Chapter Two

The crash as I hit the ground is deafening, and for a moment, everything goes black. I can hear the sound of hurried footsteps approaching, and then, suddenly, there’s a pair of strong arms on me, gently turning me over.

“Are you okay? Can you hear me?" A deep, rumbling voice asks. I blink up at the sky and instead, I stare at the face of Hunter Graham. For a moment, I’m too stunned to speak, still reeling from my fall and the shock of actually finding him here. Up close, he’s even more breathtaking than the carefully curated photos I had found online and pored over. His chiseled features, his piercing hazel eyes, the way his tousled auburn hair falls across his forehead, it’s all so much more captivating in person. 

“Are you alright?" He asks again. I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. I’m too overwhelmed, too star-struck to form a coherent sentence. All I can do is nod weakly. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re alright?" he asks, his brows furrowed with concern. 

“I’m fine," I manage to croak out, wincing as I try to stand. 

“What the hell were you doing up there?" he asks after a pause. I swallow hard, my mind racing as I search for a plausible excuse. 

“I, uh, I was just….uh, looking," I manage to stammer out, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

He arches an eyebrow, and I can see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Looking, huh? Well, I’m sure you certainly got an eyeful."

He chuckles and the deep timbre of his voice sends a thrill through me. Suddenly, I feel the heat creep up my neck as my cheeks burn more. 

“I’m sorry," I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude, I just… I’m sorry."

He regards me for a moment, his hazel eyes seem to bore into the very depths of my soul. Then, to my surprise, he lets out a low laugh. 

“Well, at least, you’re honest," he says. Then he extends a hand to help me up. 

“Come on, let’s get you up."

I stare out at his outstretched hand, hesitating for a moment before slowly reaching out and placing my own in his. His grip is firm and reassuring. I can’t help but marvel at the contrast between the roughness of his calloused palm and the gentleness of his touch. As he helps me to my feet, I feel a surge of dizziness and my heart races in a way that has nothing to do with the fall. I’m acutely aware of his closeness, the warmth of his body radiating towards me, and I find myself wondering what it would be like to be wrapped in his strong arms. Once I’m standing, I brush the mud from my clothes, still dazed. That’s when I feel the excruciating pain. I wince as I hold onto my left wrist.

“What’s wrong, are you hurt?" He asks as he looks me over. I take a moment to assess the damage on my wrist. I wince as I try to move my arm.

“I….my wrist hurts. And I’ve got a few bruises, but it’s nothing serious."

“Here, let me take a look at the wrist," he says, gently taking my hand in his and examining the swollen joint. I watch, transfixed, as his large, calloused fingers deftly probe the area, his touch sending tingles of electricity through my body. I find myself insanely captivated by the subtle scent of pine and wood smoke that clings to him. 

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s sprained," he murmurs, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

“A hot towel on it should make you feel better."

“Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely audible. He offers me a small smile.

“You’ll be fine, alright?" I nod dumbly. I’m acutely aware of the fact that his hand is still holding mine. He’s so close, I can feel the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt and it sends a shiver down my spine. He lets go of my hand and I’m immediately filled with a sense of loss. I find myself missing the warmth of his hand. My hand suddenly feels cold and empty. I yearn to reach out and take hold of him again, which is just stupid and weird. I fold my hand instead. He folds his arms to his chest in akimbo. The motion makes his muscular torso bulge out, his shirt stretching taut across his broad chest. The way he looks so good right now makes my breath catch in my throat for a moment. Just then, his deep voice breaks through my reverie.

“So, what are you doing here? It’s usually just me out here."

I blink, feeling a flush creep up on my cheeks as I realize that I’ve been staring. I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. 

“I…. I’ve been looking for you. I’m a huge fan of your work and uh, when you disappeared without any word, I just had to find you."

His eyebrows rise in surprise.

“A fan, huh?"

I nod as I say,

“Yes. A huge fan. I’m also a writer too. Not like you though. I mostly write news articles."

He scoffs.

“You’re a journalist, then."

The way he says it makes “Journalist” sound like a dirty word. I blink, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. Not waiting for a response from me, he continues,

“And how exactly did you find me out here anyway?"

I shift my weight, suddenly uncomfortable having his eyes on me.

“I… I’ve been following the news about your disappearance. Then, in one of your interviews, you mentioned this place as your haven. So I decided to…." My voice trails off, the words catching in my throat as I realize how stupid I sound. I must look like a stalker to him right now. 

“I suppose you came all this way to interrogate me about why I left?" He asks as he eyes me up and down skeptically.

I shake my head.

