Page 90 of Just My Ex

With my foot burning and my shoulder starting to sting, I follow him up the ridge, my sneakers skidding in the mud. I lose sight of him in the sheets of rain, but notice a lumpy, Army-green canvas bag ahead of me.

The backpack. I slow only to grab it, snaking my arms through each strap. I wince a little as the strap settles on my injured shoulder.

Who are we even chasing anyway?

Like those darned crumbs he leaves everywhere, I can follow his trail, this time because his sky-blue baseball cap is lying in the mud several yards ahead. It must have flown off of him. I stop running long enough to grab it, but we’re in the dense trees now, and I don’t know what direction he took off in.

This is not great. I can’t see him anywhere, but I can’t exactly call out to him and draw attention to ourselves. He’s going to be so mad I followed him and even madder that I lost him in the forest.

I straighten, rotating in a circle, willing my eyes to locate his black T-shirt or olive cargo pants. Come on, Henry.

I see a flash of movement several yards ahead. Is that the ominous figure we’re going after or is it Henry?

The forest provides little cover from the rain, which seems sort of like a cop-out for the trees. Isn’t your job to provide cover, trees? Why am I being blinded by rain right now, huh?

Instead of cursing the pines and aspens, I start out again in the direction of the flash of movement I saw earlier. Either it’s Henry or the villain who vandalized the resort front entrance. Please let it be Henry.

It’s not long before another flash illuminates.

This time, it’s a bolt of razor-bright lightning, zigzagging through the sky. An almost immediate bomb of thunder follows.

Well. This is really not great.

Chapter 36

Henry

At the crack of thunder, I half walk, half run to the tree line on the edge of the ridge, rainwater streaming off me and down my back, goosebumps prickling across my skin. I debate, even as I jog through the forest undergrowth, whether or not I should hunker down, close to the ground and wait out the storm, or try to get to the barn.

Lightning is scary, especially in trees, and I think of Quinn, praying she made it back to the resort okay. Just in case, I toss a glance behind me, making sure either the person watching us from the trees or Quinn isn’t back there.

Please, Quinn. Please be safe and warm inside the resort.

I slosh through the wet, pine-needle-littered ground, stepping over fallen logs. The clearing should be up ahead. Through my blurry vision, I think I can make out the barn. I pick up the pace, straining my eyes to see any signs of lightning.

I saw someone across from the entrance to the resort, behind a tree. They were in the shadows, maybe wearing a hoodie, so it was hard to tell. It could have been Marley, but I don’t think so.

It’s that unknown that propels me forward. I have to figure this out. But now that there’s lightning? Well, my search is going to have to wait.

The sky opens up twice more before I reach the clearing, the angry thunder shaking me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The lightning’s close.

Stepping into the clearing feels like I’m lining up to a firing squad. I know that lightning tends to strike the tallest objects, so when it’s just me in the middle of the clearing, I start to freak out a little. Without the cover of the trees, the tallest thing is me.

I sprint, slipping in the muddy pasture. It’s no small feat to run in a soggy clearing and when I nearly reach the barn, I hear her.

“Henry!”

Quinn? Everything in me slows, straining to find her.

I whip my head around, slicking rain out of my eyes. She’s twenty yards away, soaking wet, running towards me. The woman is a glorious sight, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to see her.

It’s alarming that she’s out here, so vulnerable to the storm and to whomever vandalized the resort door. I start towards her and meet her as she nears the barn. Grabbing her hand, I pull her along the spongy earth until we get to the double-sized door. I throw the lever up, guide her inside, and with a quick dart of a glance around us, close the door behind us.

We pace, shaking out our limbs, breathing in the musty air. The warm barn is mostly empty, except for some straw bales and a wall mounted with various ranching implements. The small skylight window above the loft isn’t large enough to let in much light. I slick back my hair, flinging water every which way. She shrugs off the backpack and hands me my mud-soaked baseball cap. Water runs in rivulets down her nose and chin and she presses her hands to her hips. Once my breathing has calmed a little, I find my words.

“What are you doing here?” I don’t want to shout, but I can’t stop myself now that we’re in the relative safety of the small barn.

“I followed you, obviously.” She bends to untie her shoes.

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