Page 22 of Backed By You
“Show-off,” I mutter.
He turns his head, tongue lolling in his signature doggy grin.
An hour into the hike, the forest begins to thin. The air feels crisper in my lungs. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the cool morning, and my calves burn from exertion. This is exactly what I needed—a physical challenge to drown out the noise.
The path curves around a massive boulder, and the world opens before us.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe, coming to a stop.
We’ve reached a rocky outcrop that juts from the mountainside like a natural viewing platform. Below us stretches a panoramic view that steals my breath. The valley unfolds in a patchwork of emerald and gold. The mountainsbeyond rise in waves of blue-grey, each range fainter than the last until they dissolve into the horizon.
“Hulk, look at this,” I whisper, though he’s already standing at attention, ears perked as he takes in the vast expanse before us.
I like to think he appreciates these views and our little adventures as much as I do.
I ease my pack off and retrieve a water bottle. I pour half into a travel bowl I keep in my bag for him before sipping the second half while I settle on a flat rock. Hulk laps at his bowl, then sits beside me. Out here, my anxieties and worries seem so small. So manageable.
The wind whispers through the pines, carrying the scent of earth and rain. A hawk circles lazily overhead, its piercing cry echoing across the valley. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the sounds and sensations wash over me.
We stay for nearly half an hour, snacking on a granola bar and dog treats while soaking in the view from every angle. I snap a few photos with my phone, though they can’t possibly capture the magic of this spot.
Eventually, I shoulder my pack, wanting to get home before dark. “Time to head back, buddy.”
The descent proves trickier than the climb. Gravity pulls at me with each step, making the steep sections treacherous. I move carefully, using nearby tree trunks for balance on the steepest parts. “Slow and steady,” I huff.
We’re about halfway down when the trail narrows alongside a drop-off I hadn’t paid any mind to on the way up. It’s not a sheer cliff, but steep enough to be dangerous—a rocky slope dotted with scrub brush falling away for at least thirty feet before leveling out.
I hug the inside of the path, keeping Hulk between me and the mountainside. My foot lands on what looks like solid ground, but proves to be loose rock hidden under a thin layer of dirt.
It happens in an instant.
My ankle twists as the ground gives way. I throw out my arms, desperately grasping for anything stable, but there’s nothing but air. Hulk lunges toward me, his training kicking in as he tries to stabilize me, but my momentum is too great. Instead of saving me, he falls with me as we tumble over the edge.
I scream.
We slide, then roll. Sharp rocks tear at my clothes, my skin. I try to protect my head, but I’m spinning, disoriented. Hulk yelps somewhere nearby and I desperately want to reach for him. Pain explodes through my body each time I impact the ground.
Then something hard catches my temple.
Stars burst across my vision.
Then nothing.
Nine.
Beau
Duskcastsashadowover my property as I break down for the day. Thankfully, the renters in the two-bedroom cabin—a couple in town for a wedding—left a day early, so I’m able to shower and cook myself dinner tonight. I slept well enough in my truck last night, though I have the option to crash in the rental for tonight at least.
I toss my work gloves on the tailgate of my truck and glance at Callie’s cabin. I didn’t see her come back, but a light is on inside, indicating to me someone must be home.
I guess I missed her.
The double meaning in that statement isn’t lost on me.
I want to make this right, is what I want to tell her. Problem is, I’m shit with words and getting them out when I need to. Always have been. Every time I rehearse what I want to say to her, then get the chance to, my head is hollow and the moment passes.
I start packing my tools away methodically, each one finding its designated spot in the bed of my truck. The rhythm of the work is soothing, familiar. Unlike the knot of frustration that tightens in my chest whenever I think about Callie and the mess I’ve made, the fear in her eyes yesterday.
