Chapter 2

2

DANIKA

‘ I t's been a while' is an understatement. I cringe at the way I tried to make it sound like him seeing me in this state is totally normal.

Of all the things I expected to find when I spontaneously packed my things for a weekend camp—bears, insects, snakes, and strangers—the one at the bottom of my list was Matthew Vance, my ex-boyfriend of three years and former fiancé.

I have so many questions running through my mind.

Why is he here in the mountains? Why isn't he in his dad's ranch house? He inherited the ranch and other businesses when his parents died in a car accident.

He mentioned a cabin. Does that mean he lives here now? Why? He used to make fun of his best friend being a boy scout, and he couldn't even hold a saw properly.

Why, of all people, does it have to be him who finds me like this? Is this my rock bottom? Is this what karma feels like? It's humbling, sure, but just as degrading.

Wait. What if…? Maybe this is a nightmare. That's right. One of my greatest fears was seeing Matt for the first time in thirteen years and falling flat on my face in front of him. Well, this is a close second.

The adorable golden retriever licks my face, and for a moment, everything is all right. I have no idea why I thought of him—or her—as a bear. Then again, I wasn't in the best state when I came here. I was on edge, jumpy, and even mistook the fallen branch by my feet as a snake.

The dog proceeds to nuzzle its snout into my open palm, and I laugh despite myself. He or she seems to like me, which is rare nowadays. I don't like me either. I haven't in a long time.

Hesitantly, I lift my eyes again, and no, it's not a dream. Matthew is still here. Glowering at me, looking like he's one second away from murdering me from where I sit. He can leave me to freeze to death, too. That's a cleaner, safer option.

I will myself not to stare, but it seems my body can't follow basic instructions anymore. I stare and stare, and he does the same.

How does he look so freaking good when I'm an absolute mess—literally and figuratively? This version of him is so far from the boy I left. No. This is a man. He was tall and lean in high school. This one is pure muscle and hard, chiseled features. His mohawk is gone, thank God, and his raven black hair is now short and messy. It suits him, especially with the full beard.

When he slides his windbreaker sleeves and I see the lines of corded muscle trailing up his forearms, warmth weaves its way through my body. Even with all the shit I still have to deal with, at least one thing is clear—whatever attraction I have to him hasn't waned one bit.

He used to give me this look of longing, and that was all it took for me to jump him.

I want to launch myself into his arms, tell him everything that happened, and beg for his forgiveness even though I don't deserve it.

There wasn't a day when I never thought of him. I imagined coming home to him, unloading every emotional baggage, and letting him take care of me again. I struggled with the urge to come back here multiple times, and the only reasons why I didn't were because I wanted to punish myself and because I knew if I saw him again, I wouldn't have the strength to walk away a second time.

This current Matthew's hand wraps around the rifle strap, and my eyes zero in on them. That's the same veiny hand that used to explore every inch of my body, those long, thick digits sliding in and out of me and curling to hit the spot that drove me wild.

Heat surges through my cheeks. Why is this the direction my mind chooses to go? Is there a wrong place and time to be horny? Because this is it.

Raw desire seeps into my bones, and I draw in a deep breath because I think I've forgotten how to breathe or function as a human.

"Goldie, come."

His deep baritone voice and those words snap me out of my reverie.

I say, "Goldie? Like my pet goldfish?"

Something passes his features, and he crosses his arms over his broad chest. God, everything about him has increased in size— the frame, the shoulders, the arms, the chest, the thighs. Now, what if…?

Stop it, Danika. Stop. You're losing it. Don't even go there, for Christ's sake.

Matthew lifts a brow at me. "She's a golden retriever. Hence, Goldie."

"Ah, clever. Of course."

He doesn't answer, and I don't know what to say to fill the silence either. His gaze continues to linger on my face, dropping stealthily to my lips before his eyes harden.

Awkwardly and with zero grace whatsoever, I lift myself on my feet and sway slightly, my legs forgetting how to move. In a heartbeat, Matthew is beside me, cupping my elbow, steadying me.

The touch is so unexpected but one I've longed for that I let out a soft, breathy sound at the contact. The air changes between us, and several conflicting emotions dance across his face, his nostrils flaring, jaw flexing like it might snap.

The rush of cool air brushes my skin, but I burn where he touches me. I feel the longing all the way deep into my bones, and I curl my toes in my shoes, my core clenching.

"Why are you camping right now?"

That question and his brusque tone break the tension between us, and I yank my arm back, wrapping the jacket tighter around me. Just like that, I forget the ache, the desire, and the need to be touched by him.

Instead, I remember why I'm here in the first place, and the painful lump of emotion that's been taking up residence in my chest contracts again.

God, it's been a shitty day. No, week. No, month. No, year. If I'm honest with myself, it's been shitty since I left.

First, I got fired. I worked in that company for five years as a book cover designer and graphic artist for promotional materials, and they replaced me with the manager's nephew, who couldn't even tell the difference between purple and indigo.

