Into the Tomorrows (Bleeding Hearts Book 1) (25 page)

I blinked multiple times, and then saw that I couldn’t use it thanks to the card he’d last played. After grabbing a card from the deck, I placed the new one down. “I need to figure my life out.”

“You don’t have it figured out yet?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do when we go back to Colorado.”

“What do you want to do?”

I lifted my gaze, met his over the top of the kerosene lantern. He was staring at me intently, as he usually did. “I don’t know. Jude, I’m not sure I even know who I am. I was this whole different person a month ago, and now I’m someone I don’t know—it’s like I’m learning a new language, seeing a new side of myself.”

He leaned over the table, his elbows making the wood creak. “That sounds exciting to me—like you’re discovering who you are. Haven’t you always wondered?”

Yes,
I thought. Of course I’ve always wondered. But I’d always guessed I was Trista, the other half of Ellie and Trista. Or Trista, Colin’s girlfriend. And now I was someone else—not defined by my losses or my gains. I was just me, just the person inside this pale skin, under the blonde hair.

“I never knew I liked the outdoors,” I finally said. “Until you. I didn’t know. I thought I was repulsed by bugs and nature. And,” I lifted a shoulder, but it did little to show just how confused I was, “now I’m craving more—more of the sun and the trees and the sounds that I was never exposed to.”

“More is good.” He smiled and I was thankful for the kerosene lamp, lighting his features and illuminating his face. “What else?”

“I didn’t know I could do it—could climb down the side of that canyon. I had no clue what I was capable of. I wasn’t outdoorsy, or sporty growing up. I lived in a trailer park with a yard the size of a postage stamp.” I looked down at my hands. “I feel a little desperate, to be completely honest. Knowing that all of this was within my reach and that I never took it—I feel like I wasted time figuring out who I was.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever ‘figure it out,’ Trista. You’ll always learn new things, surprise yourself with what you can do. That’s life. But you’re finding out things you like, because you’re trying new things and pushing back the fear.” His smile was exultant. “That’s amazing.”

It hurt to look at him, because his face was so happy for me that I ached, deep in my chest. I wanted to reach into the spot that throbbed and soothe it, but at the same time I enjoyed the little bit of hurt this experience was giving me.

“And the biggest thing I’m realizing is that I want to go back. To yesterday. To earlier today. And I want to go to those moments again, all of them. Not because I want to change them, but because I want to relive them. To remember how it felt.” I shook my head and looked off into the distance. “I want to remember how it felt to feel that peace.”

I realized then that Jude didn’t know a lot about Ellie. The little bits and pieces I’d told him hadn’t really explained the depth of how I grieved for her. And so everything tumbled out.

“And when she died, I just felt this hollow, right here,” I pointed to where my heart was. “Like she’d always been a part of me somehow, and when she left the earth she took that with her—as cliché as it sounds. And I know it’s cliché. But that’s the best way I can describe how it felt to lose her. I didn’t just lose her—I lost a part of me too.”

“And some of Colin.”

“To be honest, I think I’ve been losing Colin ever since I started dating him. It was as if the moment we became boyfriend and girlfriend, our relationship started losing grains of sand—like a vessel that should be continued to be filled just wasn’t. And instead of making progress, we’ve been losing ever since.” I set my cards down, no longer caring about the game. “And I haven’t been fair with him. I haven’t tried to solve our deficits because I just stopped caring about us. When Ellie died, he left for Colorado after the funeral. And so I was alone—which was fine; I’ve been alone most of my life, even with Ellie. But I’d never felt true, gut-wrenching loneliness until my best friend was dead and my boyfriend was miles away.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the load of all of me slipping from my chest to the table. I was surprised the tabletop didn’t bow from the burden of it all. “And I moved to Colorado, but I didn’t even know what I wanted. Did I want Colin, really? Did I want to fix us? I couldn’t say for sure—which is horrible. I know that. But I moved to Colorado because I had nowhere else to go, and ever since then I’ve learned so much about myself that I can’t even remember the girl I was when I showed up at Colin’s apartment.”

Jude put my cards with his, shuffled the deck back together. “When you first came to Colin’s apartment, I thought you were a ghost. Not because you’re pale, but because you didn’t look like you were here, fully. It was as if you were one step in this universe and another step somewhere else—in another universe.”

I was stunned silent by his admission.

