Page 21 of My Fearless Mountain Man

Before I can decide, she turns and walks away, retracing her steps.

Why? Why hike all the way out here just to touch a burned tree and leave?

It doesn't matter. I’m not the man she needs. I’ll stay away, give her the space to heal, and eventually, she’ll find the love she deserves. Someone who isn’t broken, someone who can offer her the future I can’t.

I’ll carry this guilt. I’ll let her hate me if it helps her move on. It’s better this way. She’ll find her way, and I’ll fade from her life, no matter how much it tears me apart inside.

I open the door of my car to get into my solitary home, the strap of my backpack catching on the glove box. Her letter falls out, fluttering to the ground. I pause, staring at it for a moment before I reach down to pick it up. I’d already read the front, assumed that was all she had to say, that her sign-off meant the end of it.

But when I flip it over, I see more.

I want to find where we met. The tree that lost all its branches and is burned but still alive. If it’s still alive, then it’s proof anyone can survive no matter how broken. If it has new branches, then survivors can thrive and have a place of their own too. Just like I hope we both can.

I grip the letter, my fingers tightening around it as my chest aches, the weight of it nearly suffocating me. There’s no way to respond to this, no words that will ever be enough. I want to tell her it’s there, that it’s growing stronger, blooming every spring. I want to tell her that tree has thrived, that people stop and admire it, just like I know she will too, someday—when she’s moved past me.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

What do I do now? Protect her from the heartache this will cause, tell her she’ll survive this, too? Or keep her safe from the mess I am, from the still-open wounds that will never fully heal?

There’s no winning. No right choice. For the first time, I’m stuck, caught between a rock and a hard place, with no idea which way to go.

Chapter 11 - Nora

It’s been five days since I woke up alone. No Calder. No note. No text, voicemail, or anything to explain why he thought leaving without a word was better than telling me anything.

I’ve cried, questioned what I did wrong.Did I ask too many questions after? Was I too insecure about my performance? Did I push him too hard?Then, I felt nothing. An emptiness that threatened to swallow me whole—until I saw the tree.

If it can be consumed by flames and still show signs of new growth, if it can stand taller, stronger, with a power I missed the first time I saw it... then, what? It’s just a tree.

Why did I think it would hold some answer, some sign that there is hope for me…for us?

I didn’t expect my first time to be magic, or fireworks, or soul-consuming ecstasy. But it was. Calder made it that way. And now that it’s gone, the silence he’s left behind is a sharper sting than anything the fire could have given me.

But I can’t believe that our night together didn’t mean anything to him. His words, his body, his eyes—they all told mea different story. But maybe I was wrong. I must have been, because if I wasn’t, we’d be together now.

Shaking my head, I look at my Airbnb. I’m not renewing it. I’m gone in two days. For the first time since I got here, a part of me is relieved. I’m tired of trying to figure out what’s going on with Calder. I’m tired of pushing so hard and getting a few steps forward just to be dragged back.

Optimism has its limits.

My limit of silence and patience and hoping that Calder will do the right thing is breeched on the beginning of day six of his silence. I have to be out of the Airbnb tomorrow and I won’t do it by cowering and sending a letter next year. This is the end of it. One way or another. I will not run away as he did, I will stand for my choices, even if it will not change anything.

So I take a breath and casually ask where I can find Calder when I spot another ranger in town. I lie about having something of his I need to return, making the guy chuckle.

“He’s at the station today,” I’m told.

After a quick thank you, I head to the station and find Calder working outside. When he lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, I freeze a few feet away, every step feeling heavier. I cross my arms, trying to shield myself from the pain threatening to crack me wide open.

“Calder,” I say, my voice steady but the weight of everything lurking underneath.

He pauses, then slowly looks up at me, his expression hard, every muscle tight like he’s bracing for something.

Even though he’s right in front of me, I feel a thousand miles away—alone, abandoned, unwanted. The way his eyes take me in, like he’s studying me from a distance, only deepens theache inside. It’s as if the sight of me hurts him too, and all it does is echo the pain I’ve been trying to bury for the past week.

“You left,” I say, my voice breaking on the words. “You left me after the best night I’ve ever had. It was perfect, and you ruined it.”

The words tumble out, raw and unfiltered. “So if I did something wrong, tell me. Actually talk to me, Calder! It’s the bare minimum you owe me!”

He opens his mouth, but then just takes off his gloves, his movements slow, deliberate. He walks toward me, and the weight in my chest grows heavier.

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