This is real life. No matter how disappointing and empty it feels.
“It’s her!” A member of the crew announces and begins to run toward me. I can see his partner radio in the information as others come up from behind carrying a first aid kit and supplies.
Everything is a blur of orange and white, I twist around and see Sawyer slowly walking backwards. The feet he’s putting between us feel like miles as the crowd of search and rescue members surrounds me.
“Ashley Young? You’re Ashley, right?” A fit, middle-aged man with a wide, black moustache yells.
“Yes. That’s me.”
“That’s a confirmation on finding the person of interest. Ashley Young has been found at 37.7934° North, 106.9156° West, copy?”
I can hear the radio crackle and buzz like the one Sawyer and I would wind up in the cabin. “10-4 copy that.”
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh! I tilt my head back and squint my eyes at the bright sky. Above, a black, sleek helicopter is hovering over us like a metallic eagle ready to swoop in on her prey.
“They said we need to get her to a clearing.” A woman with chestnut hair and permanent worry lines etched in her face, interrupts.
“Gotcha,” the man acknowledges her. “Ashley, are you able to come with us? We’ve got a lot of people who are worried about you. Are you injured? Can you walk?” He talks to me like I may have lost my hearing along with my sense of direction the night I took off in the snow.
“I’m not hurt,” I answer and almost fall over as I look for Sawyer past the neon orange. Where did he go?
“Ok, that’s great. We’re going to get you home. There’s going to be a lot of happy people to see you! It’s a miracle you’re alive,” he smiles and tugs my arm, leading me with the team toward whatever clearing they’ve been instructed to take me to.
“Just wait, I can’t go yet.” My voice is shrill as I frantically look for Sawyer’s distinctive plaid among the trees.
“Here, drink some of this, it has electrolytes in it,” the man insists, holding what looks like a Capri Sun bag under my nose.
“No, wait.” I insist. “Sawyer, come with me. Don’t leave me,” I twist like a flag in the wind, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“She’s in shock,” the man with the moustache announces to the other crew members as I follow their lead to the clearing.
“I’m not in shock. I’m fine. I need Sawyer.” I look back over my shoulder, but all I see is a mess of footprints in the snow.
“Sawyer!” I call out. But I know it’s no use.
He’s gone.
31
Ashley
My hotel suite is quiet. Except not like the shroud of serenity that the forest would wrap Sawyer and I in. This is the silence of people trying to walk softly across carpeted halls. The silence of hushed whispers while the media prepares for the story event of the year. It’s the silence of being alone in a crowd. And it’s crushing.
I’ve spent the day being poked and prodded by curious doctors only to be released and brought back to the Telluride resort. I’ve been upgraded to their penthouse suite while they’ve graciously allowed the media to gather in their conference room so I can tell them that this amazing resort is in no way responsible for my drunken decision to run off into the woods.
Instead of being associated with my frozen, wolf-ravaged carcass, like they were expecting, they now get to bask in the glow of my safe return. Who doesn’t love a happy ending, right? Especially one that turns a profit.
The room is beautiful, every inch thoughtfully decorated with the highest quality materials. My television might as well be a movie screen, my hot tub a pool, and my sheets could be pure silk for how soft they are.
All of it is so… awful.
After only a few days away from all of this, it feels foreign. I’ve been walking around my room like a cat with paper bags on its feet, jumpy and self-aware. The monstrous television is too loud and too bright to comfortably watch. The hot tub feels overwhelming to my skin after days of melted snow baths, even the linens feel too slippery to be practical.
I miss the cabin.
I miss him.
Just a simple touch from his rough hands brought me more comfort than any of these luxuries. I try to imagine him in this room, enjoying these amenities. I can’t. It’s more natural to picture a walrus doing ballet than to envision him trying to fuck me on these satin sheets.
My body craves his touch as my mind flashes to him making me his by the fire, and in the snow shelter, and on the bed and…
“Mmmm,” the moan is involuntary. I can’t help how my back arches and my breasts heave at the thought of him. Just the memory makes me wet.
How am I going to get through this life without him? Why did he leave me?
The betrayal stings like the snap of a leather belt. The burn is deep and enduring, seeming to spread through me, radiating from my heart.
I pick up my phone as more tears fill my eyes. I can’t spend any more time crying. I just can’t. I’ve already given myself a headache for my trouble. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s gone. He left and that was his choice. There’s nothing I can do about it now.
I swipe my thumb across my cell like a reflex and the screen comes to life with a ding. I don’t mean to open my photo gallery of the pictures of the run-down cabin that began to feel like home.
I snort when I see the pose in my bikini bottoms and his shirt. Me trying to get another perfect butt selfie, while he threw our dinner at me. Was that only a few days ago? How is that possible? I feel like I’m catching glimpses of another lifetime.
I let my thumb hover over the belfie, my Instagram followers would love my butt selfie from the wild. I bet it would get more likes than anything I’ve ever posted.