“And you looked sad. God, Trista. Your eyes. They were so sad. It was all I could do not to ask you where you were hurting, just so I could figure out a way to fix it.” Tentatively, he reached a hand across the table and touched just the tip of his fingers to my knuckles. “I’ve never felt that way before, like I needed to reach inside of someone and find their soul. But when I was hurting, like you were, I found peace and solace in the mountains. I chased the dawn that filtered through the trees and in that light, I found myself.”

The tips of his fingers pressed a little firmer, but not uncomfortably so. “And so I brought up the camping trip—even though I knew Colin didn’t want you to go. Because I knew that I didn’t know you well enough to reach inside of you and find where you hurt, but I hoped the fresh air could, in some way.”

“You were right.” I thought of the hike and how, though it had been challenging, I’d surprised myself by continuing on, pushing through the pain in my feet and back. “That trip was full of the biggest surprises of my life. Not only that I could do it, but that I’d like it.”

“I know. I could see it on your face. And I was pissed that Colin was ignoring you.” He let go of my knuckles and I felt the roar in my head, that we were heading for the direction we’d been headed—but now our path was straight and uninhibited. “Trista, I wanted to punch him. He’s been my friend for four years, but when you were in physical pain and he ignored you, it was all I could do not to clue him in to the fact that his girlfriend was hurting—on the outside and the inside.”

I let out a breath, feeling like I was being hit over and over with a wave of feeling. Jude had cared for me on that hike, when he didn’t have to. He had put salve over my burns, guilted Colin into getting me to wash the sores on my feet. He’d helped me with the tent and explained the sights and kept me company when my boyfriend hadn’t.

“Why have you been around all this time? You don’t have to be. You don’t have an obligation to me.”

He shook his head, made a sound that was like a laugh but without humor. “First of all, you don’t need to be an obligation for someone to spend time with you.” His eyebrows lowered as he stared at me, making me want to squirm in my seat. “The very fact that you think you’re an obligation to anyone is a damn tragedy, Trista. You’re not an obligation. To anyone.”

I thought of my mom, who cared for me despite her hatred of what I represented. And of my grandfather. Though I loved him desperately, I’d grown up thinking that he felt obligated to me for my mother’s missteps in parenting. And while I knew he loved me—that love was familial—something born because I was flesh of his flesh. He loved me more than my mom could, but for him the love was innate.

“Colin loved me once,” I said. “I know he did. But I don’t think he does anymore. And if he does, I don’t think he knows how to show it.” I rubbed my knuckles, because I hadn’t realized I’d been clenching my fists. “And I loved him too—because he’d shown me attention when I’d needed it. I’m not sure if my intentions or my love for him was ever pure, because I was so grateful to him that I loved him no matter how he treated me.”

I swallowed, feeling my chest getting lighter and lighter. “Not that he treated me horribly, but he just didn’t give me attention when I wanted it. Or love when I needed it. I was as much at fault for the things that happened—or didn’t happen—between us, because I was indifferent. I am sure I didn’t love him the way he needed me to. What does that say about us?”

Jude opened his mouth and I watched him struggle with what to say. “I don’t know what to tell you that doesn’t make me sound biased one way or another. But I think it’s impossible that he doesn’t still love you in some way. It’s just a matter of how you feel about him, and what that love means to you both. If it’s a love worth reviving or a love that needs to be shifted, changed. I think that you both need to talk, about the things you haven’t said for three years and the things he’s never said for the whole six.” He took a deep breath. “But ultimately, I think you need to love yourself more—and place that above all the other love that anyone can give you.”

I was still rubbing my knuckles, trying to ease the ache that reverberated from my chest into my hands. But the ache was lighter than it had been, like I’d sheathed a burdensome armor from my heart. “Why am I being so honest with you, Jude?” I asked, wonder in my voice.

“Because you needed someone to be honest to. And someone to listen.” His hands came up and he rested his fingertips over my knuckles. “You needed someone to see you were practically throbbing with your aching, and—for some reason—I saw it. Saw you.”

“I am grateful to you. For your patience, your wisdom. For your kindness. And I want to make sure I don’t make the same mistake twice. I was grateful to Colin once, but the love waned quickly.”

One of my thumbs traced the inside of his palm. “I am still figuring out who I am, on my own. For years I was Ellie’s friend, Colin’s girlfriend. And I want to know who I am without the crutch of someone else holding me.”

