Day 24:

Acton

2,206 Miles To Go

Belle

After stumbling into Little Jimmy Campground a few minutes before sunset, we flopped down on the first spot we could find and prayed it wouldn’t rain. Lucky for us, Bats’ weather broadcast was correct in forecasting a clear night.

Grinder is the first one up, of course. He quietly rounds up our water bottles and fills them at the nearby spring. By the time we start stirring, he’s brewing coffee. “Campsites are a little sporadic ahead,” Grinder tells me as he fills my cup. “Twenty miles a day for the next three days should put us at Acton. Cabins with soft beds, showers, and a pool. How’s that sound?”

I pause mid-sip and glance sideways at him. He’s consulting with me, not arguing? Odd, but he’s been doing that more and more, so I go with it. “Tell me I can sleep in the next morning and you’ve got yourself a deal,” I tell him before I can change my mind.

He chuckles, and that’s it. We take a little extra time getting going, but hit it hard and fast. The trees and shade we enjoyed going around Mt. Baden-Powell soon disappear, giving way to the same hot, arid environment we’ve been crossing for the last three weeks. None of us complain about Grinder’s pace if it gets us to a pool sooner.

The first night, we stop at a small campsite with only enough room for two tents, but after checking the weather service app again, we throw down Bats’ tarp and sleep under the stars again.

The next night, we share a site with a couple of other parties. When one of the girls, Callie, tells us she and her husband are just out for the weekend, my head snaps up toward Bats, as do Nova and Grinder. I hadn’t realized it had already been a week since Deep Creek.

That’s when I notice that Bats seems quieter than normal, which is saying something. I scoot out of my place next to Nova, drawing close to Bats and reaching for his hand. He sighs and gives me a slight grin. It’s sad, but accepting. This was supposed to be his weekend. His chance to make it as a professional football player. Instead, he’s out here with his two best friends. And with me. I give him a side-hug, letting him know I’m here if he needs me.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Callie says from outside her tent.

“It’s nothing,” Bats tells her. “Missing something back home, but I’m glad I’m here.”

Callie takes the comment at face value, returning to her conversation with Grinder about routes.

“I’m sure you would have been awesome in the NFL,” I whisper to Bats. “But I’m also glad I’ve gotten to meet you.” He returns my hug, letting me know he’s glad too.

For the rest of the night, he holds my hand, gentle as always. He doesn’t need me to help him be strong, but he’s glad for the offer.

***

The day starts off quiet enough when we wake up at the usual time. It’s a dry site, so breakfast is protein bars and trail mix. Having skipped the tents again, packing up doesn’t take long and we manage to start a few minutes early.

Around midmorning I pull out my phone to take a picture, finding a notice from Instagram. I clear it, snap the picture, and move on.

An hour later, I pull my phone out again to check the time. The screen displays three more notices. I clear those too.

When we sit down for lunch, I find even more notifications waiting for me. I grunt in annoyance, swiping them clear once again.

“Something wrong?” Nova asks, as he digs into a packet of tuna with a cracker.

“I don’t know,” I say with a heavy sigh. I unlock my phone, press the icon for Instagram, and hand my phone over to him. “Do I want to know?”

Nova takes the device and starts scrolling. Shaking his head, he sighs, closes the app, and hands my phone it back. “Rachel has it covered,” he tells me.

“Bryce again?” Bats asks. I’m surprised by the bite of anger in his voice.

When Nova grimaces, my stomach drops and I lose my appetite. “Why can’t the fucker leave me alone?” I groan, shoving my half-eaten energy bar into my pack.

Nova takes his phone out and plays with it for a moment, rapidly pressing icons and options. Shutting it off, he offers me his phone. “Password has been disabled. You can use it to take any pictures. Turn yours off. Okay?”

I nod, but hesitate to power mine down. “Just a second.” I type out a quick thanks to Rachel, letting her know I’m turning my phone off for a bit, then shove it into my pack.

While the guys finish their lunches, I hope my appetite might return, but it never does. I get a few pieces of jerky down as we continue, and a couple handfuls of trail mix, but wondering what Bryce is doing on my Instagram feed is turning my stomach, despite Nova’s attempts to distract me.

As the day drags on, Nova starts to crack my mood a bit at a time. By the time we hit the trailhead at Soledad Canyon Road and turn toward the campground, I’m in a better mood. I take his offered hand in mine as we walk side-by-side, giving it a gentle squeeze to let him know I’m okay. Besides, there’s a pool and a shower waiting for me a quarter-mile down the road. How can I not be happy about that?

We drop our packs outside the camp office before heading inside. An older gentleman behind the counter greets us as we step into the air-conditioned building.

“We have some packages waiting,” Grinder says, stepping up to the counter. “And we could use a place for the night. Are there any cabins available?”

“Normally we require a two-night minimum stay,” the older gentleman says. “But I had a late cancellation. I can squeeze you in for one night. It’s a six-person cabin, if that’s okay?”

“That’ll be fine,” Grinder responds, pulling his credit card out.

Once Grinder has paid for the cabin, we give the man our names and he disappears into a back room. He reappears a few minutes later, carrying five boxes. “There’s a recycling bin and trash can at the end of the deck,” the gentleman tells us. “Most hikers like to open their boxes up here and take care of the trash before heading for their sites.”

There’s one large box for each of us and an additional small one for Grinder. When Grinder looks at the tag, his mouth curls up in a devilish grin. “It’s your lucky day, princess,” Grinder tells me before striding out of the office, boxes in hand.

There’s a nervousness building in my stomach until Bats whispers in my ear, “You don’t want to miss this.” He brushes past me to the door, holding it for me and Nova.

We find Grinder at the far end of the deck, perched on a picnic table with his pocketknife in hand. “Just in time,” he declares, pressing the tip of the blade to the packaging tape. “Come and get a sniff of the best coffee around. It’s all right if you decide to give up on our little bet and declare me the winner.”

“Tempting,” I say. “But you still have to brew it in that little tin contraption of yours. You haven’t won yet.”

His smile grows larger, assured of victory. “Oh, princess. This here is my own personal blend. Nothing tops it.”

Bats and Nova both shrug, as if to say, he’s right. I sigh, turning back as he slices the tape on either end of the box top, then draws the knife down the center. As soon as the last bit of tape separates, Grinder disappears in a rainbow-colored cloud. A million glittery pieces enveloping him in a dazzling display.

Bats, Nova, and I burst into laughter, along with a dozen other campers passing by. The old man burst out of the office, his alarmed gaze landing on Grinder, then relaxing. “Well, that’s something different,” he says before returning to the office, chuckling as he goes.

Grinder is still spitting up glitter when we finally manage to get our laughter and our breathing under control. He’s covered from head to toe in tiny, sparkly bits.

“I believe it now,” I say, recalling something Nova had told me back in Warner Springs. “He really is a glittery teddy bear.”

The three of us erupt in laughter again. Grinder scowls, wiping metallic flecks from his face and clothes.

“Got your coffee, huh?” Bats asks. Grinder reaches into the box, pulling out a sealed bag like the ones you get at the supermarket, but the logo isn’t familiar. “And a love letter too?”

Grinder puts down the package of grounds to pull a folded piece of paper out of the box. He spits a few times, then takes the offered water bottle from Nova. He swirls and spits out a glittery mouthful. “Dearest brother,” Grinder reads aloud. I’m pretty sure if he didn’t, Bats would have anyway. Better to go with it, I guess. “Next time, pack your own damn coffee. Stop interrupting my work, asshole. Love, Autumn.”

Tags: Chris Mor Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net