The thought shrivels up and dies inside me, blowing away in the wind of my apathy. I couldn’t care less what anyone likes or doesn’t like about me, let alone these ridiculous poses. That’s not real. The sex pout over my shoulder while I push my ass out with my heels for maximum curvature, is the furthest thing from reality. Not like the moments that were never recorded. The laughter and tears Sawyer and I shared. The moments with his arms around me as the world became our own personal snow globe. The meals he pieced together. The sex.
That was real.
This, it’s just phony.
I push the button on the side of my phone, forcing my screen to fade to black. I’m not posting these. I don’t give a shit how many likes it would get. All I care about is him.
A sudden knock at my door makes me jolt upright in bed and breathe little, shallow puffs of air like I need to ration the oxygen around me.
Is it him?
I jump from the plush mattress and cross the floor with the beat of my pulse vibrating through my whole body.
Did he come back for me?
I wipe my fingers under my eyes and fix myself up as I reach for the handle. He didn’t run away. He didn’t abandon me. He…
I open the door.
“Hey babe! Say hi to over fifteen thousand of your closest friends, you’re live streaming on Facebook!” Ben doesn’t wait for me to react before pushing past me into the room with his phone inches from my surprised face.
“What are you doing?” My voice is as dead as my love for him. Flatlined, with no hope of revival.
“Mmm, babe you’re looking fine. Did you lose a bit of weight out there in the snow? Damn girl, it looks good on ya! Just make sure you don’t lose that ass though, am I right?” He turns the cell around to his obnoxious face and licks his lips theatrically. “How about you throw some hearts across my screen if you agree out there, ok? Show my girl some loving, people!” Ben demands to the faceless crowd infringing on my privacy.
“Ben, shut it off,” I hiss, not wanting to be picked up by the mic.
“What’s that, hon?” he twists it back around to record me and I scowl. “How about you show us that you didn’t injure that sweet ass of yours and give the people at
home a little twerk, hon? Come on, be a good girl and give us some jiggle, am I right? Throw those hearts up if you agree!”
My eyes flicker to his screen full of floating, pink hearts and thumbs up signs. Comments are filling up the bottom half of his phone screen at an unreadable pace.
“No, I said turn it off.” I grit my teeth and raise my voice. I don’t give a fuck if the mic does pick me up.
Suddenly, it comes to me. I want him to shut this off? Hit him where it hurts.
“Ben,” I pout, “we need to talk about how you fucked my sister the night I ran off. I almost died out there in the cold, of a broken heart, because you couldn’t be loyal to me for ten minutes.” I let my crocodile tears build up and Ben’s abnormally tanned face bleaches out.
“Why don’t you turn the phone around and explain how you almost helped destroy me by fucking my sister at our engagement party, hon? Hey, at home, send some love if you want to hear him explain himself.” I egg on the Facebook Live streamers.
A flood of open mouthed smileys making the “Wow” face rush over the screen.
Ben drops the phone to his side and turns it off.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He sneers and grabs my shoulder. “Why are you trying to ruin me?”
“Don’t worry about it honey, maybe you should just twerk it off or something.” I force a fake smile to cross my face.
“Listen, I know you think you saw something that night, but I think you were just drunk. You know how you’re a bit of a lightweight, especially with the expensive champagne, am I right?” He stops clenching my arm and lets his hand drop. “There’s no reason we can’t move on. Just think of how epic our story will be. Everyone thought you were dead! We’ll be, like, a hundred times more famous if you play this right. I bet there could be a movie made about us,” he brags.
“Imagine the possibilities,” my words are as cold as the arctic air that whistled around the cabin at night.
“Ok, so I fucked Kate. It was a mistake. You don’t have to be such a bitch about it. Let’s move on and soak up all this buzz. You want to ruin what could be the biggest career move of all time for you because you’re pissed at me getting my noodle wet? Come on!” He gives up on his old sales pitch and tries a new direction.
“There is no us. There’s no story to tell. You and I are over, Ben.”
“Come on, we have this press conference to do.” He steamrolls over me.
“We?”
“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of media. You know, the poor almost widower thing, but this is ten times better. Now that you’re alive, we could have books written about us. I’ve gained, like, another two thousand followers today.”
“Fuck you, Ben,” I storm across the room and fling open my hotel door. “I’m doing this conference to thank the people who found me and then if I ever see your fucking face again, I’ll be getting a restraining order.”
“Oh, come on. So dramatic!” He cries out and I let the door slam shut behind me.
I have to resist the urge to throw my fur coat on and run back out into the woods again. I have to stop telling myself that just on the other side of those trees is my salvation. My real man, waiting for me. He left. He left me and there’s nothing I can do.
I look back at the door and listen to Ben talk on his phone. Probably to my sister. Foster sister.
One thing is certain, my salvation might not be in Sawyer, but I’ve found it in myself. I’m stronger now and I will never, ever let any man treat me like I deserve less than the best again.
32
Sawyer
I’ve got more than enough supplies to survive another three months, uninterrupted. My toboggan is stacked full and my hiking bag on my back must weigh at least sixty pounds. It’s going to make the trip back to my cabin difficult, but it’s worth it for the peace and quiet it will bring me.
