"Must be the quiet type of love," Judge says, laughing as he picks up his axe, hefting it over his shoulder. "No wonder we never see him with anyone."
I don’t bother answering. This is their way. Always poking, prodding, trying to get a rise out of me. It’s been this way since we were kids. I was never the talker, not like them. They’re all too used to being the center of attention, filling up every room, every space with their noise. But me? I’ve always been contentto stay on the edge, let them take the spotlight. It’s quieter that way.
"One of these days," Knox says, shaking his head as he approaches the tree beside me, "some woman’s gonna break through that bark of yours. You’ll see."
"Keep dreaming," I mutter, smirking as I pick up my axe and move toward the next tree. But even as the words leave my mouth, something inside me stirs. An old wound, buried deep but still there, festers for a second before I shove it back down where it belongs.
Knox and the others start working on their own trees, the sound of wood splitting and falling filling the air. It’s not exactly peaceful, but it’s the kind of noise I can handle.
As I swing the axe again, there’s a brief flicker of something. A memory. A smile that used to belong to me. Her laugh, light and easy, teasing me the way my brothers do now. The way her hand felt in mine, soft and warm, before everything went wrong.
I shake my head, gripping the axe tighter. The past is the past. There’s no point digging it up now, a decade later.
But Knox’s words linger in the back of my mind, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. "Some woman’s gonna break through that bark."
I don’t need anyone to break through. I built these walls for a reason.
Still, as I glance toward the mountains, where the forest stretches endlessly in every direction, there’s a small part of me that wonders.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe the life I’ve built—this quiet, solitary existence—isn’t enough.
Chapter Two
Tamlyn
The Jeep rattles beneath me, the old engine groaning as the tires bounce over the uneven dirt road. Gravel spits from the wheels, pinging off the underside, but I smile, loving every jolt. There’s something freeing about the roughness, the way it shakes everything loose, like it’s getting rid of the weight I’ve been carrying. My hands tighten on the steering wheel, and the wind whips through the rolled-down windows, tangling the loose strands of hair that have escaped from my messy bun.
The air smells fresh here. Earthy, clean. It’s that kind of scent that fills your lungs and makes you feel alive. I take a deep breath, letting the cool mountain air fill me. Copper Mountain rises in the distance, tall and ancient, its jagged peaks cutting through the sky like something out of a dream. My heart flutters, a familiar thrill bubbling up as I catch sight of the small town nestled against the base of the mountain. Another new place. Another blank canvas.
I can’t help but laugh softly to myself. "Another place, another adventure."
The words roll off my tongue like a mantra, something I’ve said far too many times. It’s always the same. A new location, a new project, a new start. It’s exhilarating, the unknown, but there's something else lingering beneath the excitement. Something heavy.
I try to ignore it, shifting in my seat as I round the last bend in the road. The dirt path widens, leading me toward the edge of the forest, and there it is—my little cabin. Weathered and simple, with a porch that sags just enough to make me smile. It's perfect. It’s quiet, tucked away at the edge of the woods, surrounded by tall pines that stretch their long shadows across the ground.
I pull up and kill the engine. Silence rushes in, wrapping around me. I sit there for a second, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the cabin, the whisper of doubt creeping in.
"Maybe this time," I murmur, my voice barely audible. But I don’t believe it. I never do.
Still, I swing the door open and step out, my boots hitting the dirt with a solid thud. The ground feels good beneath my feet. Real. Grounded. I stretch, raising my arms high above my head, feeling my muscles pull, and for a brief moment, the weight I’ve been carrying disappears.
This is home. At least for now.
The mountain looms above me, strong and wild, calling to that restless part of me that’s always searching for the next thing, the next thrill. My eyes sweep over the dense forest, the rich green of the trees blending into a blur of endless possibilities. There’s so much to explore, so much to discover.
I grin, the excitement bubbling up again, pushing away the doubt. "The mountain is mine," I say, as if claiming it for myself.
I move to the back of the Jeep and pop open the hatch, pulling out my equipment. Notebooks, my camera, a field guide to the plants of this region—it all tumbles into my arms. Ibalance the load as best I can and make my way up to the porch, my boots scuffing against the wooden steps. They creak under my weight, but the sound is comforting, solid.
I push open the door, stepping inside the cabin. It’s small but cozy, with wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and a stone fireplace tucked into the corner. A single bed with a worn quilt sits against the far wall, and there’s a tiny kitchen off to the side. It’s not much, but it’ll do. It always does.
I set my things down on the table and take a deep breath, surveying the space. It smells like wood and dust, the kind of smell that reminds me of childhood, of old houses and faraway places. I glance around, and for a moment, I imagine what it would be like to settle down, to stay in one place, to make it more than just a pit stop. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, replaced by the familiar hum of excitement.
The forest is waiting.
I grab my camera and botany kit, slinging them over my shoulder. The door swings shut behind me with a satisfying thud as I step back into the sunlight. The trees sway gently in the breeze, whispering their secrets. My boots crunch over the dirt as I make my way toward the edge of the woods, my heart racing with the thrill of what lies ahead.
