”
He opened his pack and began unloading, taking out a tent and a huge pole with a massive light on top of it. Then he got to work setting up our camp, unearthing more helpful gear from his bag.