Second, my roommate kicked me out. She said her boyfriend of three weeks wanted to move in and found it weird to have a third person living with them.

I couch-surfed for two months, applied to countless other companies, and tried to push on. With my dwindling bank account balance and the unfortunate dynamic duo of anxiety and depression joining the fun, I ultimately decided to come home.

I wanted to surprise my dad, but I had to regroup first. Which was why I decided to go on a camping trip. It said a lot about how long I was gone because it didn't cross my mind to check the weather.

All of those misfortunes and stupid decisions led me here.

In front of Matthew. Who's clearly unhappy to see me.

I can't blame him. After all, I left Sweetheart Falls with big dreams. I thought I would come back in style and not with my tail between my legs.

"Dan, I asked you a question. Why are you camping right now?"

Dan. That was what he liked to call me. Not Dani, like my dad and friends.

It was an inside joke between us. When he met someone for the first time, he'd be like, "Oh yeah. I'm with Dan, the love of my life." The look of surprise on their faces when they saw me instead of a guy never failed to crack Matthew up.

I lift a shoulder and look away. "I thought it would be fun."

"But you hate camping. You hate being out in the woods. You think you'll wake up to a bear munching on your toes."

God, I forgot how much he knows about me. "Yeah, well, maybe I changed."

"You hate how the mud feels on your shoes, how it suctions your feet with every step. You hate how anyone can hide behind the trees and surprise you."

For some reason, the reminder of how I was undoes something in me. I take a deep, shaky breath to steady myself, but the knot in my chest only grows tighter. So far, I've managed to keep my emotions in check, but a few minutes with Matthew and I can already feel the dam cracking.

I didn't want to leave him. I really didn't. But things became too much for me.

"I heard you're engaged! When are you getting married?"

"You'd make a good wife and mother!"

"Have you picked out your dress? How about your maid of honor?"

"Matthew has enough money to let you stay at home. Oh, you'd be amazing!"

"Are you planning to have kids right away? You'd make beautiful children."

"A dozen kids are nothing, I tell you. When I was in my fifth pregnancy, I was already thinking of the next child's name."

"Your dad must be so proud."

"Girl, you're gonna be stuck in Sweetheart Falls all your life."

"Having kids while you're young is amazing. You know why? Because when you're in your 40s, you can travel the world and enjoy life again."

My vision blurs, and I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, I blink rapidly, ignoring the fat droplets of rain on my forehead. A heavy shower begins, only the canopy of trees preventing us from being drowned by the rain.

"I have a cabin near here. Bring your stuff. I won't carry them for you." His voice is gruff, but his eyes have softened a little.

I'll take that as a win.

Matthew has never been one to hold grudges. But yeah, I can still be an exception to the rule.

I don't take another step, though, because I'm at a crossroads. I can stubbornly stay here and pretend I don't need him. Or I can put aside my pride that's already in tatters at my feet. Pride? Like I have any left.

With an internal scream, I pick up my things and follow him silently.

Matthew's right. I hate camping or hiking or any outdoor activity. The reason is pretty obvious. I hate being wet, hungry, and without access to basic hygiene facilities, like a faucet or shower or toilet.

I'm still mentally punching myself when a particularly thick mud suctions my shoes, messing up my balance. My arms pinwheel comically before I land on my butt.

This is where I snap.

A sob breaks out of my throat, followed by another. For so long, I plastered a smile on my face, telling everyone I was fine, even if the truth was so far from it. I can't do that anymore. I wasn't fine. I'm not. I'm a failure, and I've made so many mistakes in my life, I don't even know where to start.

The familiar tendrils of anxiety wrap around me, pulling me into its depths, making my head spin, my mind racing a million miles per minute.

Matthew. Dad. Painting. My art. My job. My former company. My old boss saying, ‘We don't always get what we want, Daniela. If you're going to be difficult, you might as well leave. The company can find another one like you. Easily.'

I bite my lip, drawing blood, and bury my face in my now-muddy hands. My shoulders shake, and I can taste the hot, salty tears in my mouth.

I cry for my naive younger self.

The hopeful teenage girl who thought she could make it in the big city. Who believed her art teachers when they told her she was exceptionally talented. In the company where I used to work, however, I was nothing more than another ordinary employee.

For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to feel the full extent of my frustration and exhaustion. The deep, resonant boom in the distance doesn't faze me, but I jump at the feeling of big hands on my shoulders.

After finding the courage to look at him, I see his face and tone soften. "Hey, let's go. It's not that far."

Something warm laps at my arm, and I turn to find Goldie. I can't bring myself to stand, maybe because I can't even recall the last time I ate, and I burned the last of my energy with that crying.

With a sigh, Matthew takes the backpack from me, scoops me in his arms, and carries me all the way to his home. If I'm going to keep embarrassing myself, I might as well go all in.