California Sunshine

Day 13:

Near Mission Creek

2,415 Miles To Go

Belle

I don’t like Grinder when he’s annoyed.

Judging by the expression on his two best friends, I’m not the only one.

Tonight, he’s annoyed as hell and letting us know it. The worst part is, we know why he’s annoyed, and it’s still the preferable choice.

***

The first day out of Idyllwild isn’t too bad. The route Grinder and I had agreed on goes up the eastern side of Black Mountain, just west of Mt. San Jacinto and the PCT. It means missing about twenty-two miles of the trail, but we have a nice day hiking under a canopy of pine trees. Grinder even lets me stop to get a few pictures for my collection. Probably because he knows we don’t have far to go. The route has a few places to stop in case we hit snow again, but by the time we hit the northeastern tip of Fuller Ridge between the two peaks, we’re in the clear, with only small patches to cross. We stop at a campground next to a seasonal creek, but the recent rain has it full and flowing.

By the next morning, nice Grinder is gone.

We start a long, baking descent into San Gorgonio Pass, dropping four thousand feet over twelve dusty, exposed, and rocky miles. And if that isn’t enjoyable enough, there’s the view of heat radiating off the desert floor below. When the trail spits us out of the San Jacinto Mountains, it’s a difficult choice between racing over to fill my water bottle from the single faucet at the trailhead or making a dash for the bit of shade behind an information stand. Nova, ever the gentleman, offers to fill my water bottle for me, so shade it is.

After his return from the faucet, I sit next to Nova gulping down enough water to rehydrate while eating a quick lunch. Grinder swears we’re behind schedule, of course. Though I catch a touch of concern when he quietly asks Bats, “You okay?”

My gaze snaps up, meeting Bats’ slate gray eyes. The question dancing on the tip of my tongue, wondering what would be wrong with Bats that would have Grinder concerned. “Yeah, no worries,” Bats replies, his eyes still locked with mine, like he isn’t just telling Grinder not to worry.

From there, we hike a hot, exposed mile and a half along a paved road that ends at a four-by-four post in the ground with an arrow pointing toward another four-by-four, then another, and so on. We follow the posts for the next three miles, through sand dunes and over a dry riverbed. By the time we reach the underpass at Interstate 10, we’re ready to take a break in the cool shade, no matter how loud the traffic overhead is. Sitting near the edge of the underpass, the smell of urine isn’t as overpowering.

After skirting around what might one day be a suburb of nearby Cabazon, we start into the San Gorgonio Wilderness, winding our way higher and higher. We reach a vista toward the top of our climb, and Nova stops, looking to the southeast. “What’s today? Tuesday?”

“Yeah,” I confirm. “Why?”

Nova’s expression turns dejected as we continue our hike. “I was hoping we might spot Coachella. It’s going on in that canyon east of Palm Springs, but only on the weekends.” Grinder and I both roll our eyes and keep going. I like music, but the idea of hanging out with thousands of people in the middle of the desert doesn’t strike me as appealing, no matter who’s playing.

By the time we reach the Whitewater Preserve, a repurposed trout farm on the banks of a swift moving river, all of us are done. The drop packs, forget tents, and go to sleep kind of done. While running water and toilets are a bonus, there hadn’t been any other place to stop for the night. Bats pulls out a tarp large enough for all of us and we settle in for the night.

***

When I wake the next morning, Grinder is already rolling up his sleeping bag and calling for us to get going. Mine isn’t the only groan that goes up. “Long day today,” he promises.

“Dude, it was a long day yesterday,” Nova replies, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Grinder doesn’t let it go, and an hour later we’re climbing further up Whitewater Canyon.

Nova leads the way, but he keeps needing to stop for water. Usually next to a nice specimen of tree or flower, much to Grinder’s dismay. I make sure to get photos of them while we wait. For Nova, of course. He’s grown quite interested in the plant life over the past week.

For me, the canyon is a treasure trove of geological specimens. Varieties of metamorphic gneiss and sedimentary fanglomerate mixed with granite throughout the canyon. The San Andreas Fault runs through this area, and its effects are noticeable. Grinder, though, couldn’t care less, and uses every break to tell us we’re wasting time. Nova and I ignore him, and even Bats looks like he’s losing patience with his friend.

After lunch, Grinder announces, “I’m taking the lead. We need to pick up the pace if we’re going to reach our campsite by tonight.”

“Where is that?” Nova asks, helping me to my feet.

Grinder mumbles something along the lines of “move faster and you’ll find out” as he turns up the trail, making us hurry to catch up.

Nova and I keep our phones out as we go. Horned lizards and ground squirrels dash around us beneath yerba santa, catclaws, Joshua trees, alders and willows, and more cactus. The variety is intoxicating.

We spend most of the day crossing back and forth over Mission Creek as we make our way uphill. We pass little campsites here and there, beckoning us to stay next to the babbling creek. After the second one, I let out a low, longing moan. By the fourth one, Nova’s groaning along with me. The trail turns into a side canyon with a stream and we reach a campsite surrounded by alders and willows. The view is amazing, augmented by the chirping of birds in the willows and the sound of the stream passing by as it tumbles down toward Mission Creek. The sunset here would be amazing. We’re all surprised when Grinder drops his pack.

“Oh thank god,” I mutter, unbuckling my hip belt and letting my pack slide to the ground.

“Nice choice, bud,” Bats says, patting Grinder on the shoulder.

Grinder pulls out a phone and his water bottle. “Figured you’d like a break,” he says as he consults his notes. “It’s about two and a half hours to the campground. We only have a few minutes to rest.”

A collective chorus of “What?” rings out.

Grinder chugs some water before answering. “It’s the last sure water for fifteen miles. We need to camp there tonight.”

