Page 15 of Mountain Boss

I reach my arm up over my head to where I left my phone on the edge of the platform, and groan in pain.

I’m thirty, and my body is way too old for this shit.

After silencing my alarm, I slowly lower my arm back to my side.

Six a.m.

I blink at the ceiling.

I took my time unpacking last night—feeling like a chicken for not wanting to go back outside for the rest of my stuff in the dark. And then, even though I was exhausted, I still couldn’t force myself to climb intobeduntil midnight.

When I finally did, it was impossible to get comfortable. Because, as it turns out, laying all your clothes out into a flat pile on top of a board does not a mattress make.

I shift and let out a pitiful whine.

Everything aches.

I’ve had some less-than-ideal sleeping situations in my life, but this… this takes the fucking cake.

I’m almost tempted to sleep in my Jeep rather than spend another night on this literal board. Even if the cold and fear of the forest would keep me up all night.

I blink, waking myself up more.

I wiggle my toes.

I rock my head side to side.

And I groan again.

Because I won’t sleep in my car.

I can’t give Mr. Black a single reason to fire me.

Filling my lungs, I mentally brace myself, then roll onto my side.

Soreness has me grunting, but I don’t stop.

And as I roll the rest of the way off the bunk, the rough edge of the plywood digs into my hip. I’m glad I slept in sweatpants and a hoodie last night, so at least I don’t have bare skin exposed, because getting a scrape or a splinter right now would truly be the final straw.

My feet hit the floor, and the impact radiates up my shins.

“Owie,” I whine.

I shift my weight around, trying to ease the pins and needles dancing up my legs. Through the socks I wore to bed, I can feel the coolness of the wood floor beneath my feet.

I’ve been living in hot climates for too long. This new chilled world is going to take some getting used to. But I did spot a baseboard heater behind that dinky table in the main room, so at least I won’t freeze to death.

Rolling out my shoulders, I notice the same thing I noticed last night… the quiet.

It’s so damn quiet out here I?—

My phone starts to beep again, and I nearly jump out of my socks.

I slap a hand over my heart before I turn it—and my backup alarm—off.

The sun isn’t exactly up, but there’s enough early morning light coming in through the windows. Especially from the front room since the curtains up there are a thin white linen.

I shuffle to the bathroom, and while I brush my teeth, I curse mycowardice from the night before, remembering that my food box is still in the Jeep.

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