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“I’m not a cheater, Cassia. I’mcommitted.”
No response.
I don’t make another sound. I pretend to fall asleep, the same way she is.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CASSIA
My eyes open to an empty tent. My mouth is dry, and my temples are pounding. I have one hell of a hangover.
I stare at Holden’s empty sleeping bag for several minutes, my heart aching worse than my head.
Bits and pieces of our conversation from last night burrow into my brain, making me wince. I said more than I meant to last night. Some of it needed to be spoken. Some I wish had stayed thoughts.
With a sigh, I slide out of my own bed. I’m not sure how early it is. There’s no sound of activity outside and my phone is dead, thanks to the lack of outlets.
I get dressed in shorts and a clean t-shirt, then grab my toiletry bag. The tent’s zipper snags a couple of times as I open it, the flaps waving in the slight breeze.
The campsite is empty. All the other tents are still zipped shut, the center of the fire pit a pile of black ashes.
I’m relieved—and proud—when I successfully navigate to the bathrooms on my own. The trip is much easier in the daylight, sunshine exposing all the dips and valleys and crags in the path. It must be early because there’s no sign of any activity on the trail or in the bathrooms.
I run through the same routine as last night, except this time I slather some sunscreen and concealer on my face after washing it.
After a split-second of deliberation, I apply mascara and lip gloss as well. I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad inclination, how I still feel the urge to look my best in front of Holden.
When I get back to the campsite, Brooks is standing by the table that serves as the “kitchen”, stirring the contents of a cup. He glances up and catches my eye, giving me no polite choice except to walk over to him.
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” I reply.
“Coffee?” He tilts his head toward a glass canister. “It’s instant, but not terrible.”
“Um, yeah. Sure.” I help myself to a plastic cup, reading the instructions on the coffee canister before measuring out a spoonful and adding bottled water. It tastes like crap and is lukewarm, but it’s better than nothing.
We sip in silence as I wonder where the hell Holden went. There’s no sign of anyone else being up yet. His truck is still here so he couldn’t have gone that far.
“So…your complicated relationship.”
I glance over at Brooks. “You don’t want to talk about the weather or something instead?”
One corner of his mouth curves up. “We can, if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. You can ask.”
“Still complicated?”
“Still complicated.”
“You deserve better.”
I exhale. “What we want…what we get…what we deserve? Those can all be different things.”
Brooks raises one eyebrow. Maybe that made no sense. It’s hard to boil down years of history into two sentences.
I want Holden. Being with him has never felt like settling. But I’m also scared he’ll devastate me, if I let him.
