Maybe the reason Emily ghosted Bowen is because you all can’t mind your own goddamn business!
I turn back to Hildy, holding her panicked stare as my jaw tightens and I slowly scoot my chair away from the table. Leona doesn’t seem to notice me leave as she begins interrogating Hildy about Bowen’s secret engagement that fell through. But I don’t care.
If all my secrets can be laid bare for all to see, so can one of Hildy’s.
●●●
I can’t bring myself to go home yet.
Whether it’s highway hypnosis or muscle memory, I take a sharp right turn when I see the familiar green sign marking the entrance to Black Ridge Metro Park, where I usually take bike rides. Except, this time, I don’t have my bike.
I wish I did because I still would jump on, in flip flops and sans helmet, and take off down the trail to find some shred of relief. Instead, I drag myself out of the SUV, slam the door, and start walking down the nearest paved trail. The sun is still above the trees, so it’ll be light for a while.
The midsummer breeze feels like heaven in my lungs and it begins to calm me the further I trudge down the deserted path. After a few minutes, I pat my shorts and realize my phone isn’t in the back pocket. I must’ve left it in the car.
I don’t even care. I normally would, always the bastion of safety, but I don’t right now. Maybe some cryptid monster will emerge from the woods and devour me in one gulp so I won’t have to wait and see what fresh hell awaits when I leave here. The oaks and the birches and the prairie grass don’t have problems like these.
It’ll be dusk soon, maybe I’ll meet another coyote along the path. Maybe they’ll whisk me away with them instead of ripping me apart. It doesn’t seem like such a terrifying thought, now. But, with my luck, a serial killer is more likely. That happens more often around this city than young women being spirited away by woodland creatures.
Whatever, same result. Just make it quick.
I’m not suicidal, just exhausted and strung out. So much so that I can crack jokes on myself about being hacked to pieces, stuffed in a duffel bag, and thrown into the Scioto.
“Sorensen.”
I give a start as a deep voice cuts through the balmy air and breaks my concentration. I spin around to see a tall figure standing in the middle of the path and immediately exhale with relief.
“What are you doing here?” I call in a weary voice.
Clearly, I no longer qualify as a bastion of safety. I’m so out of it that I don’t even notice my six-foot-four stalker walking up the path behind me. He’s standing about 50 feet away in the middle of the pavement wearing grey joggers, a black compression t-shirt, and a pair of black and red Nikes. I almost don’t recognize him when he’s not dressed all in black and loaded down with body armor.
He nods back down the path, “I saw your car in the lot.”
“Following me again?” I inquire.
“Not this time,” he strolls toward me, “you just missed Dallas. She and Alex come here to run, but he went out with his brothers tonight, so here I am.”
Clearly, Dallas has more sense than I do to never run alone.
I shoot him an unimpressed look, “So you saw my car and thought you’d follow me through the woods?”
He comes to a halt a few feet from me and nods over my shoulder, “My car’s on that end of the trail.”
I let out a sigh and turn back around to continue walking, giving Colson a once-over once he reaches my side, “You don’t look like you’ve been running.”
“Dallas really likes talking, so there wasn’t much running. It’s 80◦ and I haven’t broken a sweat.”
“Too bad Dallas left, I like her more than you.”
“She likes you a lot, too,” he glances down at me, “right after she left, I texted her and told her you were here.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t come back,” I say with a chuckle.
“I know. She told me not to creep you out.”
I let out a bitter laugh, “She better get used to disappointment.”
“I told her you like the attention,” Colson replies with a glint in his eye.
“Jesus, Colson.”
That’s exactly what Dallas needs to be chatting about to everyone at work. Between the three of them, who knows what he’s told them or what they talk about…
“So, what are you doing here?” he looks me up and down, “Don’t you usually bike instead of walk?”
“Yes,” I don’t even bother to recall whether that’s something I told him or if he found out on his own, using more insidious methods, “I wasn’t planning on coming here. I just had to—” I pause, realizing that explaining why I decided on an impromptu hike will only elicit more questions, “I just needed a walk, to sort out some things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Like…” I trail off, feeling absolutely drained, like there’s a cinderblock sitting on top of my chest.
Am I really going to tell Colson that I’ve shunned my best friend, my book is gone, I feel like I’m going insane, Bowen’s getting tired of my bullshit, he told his family all about it, and now they also think I’m insane?
I can’t believe Bowen told Hildy and Leona everything and made me sound like I’m the one going crazy. How could he do that?
At first, I don’t tell Colson anything. I continue walking in silence, staring straight ahead, and he does the same, not expecting anything more. I don’t know how much time passes in silence but eventually the pressure is too much and everything comes spilling out.
“I—I can’t do this,” my chest feels heavy and I feel like I’m walking through quicksand, “I can’t get married right now, everything’s going wrong, I feel like I’m going insane,” I say in defeat, “and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re biased anyway and you’re the last person I should be talking to.” Now I sound like I’m talking to myself, muttering regrets under my breath, “And I don’t even have Barrett anymore…” I finally manage to say her name out loud and I still have to choke back the lump creeping up my throat.