He nodded. “I can tell you what I know of you.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

“You’re stronger than you realize. You’re compassionate. You have a thirst for knowledge, and a patience I can’t comprehend. You’d never been hiking, but you went with a bunch of strangers anyway, to see what it was like. But you’re also trapped—existing within the confines of the walls you’ve built. I didn’t know Ellie like you do, but I can’t imagine she would have wanted you to be so sad. Because you are sad. Even when you’re happy—you’re sad, too. Your eyes are the most honest things I’ve had the privilege of looking into, but they give away everything you’re feeling.”

When he touched me so lightly, I felt it like he was gripping me tightly. I was grounded to the earth, to him.

“Your eyes,” he whispered, his voice reverent. His bottom lip didn’t quite touch his top lip and I stared at the void between them, waiting for him to open his mouth and say something more.

“What?” I asked, stretching my hands under his, so that the tips of my fingers slid across the weathered wood of the table to touch his palm.

“Your eyes—the sadness. It’s there, probably always will be, but it’s not so empty now.”

Because
I
didn’t feel empty. The gouge Ellie had left would always be there, whispering to me whenever I saw a daisy or remembered her laugh. But it was a welcome ache, because it was as much a part of me now as she had once been. “I’m tired,” I said suddenly, because I was. Pouring your heart out onto a table was exhausting.

He lowered the light on the kerosene lamp, until we were awash with the dark, and then he let go of my hand and we walked side by side to our tents, the sounds of sticks falling from trees and nearby campfires crackling the only noise between us.

When we had reached the opening, he turned to me and said, “Goodnight,” before leaning in and wrapping me in his arms.

Jude would call it science, the way my heart slowed, the way I felt weightless in his arms. But the way my soul settled, the way my heart thumped with more power than I knew it possessed—that was something else. Something Jude.

He let go and stepped away, waiting until I’d climbed into my tent to unzip the opening to his. And as I lay in my sleeping bag, my eyes dry and my body at ease, I realized that I wasn’t lonely, not anymore.

I
awoke to a whisper
. “Trista.” My eyes popped open, taking in the dark.

“Trista,” the voice said again.

I’m not sure why, but my thoughts immediately veered to danger.

“Is it a bear?” I asked, fear framing my voice as I sat up, suddenly wide awake.

Jude chuckled. “No, I wrestled him back to the woods. He’s good. It’s five-forty-five. We need to get going.”

“Oh.” I put a hand to my face, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I heard the tent zipper close and I rolled out of my sleeping bag as my body ached from the hard, cold ground. I’d dressed in warm tights and thick socks, so all I had to do was pull on my hiking boots and throw a sweatshirt over my head. I was out of the tent just a moment later and made a quick stop at the bathroom before I climbed into the passenger seat of the car, stifling the yawn that escaped my mouth.

“Coffee,” Jude said, handing me a thermos that warmed my fingers.

“Oh, thank the Lord baby Jesus,” I whispered, bringing the lid to my mouth and just letting my face be washed with the steam. “I’ve never smelled anything better.”

“In that case, you really do need to travel more—see the world. Smell the world. You haven’t smelled the sea breeze, the forests of the Pacific Northwest, the plaster walls and the dead moss in New Orleans, the night-blooming jasmine on a midnight walk in from a Florida beach. Those are some of the best smells in the world.” He smiled, winked, and said, “Those, and bacon.”

“Bacon … I smelled it the morning I first met you.”

He tapped his fingers along the steering wheel and then gave me a devilish grin. “That was a trick, you know. Sort of Pavlovian, to get you to smell bacon and see me.”

“And what did you hope it would accomplish?”

“Well, with Pavlov’s dogs, he got them to salivate every time they heard the bell. So maybe…” his voice trailed off and his smile widened and then we were laughing in the car.

It was another reminder that Jude made me at ease—from smiling to baring my soul.

He handed me a muffin he’d packed as well as some beef jerky. “Carbs and protein. We’ll have a picnic at the top.”

I looked back in the backseat and saw the heavy-looking backpack. “I’m carrying that, right?”

“I can,” Jude said easily as the car rose up the hill near the mountain.

“But you shouldn’t. I’ll carry it—it’ll be good for me.”

“It might be a bigger challenge than you want. You’re already climbing the mountain; you don’t need to haul fifty pounds of gear up when you’re such a tiny thing as it is.”

“Tiny?”

“You are.” He glanced at me, his eyes sweeping over my body. “I can carry the pack.”

“I will,” I said firmly. “And besides, I like the challenge.” Which was, like a million things I was discovering on this trip, new for me. Enjoying a challenge. Pushing through it when I didn’t want to even start it.