“It’ll be nightfall by the time we get up there,” I point out.

“So?”

“We hiked until nightfall yesterday. We’re not robots. Rest, for fuck’s sake.”

“We’d have plenty of time to get up there if you hadn’t stopped for so many damn photos. You want to stay here, be my guest,” Grinder says through gritted teeth. He points up the trail. “The rest of us are going up that hill.”

My body floods with anger. Here I was, thinking maybe Grinder and I had a moment of understanding back at Lake Hemet or Idyllwild. I guess I was wrong.

“Fuck that,” Nova says, coming to stand next to me. “I’m with Belle. Yesterday was hell, and this is a nice place to stop. This hill has been a shit climb. We can finish it in the morning when we’re fresh.”

Grinder grunts as he sneers at the two of us. “Since when does Belle get to decide? She’s not part of our group. No one invited her. She’s a tag along. A very annoying tag along.”

“I invited her, and you know it.”

Grinder lets out a short but caustic laugh. “No, bro. Your dick invited her. I’m amazed you haven’t hit that and left her behind already. Are you losing your game, Casanova?”

Nova clenches his fists, stepping forward to launch himself at Grinder, but not before Bats steps between them. He glares daggers at Nova, who relaxes his fist and steps back.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Grinder tells Bats while smirking at Nova. “We all know who would have won.”

Bats turns his glare toward Grinder, whose smirk melts away. Grinder may have a few pounds of extra muscle on Nova, but good luck winning against Bats, you prick.

Bats turns toward me next, and I resist the urge to gasp. Where the guys are getting “I will pound you into the dirt” death stares, he looks at me with a velvety softness and the tiniest hint of an upturned lip. He crosses to stand in front of me in two quick strides. No, he towers over me. I know he’s tall, but standing this close to him, I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. He leans down to meet me halfway as he reaches out to offer me a handshake. His hand is massive, but he holds mine with tender care.

“I’m Nick,” he says warmly. “These douchebags call me Batman, or Bats for short.”

I stifle my giggle when I catch Grinder’s pissed off expression. “Batman, huh? Wait, if Bats is short for Batman, and Nova is short for Casanova, what is Grinder short for?”

The other corner of Bats’ lip turns up, and he’s almost smiling now. Damn, a full smile from him is something I’d like to see. “Asshole,” Bats replies. Grinder scoffs behind him, but Bats doesn’t flinch or take his eyes off of me for a second. No, right here and now, I’m all he wants to look at. “The three of us are heading to Canada. We would love to have you join us. If you’d like to, that is?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Grinder roars.

“One moment,” Bats tells me, then returns to his full height, turning to face Grinder, who crosses his arms and tries to remain resolute, though he doesn’t say anything. After a few tense moments, he turns away. Smart man. By the time Bats turns back around and leans down to me, whatever look he gave Grinder has disappeared, and he’s back to the same soft, warm expression as before. “Like I said, we would love for you to join us. What do you say?”

I’m a strong, independent, and fierce woman. Or at least that’s what Rachel keeps telling me. “You show them who runs this shit, girl,” she would tell me.

I glance at Grinder, who’s clearly not liking this little game that Bats is playing. Nova, on the other hand, is grinning like a Cheshire Cat, ear to ear and full of playful mischief. I’m not sure I want to get in the middle of whatever is going on between these three guys, as my presence is only making matters worse. I’ve had enough drama this year. Pulling back and letting them go on without me is probably what I need to do. So why can’t I resist staying with them?

The minx in my head makes the decision without me, as I shake Bats’ hand and smile politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Nick. I’m Elizabeth, but my trail name’s Belle.” Bats’ lips tilt a little higher. Come on, big guy, let’s see the whole thing.

“That’s a beautiful name, Elizabeth. It fits as much as Belle. So. . . join us?”

The way my name rolls off his tongue makes my skin pebble. Fuck me. If Grinder stopped being an asshole, I’d be in serious trouble. The why choose kind, right? It’s what the girls in my books ask themselves, but then, that only works in stories. Who actually gets to enjoy having three gorgeous men fall for you? Rachel maybe? She’s got the personality and the body for it. Me? I’m a geology student. My papers get an A. My body gets a C, or maybe a B with the right dress, a push-up bra, and some makeup. I rarely draw any attention. But the way Bats is looking at me . . .

I turn to Nova, with his goofy, carefree smile. His eyes are just as soft and caring. I should abort. It’s only been two months since I walked in on Bryce. The pain still stings and the scar is still raw. I thought maybe I’d be okay with a guy looking at me the way Nova does, with a promise for a little fun. But two guys for whom my body is already lining up to betray me? There’s no way this ends well. None. And I don’t think I can handle that again so soon.

“Belle,” Bats says, drawing my attention back to him. My lip hurts, and I realize I’m biting it. Hard. I force myself to relax before I end up drawing blood. “No pressure. We’re just asking you to hike with us,” he says softly, like he can sense the battle going on in my head.

Abort, my logical brain screams, but that minx in the back who’s ready to put Bryce behind us with some sexual healing gets to my tongue first, and before I can stop her, I’m accepting Bats’ offer. “I’d be happy to join you,” I say, getting a full smile in return. And holy shit, am I in trouble. Between the way he stood up to Grinder for me and the tender way he’s looking at me, that smile is threatening to leave me soaking between the legs if I don’t turn away.

Bats nods, releasing my hand like that’s that, and we get busy setting up camp.

Grinder’s scowl makes me wonder if he’d leave anyway. He glares daggers at me, but soon relents and sets up his tent. Once it’s up, he disappears inside, zipping it closed. We don’t see him again until morning.

As I turn back to setting up my tent and starting dinner, I’m left to wonder, what have I done?

***