“I am. What do you say we get outta here?” He stands, offering his arm for me to grab onto.
“There’s literally nothing I’d like more. No offense.” I smile at the two officers. Mary smirks, but Owen looks like I’ve just added salt to his coffee.
Jack leads me outside, slowly and carefully, and my hand grips his bicep firmly while my heart grows more attached. At this point, it’s practically welded itself to him, and if he’s decided risking a relationship is too much, the recovery process is going to be harder than the one for this gunshot wound.
There’s no way I’m coming out of this with my heart intact.
There’s enough to worry about, though, so I push those fears aside and focus on not falling asleep while walking.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
We climb into a park ranger car, and as the door shuts, I look up at the sky smeared with midnight hues. Indigo bleeds into violet, charcoal is sprinkled with silver. It’s messy, imperfect, and stunning. Pocahontas sang about painting with the colors of the wind, but I’d much rather paint with these.
Each day, the trail shifted from cool mountain purples to warm canyon ambers; every shade felt like it tugged a thread inside me. Each hour layered a new tone over the last, like the canyon was showing me a palette I never knew I was allowed to love. With every change in light, I felt more certain—this is the medium I’m meant to work with. This is what I’m meant to do.
Not sports. Not stats. Not marketing.
Color.
Transformation.
Identity.
If nature can reveal itself through shifting hues, then maybe I can use color to help people see who they are.
Maybe the canyon wasn’t just showing off each day.
Maybe it was calling me home.
These thoughts bring a grateful smile to my face as we drive,both of us silent but content for now. Really, I think we’re both ridiculously excited about a shower. At least I am. Jack may be used to roughing it for this long, but I’m certainly not.
He parks outside one of the nearby lodges, and it feels like I’ve only just watched him open his door before he’s at my side, helping me out of the car. He grabs bags from the back seat before opening the trunk to take out our backpacks.
I’m basically sleepwalking as Jack escorts me to a door he already has a key for.
“I knew you’d make a great pack mule.” I grin.
“Hopefully I don’t smell like one, too.”
“Nope, you smell delicious.” I turn a sleepy grin to him, smushing my nose against his shoulder.
“You’re a little weirdo, you know that?” He snorts before unlocking the door.
“One of my perks.” I smile, stepping into the cozy, wood-paneled room, gently lit by mismatching bedside lamps and the joy of bucket lists ticked off. When I spot the queen bed with a poofy white comforter, it whispers for me to climb in. Whether or not I’ll be able to stay awake long enough to shower before passing out is the only question.
But then I catch a glimpse of my dust-covered arms, and it’s suddenly an easy decision. These sheets would be a different color in the morning if I didn’t wash off the remnants of the canyon still clinging to my skin.
Jack places the things he’s carrying beside the bed, shifting awkwardly after removing his hat like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Bathroom’s all yours.” He gestures toward the door before one hand finally settle on his hips.
“Thank you. I was prepared to fight you for it.” I yawn, turning in the direction of the bathroom at the end of the room.
I’m deliriously spent and consider having a nap on the shower floor once I step into the hot spray of water,thankful that Dr. Roberts put a waterproof bandaid over my stitches. It’s only mildly mortifying that she could tell I needed a shower as soon as possible.
I double shampoo, marvelling at the dust-tinged water washing down the drain as the steam reminds my pores that we aren’t in fact homeless. My limbs are heavy by the time I’m rinsing out conditioner, and I have to psych myself up for the task of drying off and getting dressed.
And then it dawns on me…I have no clean clothes. An audible whimper escapes my lips while I rub my hands down my face. With a slightly crunchy hotel towel wrapped around my body, I wrap another around my hair just as a knock sounds on the bathroom door.
“You okay in there?” Jack’s voice sounds muffled from the other side, but I can still hear the concern in his tone.
