Page 135 of The Golden Scoop

“I’m Kate. Basically, Robyn to her Batman,” she jokes.

I can’t muster a laugh.

“I’m sorry. On any other occasion, I’d be much nicer, but right now I just need to find her,” I apologize. “Where is she?”

“You don’t know?”

My pulse jumps. I shake my head. Something cold slides down my spine, and I feel my muscles stiffen. I’m too late.

“She quit,” Kate explains. “Packed her things. Didn’t look back. I offered to go with her, but she said she needed some air. Mentioned a hike, although she hates hiking so I think it might have been some sort of metaphor.”

A hike.

I’d bet every dollar in my bank account there’s only one trail Emma would go to.

Our trail. The bench overlooking the city. The place where our epilogue is waiting to be told. Almost like it’s our safety spot.

I don’t even say goodbye.

I turn on my heels and run.

“You’re welcome,” Kate yells after me.

“We’ll meet again!” I shout over my shoulder.

Bad idea.

This becomes apparent five minutes into the hike.

I’m wearing jeans. High quality, dense denim. Designed for looking like a model in candid paparazzi photos, not scaling a mountain in almost one-hundred-degree heat. My sneakers are just as bad. I wore them one to an action-movie conference and they’ve been admired, rather than used, ever since.

By mile one, when my feet start blistering, I remember why.

By mile two, my jeans are so damp and heavy my movement is now restricted to no more than slight knee bending.

This is ridiculous. I’m scrambling through my breaths, cursing the moment I decided to do this completely unprepared.

Halfway up, I stop beneath a small tree with shade big enough to cover most of me. Sweat’s dripping down my temple. My white T-shirt is basically soaked through, but I still grab the hem and use it to wipe my face.

My legs are shaky, and my vision is blurring. I’m so thirsty I would drink salt water if I had it. The trail is empty, because no one in their sane mind would subject themselves to this in the middle of the day. But if there’s even a chance Emma’s up there, wondering if I ever cared, then turning around is not an option.

Fuck.

I push off the trunk and take off running again with everything I have in me. Twenty more minutes. I spend my days dangling off moving cars, I can survive twenty more minutes.

The sun is scorching by the time I finally make it to the top. My T-shirt clings to my chest like I’m shooting one of those sexy cologne ads that make no sense. My jeans are so uncomfortable I briefly consider taking them off. The only thing stopping me is Jennifer having a heart attack if I added public indecency to my record.

I bend over, hands braced on my knees, trying not to collapse while my lungs work overtime. At this point, I’m hearing colors, tasting smells, and seeing sounds.

Then I look up.

There’s movement ahead.

I take a few more steps, and there she is.

Emma’s sitting on the bench in her overalls and worn-out Vans. Her hair sways softly in the breeze. Her eyes are closed, face tilted up toward the sun.

She looks at peace.