Page 35 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man
"Doesn't matter now." I set up another log. "Program's closing. Kids are being reassigned. Life goes on."
"If you believe that, you're not half as smart as I thought." Mason finishes his coffee. "The kids need direction for their final project today. When you're done torturing lumber, we could use your expertise."
He leaves me with my thoughts and my axe, both equally dangerous in my current state. I split a few more logs before my phone rings. Judge Martinez. Again.
"Reeves," I answer, dreading more bad news.
"Jax." His voice carries its usual gravitas. "How are things progressing with the shutdown?"
"As well as can be expected." I wipe sweat from my brow. "Kids know they're being reassigned. Mason's updating his resumes. We're cataloging equipment for redistribution."
"I see." He pauses. "I wanted you to know I'm still making inquiries. This decision seems rushed, even by department standards."
"Appreciate that, Your Honor, but we both know how this ends."
"Perhaps." Another pause. "Though I received an interesting message this morning. Anonymous. Regarding your program."
My heart rate picks up despite my efforts to remain detached. "What kind of message?"
"That someone is fighting for Peak Survival at the highest levels of the department. Someone with, shall we say, unorthodox determination."
"Did they leave a name?"
"No. Just a message to pass along to you." He clears his throat. "And I quote: 'Tell him sometimes you have to say, excuse my French, but fuck the department.' End quote."
My breath catches. Those words. That phrasing. It has to be Riley.
"Judge, do you know who sent this?"
"Officially, no." His tone suggests otherwise. "Unofficially, it appears someone in Sacramento believes your program deserves better than a rubber-stamp termination."
"I need to go." My mind races with possibilities. "Thank you for the information."
"Good luck, Jax." He disconnects.
I stand motionless, the phone still in my hand. Riley is fighting for the program. For the kids. For us? The hope I've been suppressing roars back to life.
I find Mason in the mess cabin, overseeing the teens as they plan their final project.
"I need to go to Sacramento," I announce without preamble. "Today. Now."
Mason studies my face, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Take my truck. Better on highways than your rig."
"Can you handle things here? It’s a long drive. Might be overnight."
"We've got this." He tosses me his keys. "Go get her, Jax."
I don't waste time arguing that this is about the program, not Riley. We both know that's a lie. Within thirty minutes, I'm showered, changed, and on the road, Mason's truck eating up the miles toward Sacramento.
The drive gives me too much time to think. What if I'm wrong? What if the message wasn't from her? What if she doesn't want to see me after the things I said? I told her to leave, to write the report, to get her promotion. I pushed her away because I was too proud, too afraid to fight for what I really wanted.
Her.
Six hours on mountain roads and highways brings me to the outskirts of Sacramento by mid-afternoon. I realize I don't actually know where the Department of Social Services is located, or if Riley would even be there. I pull into a gas station to refuel and search for the address on my phone.
As I'm pumping gas, a familiar silver Prius zooms past on the main road. My head snaps up, eyes tracking the vehicle. It can't be. But that bumper sticker for a Sacramento radio station. The University of California frame around the license plate.
It's her. Heading in the direction I just came from.