There were a handful of cars already parked at the Dunraven trail head, but most of the people seemed to be eating breakfast in their cars, taking their time as the sun rose and highlighted the valley below us.

“I packed one hundred ounces of water for each of us in the backpack. There’s a bathroom at the top, so as long as you don’t drink all one hundred ounces in the first few minutes, you’ll be fine. And there’s one here.” He pointed out the window.

“This is the Dunraven trail head?” I asked. “Why is the parking lot so small?”

“There are two popular trails, this one and the Chittenden Road one. But this one is more scenic, in my opinion, and…” he paused, giving me a secretive smile. “I heard back from a buddy of mine that you’re more likely to see bears going up this way.”

I was instantly both excited and nervous. While I wanted to see a bear, I very much did not want to become a bear’s meal. And despite Jude’s joking about wrestling them, I was well aware that they were wild and our playground for the day was their home.

“I have bear spray, and a walking stick. We’ll be fine. We can follow close to one of the other groups when they go up. Strength in numbers. But regardless, I’ve never been alone for more than fifteen minutes on this hike, because it’s pretty popular this time of year.” He looked out the window as a few more cars pulled in. “We got here early, but we’re going to drink some water and wait until the sun rises a bit higher. It’s just that the parking here fills up fast, so I didn’t want to wait and not get a space.”

I nodded and grabbed another piece of jerky, chewing it while drinking the water Jude had handed me.

“We’re going to take our time, especially after yesterday. And if we do that, this hike will only take about four to five hours. We don’t need to rush. As long as we’re off the mountain before two-ish, we’re good.”

“Why two-ish?”

“The last time I hiked this, I made the mistake of going up at ten and on my way down, I got caught in torrential rain with no rain gear.” He hooked a thumb to the pack in the back. “I have rain gear in there, just in case, but I’d prefer not to get pelted with hail and have low visibility when we’re right in bear country.”

“Yeah, I’d prefer that too.”

We both ate jerky and drank water as the sun lightened the sky. And when the clock read seven-forty, we set off on the trail, a minute behind two other hikers that had gone first. Jude had tried to take the pack from me when he opened the backseat, but I hauled it on my back before he could and gave him a firm look. I didn’t trust his shoulder yet, that the strain from the backpack wouldn’t be too much for him.

The trail seemed to be an old road, with how wide and sloped it was. When I imagined hiking up the mountain, I pictured a one-by-one hike along a narrow trail. But the path we followed seemed wide enough for two cars in some spots, and for some reason, I felt a little safer knowing that we were traveling on a well-worn path. The thought made me laugh at myself, because it wasn’t like a bear would recognize this road and steer clear from it.

When Jude asked me why I was laughing, he laughed with me after I explained. “No, I’ve never known a single animal to obey traffic laws. We’ll probably see bighorn sheep near the top since it’s earlier in the summer. And they like to jam the road.”

Along the way, Jude stopped several times to pause, catching our breaths as we took in the panoramic views. Ascending the mountain wasn’t nearly as taxing as ascending the falls had been, mostly because the trail wasn’t as steep and looking at the views didn’t give me vertigo.

We crossed a magnificent meadow, with wildflowers in purples and yellows, and groups of evergreens clustered together, like they were holding secrets in the center of their clusters. For most of the hike we could see our trail laid out ahead of us. Jude kept scanning along our path and in the woods, when we were near them, and I was grateful that he was paying close attention to our surroundings so that I could take in the sights without fear.

During one of our breaks, we were passed by a couple that looked to be in their seventies. Jude and I watched as they smiled the whole time, grinning like they were teenagers. And when they were far enough up the road from us, I turned to Jude. “Kind of embarrassing that we were passed by two people fifty years older than us.”

Jude’s face was turned away from me, but I saw the curve of his cheek and knew he smiled. “I don’t know—I think it’s pretty incredible. I want to be in my seventies, passing young people as I climb a mountain.”

I watched as they disappeared around a shaded bend and realized that it would be phenomenal, to be that old and still chasing my dreams.

But then I was reminded that I didn’t really have dreams. I was learning so much about myself on this trip, but the one thing that hadn’t changed was my lack of ambition. I had no plans, no future I reached for. I was living in the now, without a single plan for the tomorrow.

“What are you thinking about?”

“The fact that as much as I’m learning about the person I am, I still have no clue what I want to do with my life.”