I know I should be making that trek right now. Pushing through the snow and climbing the steady slope of the mountain until I finally reach my home.
So, why am I here?
I peer out from the edge of the woods and look at the busy crowd setting up at the Telluride resort. There have to be at least thirty reporters here. All of them primping and setting up for perfect shots of the hotel.
You’d literally have to be deaf to not hear about the big news conference that Ashley is going to be giving here. Every store I hit up, I was subjected to the gossip.
“Did you hear? They found her!”
“She’s alive and I heard the resort is buying her off.”
“She’s doing a huge conference and then her fiancé is flying her to Hawaii. I think I read that online.”
They were all so invested in it. Obsessed with her recovery. Like, her adventure was one they shared. As if they were living vicariously through her.
And they don’t even know her.
It’s time to head out. She’s better off without me. It sounds like she’s got everything lined up perfectly. Now we can get on with our lives.
I don’t move.
I don’t stop staring out from the shield of the forest, hoping that somehow, I’ll catch a glimpse of her. That somehow, I’ll see on her face that she feels like this is a mistake. That she wants to come with me.
To hell with this. I need to go. I can’t stand like a fucking stalker in the woods all night.
My muscles ache from hauling my supplies for the last hour. Yet, I’m still a statue. I’m not even sure I’m blinking.
Ok, that’s it. I drop my heavy bag from my shoulders and place it next to the toboggan. I’m going to check out this conference and see for myself that she doesn’t need me. That her little escape into the woods was just that. A break. An escape. A mini vacation from the life she wants and not the foundation for a whole new existence.
I’ll see it with my own eyes and then I won’t be making anymore excuses. I’ll be back to my log home in three days’ time and be able to live out the rest of my life with complete certainty that I’ve made the right choice.
And that she has too.
33
Sawyer
This room is too crowded, too hot, too bright. I manage to park my ass in one of the fold down chairs and try to blend in.
I feel like a Where’s Waldo cartoon, in my plaid coat and beanie while news reporters and tourists buzz around me.
On the platform at the front of the room is a long table with microphones set up. News anchors gather like flies near the front, all jostling for the best position to cry out their questions while their camera operators all try to capture the ultimate angles and most flattering lighting.
I shouldn’t be here. I look down at my calloused hands and wonder what I’m doing. This isn’t where I belong. This is Ashley’s world. A world with no place for me.
The crowd begins to cheer and clap, many of the people around me rise to their feet as Ashley and a group of men walk onto the stage. The people around me settle back into the folding chairs as Ashley and her entourage take their seats on stage.
I can barely hear the hotel manager make his speech. Even when the doctor reassures the crowd that Ashley is physically and mentally sound, it barely registers.
All I can see is her. The crowd around me evaporates and the noises fade into oblivion as I watch her face. She looks lost. Her stunning features are covered in caked on makeup again, making her look older and more serious than when she was with me.
Her long hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and her pouty lips are painted blood red.
She looks too severe. Too contorted by lighting and cosmetics. I barely recognize the face that only hours ago, I was kissing.
I can see her scanning the crowd, but it must be hard to see us with all the flashes exploding in front of her eyes. Ashley looks down at her hands, like she can’t face all the strangers anymore. I want to run to her. To wrap my arms around her and tell her she doesn’t need to play their games. She doesn’t need to do any of this. But I stay put.
Sudde
nly the skinny man with slicked back, dark hair and an expensive suit that is sitting next to her, decides it’s time to make a speech.
“Ashley, you’re the love of my life. When you were gone, I thought I’d lost you forever. I knew, somehow that we’d be together again. That our love would bring us back together, because you’re my soulmate,” he mugs at the cameras without even looking at her.
That must be Ben.
I watch as the douchebag that cheated on Ashley wipes non-existent tears from his eye.
“Fuck you, Ben.” Ashley stands up abruptly and the crowd gasps as though she’s just declared she had a bomb. “You can’t have a soulmate when you have no soul.”
She storms off the stage and a smile pulls at my lips. While the crowd of people throw their hands over their mouths in mock horror, I can’t help the laughter spilling out of me.
That’s my girl.
Ben follows her off the stage and I expect the show to be over.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going you ungrateful bitch?”
I can hear his voice over the speakers in the room. We all can. That moron never turned off his microphone pack.
“Go away. I’m not doing this anymore. We don’t love each other, Ben. Let’s not pretend that what we ever had was real.”
I sit a little taller, my smile growing as I listen to her.
“Who fucking cares? It’s not about that, just think of the opportunity you have here, Ashley. They’ll probably make a movie about us. You’ve never been more relevant, you were trending on Twitter. Trending.” He emphasizes and I roll my eyes.
“I don’t care. This is over. I’m shutting down my social media. I’m done with all of this fake shit. I’m done with fake relationships and fake love and my big, fake fucking life.”
The Woodsman's Baby Page 25