“Ah.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I don’t think many people know what they want to do with their lives. They just live it, as best as they can, and follow the adventures that come their way.”

“Well, I know that. But I don’t have a direction. A purpose. I dropped out of college. I’m essentially homeless. And I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow.”

“We’ll be at Old Faithful tomorrow. And we’ll see bison and more elk and enough geysers to tide you over for the rest of your life.”

I bumped my shoulder into him. “You know what I mean. If I asked you where you saw yourself in ten years, what would you say?”

“Ten years. I’ll be thirty-five, almost.” He brought a hand to his chin and rubbed. “Probably here.” He smiled at me warmly.

“Really?”

“Why not? I love it here. I love that mountain air—the way my head gets a little dizzy from the altitude. Maybe I won’t be here, in ten years, but maybe I’ll be on a mountain, somewhere. My journeys are far from over, even at thirty-five.”

“What about your career?”

“I don’t suppose I’ll be able to travel and blog the rest of my life. But I hope that in my thirties, I’ve socked away a decent-sized nest egg, and maybe I’ll live off the land like a crazy mountain man. Or maybe I’ll be in an office, telling people how they should spend their trust fund. Or maybe I’ll be teaching, imparting all the random knowledge I’ve collected over the last twenty-five years onto a bunch of young, impressionable children.”

“You make it sound so easy, like you could do anything.”

“Newsflash, I
can
do anything.” He tapped my foot with his walking stick. “And so can you.”

“What about five years? Do you have a clearer picture of where you’ll be in five years?”

“It’s not any clearer than ten years, but I know I’ll be outside somewhere, exploring the land that calls to me, down in my marrow. I’ll probably have a handful of more tattoos. I can wear the whole world if I want.”

When I stayed silent, pondering his answers, he asked me where I’d be in five years.

“In five years? Hopefully my grandfather is still living. It’s all I really, really need.”

“Will you be in Wyoming? Or somewhere else?”

“I’m not sure.” Now that Jude had introduced me to the world outside of cities and smog, I knew there was no way I could go back to the mundane. “Maybe I’ll do some exploring.” I paused, kicked at a rock that was loosening from its place in the road. “Or maybe I’ll be here.”

Jude stomped his boot into the ground, stirring up the dirt around his feet. “June thirtieth, of the year twenty-sixteen. Trista will be here.”

I laughed and shoved him lightly with my hand as we resumed our hike. “Why not?” I asked. “This is one of the few places I’ve been that’s never changed.” Further down the road, I said, “Remember last night, when I said I wanted to go back to yesterday morning, and the day before?”

Jude nodded. “Not to change the experience, but to relive it.”

“Exactly. I can’t tell you how much my city in Wyoming has changed in the last five years, but in the next five years this mountain will still be here. Surrounded by flowers and trees and the wildness that its known for the last, what, million years?” I placed my hands on my hips as I gazed up at the blue sky above us. “So, why not? I can relive today in five years.”

“Are you planning on replicating the conditions?”

I stopped, struck by what he asked. “Maybe. What are you doing in five years?”

He laughed, and I joined in. “Climbing Mount Washburn with you, I suppose.”

* * *

T
wo hours later
, I could see the fire station at the top. The wind had gradually picked up as we became more exposed to the elements. We’d been shielded from it for the most part as we hiked up, thanks to the trees and shrubs along the route.

Near the top, we finally saw our first large wildlife—a group of bighorn sheep who looked at us and then dismissed us immediately. Jude came up behind me as we watched them taking their time crossing our path, in no rush to move aside.

“Don’t worry,” Jude reassured me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “They’re not going to come near you.”

We moved around them carefully, walking a counterclockwise circle to the summit. I wanted to stop, take a rest, but now that the fire tower was right in front of us, Jude and I wordlessly continued on,

My legs were shaking from the last stretch we’d done to the top, but Jude grabbed my hand—no light touch at all—and tugged me over to a sign placed between two stakes.

“Holy shit, we just climbed a mountain.”

“What?” Jude said behind me. The wind at the top was strong, loud, and whipping my hair around my face, slapping me repeatedly. I turned to him and pointed at the sign.

“We did it!” I said. “We climbed a mountain.”

The shock of it hit me then, and I grabbed him for a hug, pulling him close to me and squeezing my arms around him. My face was buried in his neck and he smelled so good that, in the moment, I momentarily forgot where I was and I sighed, right against his skin.