“No. I came because… because…"

“Because of what?" He demands, his voice laced with anger. I swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears at the corner of my eyes.

“I… I came because I care about your work," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I wanted to understand what happened to you and why stopped writing. I thought… I thought that you were hurt and maybe I could help."

He lets out a derisive snort.

“Help?" He scoffs.

“What makes you think that I need your help? I’m doing just fine here, away from people like you who think they can waltz into people’s lives and demand answers."

I stare at him, my mouth agape, unable to find the words to respond with. How has this encounter taken such an abrupt and unpleasant turn? I feel my temper flare. Hurt and disappointment wash over me. They give way to a surge of anger.

“People like me?" I shoot back, my chin lifted defiantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not some nosy journalist, okay? I’ve told you, I’m a writer myself and I…"

“A writer, huh?" he interrupts, the corners of his mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. “Well, color me impressed. Tell me, do you have any books published? Or are you just another aspiring hack looking to capitalize on my name?"

I feel blood drain from my face, his words cutting me to the core. 

“I… I may not be a best-selling author like you," I stammer, “but I’ve worked hard to build my career. I won’t let you talk low of me."

Hunter lets out a heavy sigh and runs a hand through his hair disheveled.

“Look, I’m sorry, but like I said earlier, I have no interest in discussing my work or personal life. I came out here to get away from all of that and I’d appreciate it if you respect my privacy." He lets out a big sigh before he continues. “I know you must have envisioned a heartfelt welcome from me and then I’ll spill my guts and you’d write some saccharine piece about the “reclusive author finding peace in the mouth sins or wilderness, however, you’d put it." He lets out a harsh, mirthless laugh, then continues.

“Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s how this is going to go."

I open my mouth to respond but the sudden rumble of thunder overhead makes me pause. Dark clouds have begun to gather in the sky and the air is thick with the scent of an impending storm.

“You should head back before the weather turns," Hunter says, gesturing towards the sky. “It’s not safe to be out here when a storm rolls in." I glance nervously at the ominous clouds and then back to Hunter. Part of me wants to argue, to tell him that he can’t tell me what to do and maybe, to also prove to him that I’m not a common writer like he thinks. But the rational part of my mind knows it’s no use. It would be foolish to stay and risk getting caught in a storm all because I want to prove a point. 

“Alright then, it was nice meeting you," he murmurs, already turning away and heading towards the cabin I saw earlier. I watch him go, my heart sinking with disappointment. This is not at all how I imagined my meeting with Hunter Graham would go. Instead of the warm insightful conversation I had hoped for, I was met with nothing but hostility and disdain.

I don’t wait any longer as more thunder rumbles in the sky. I start to walk back to my car. As I walk through the forest, the first few raindrops begin to fall. I pull the jacket I’m wearing tighter around myself, trying to ward off the chill, both from the wind and the emotions that are swirling within me. I can’t believe that Hunter Graham, the man whose words had moved lots of people so deeply, I  as well. And yet, today, I was met with nothing but rejection and rudeness. Is this how famous people are in reality? Has he always been like this or Had fame and success made him this way? Maybe he’s going through some underlying trauma that has driven him this way of life and also probably made him retreat from the world. Still, it’s not an excuse for him to behave badly towards me. These thoughts swirl in my mind as I trudge through the increasingly muddy path, the rain steadily intensifying around me. I’m soaked to the bone by the time I finally reach my car, but I can’t help myself to feel anything but frustration. I fumble with my car keys as I try to get the car door open. Finally, I do. I slam the car door shut when I get in. I fumble again with the keys, the metal cold against my skin as I turn the Ignition. The engine coughs, splutters and dies. 

“Come on, Betty," I mutter, my voice a strained whisper against the relentless drumming of the rain. 

“Just start, please." 

I turn the key again, and the engine splutters to life with a weak cough before dying again. Something is not right. She usually starts on the second try. My breath hitches in my throat, a wave of panic rising within me. 

“No, no, no," I whisper, my voice cracking with desperation.

“Don’t do this to me, Betty. Don’t do this."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. This is a bad situation. But I can handle it. I just need to stay calm. I take another deep breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. I turn the key again. But this time, the engine remains silent. I slump back into the seat, my head resting on the steering wheel. The dam of my composure finally breaks and the tears I’ve been holding back spill over.

“Why Betty? Why now?" I sob, my voice muffled by the fabric of the steering wheel. I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have come here at all. The rain seems to mock my misery, the relentless rhythm a cruel reminder of my predicament. I’m stranded, alone and utterly helpless. After a while, I wipe my tears away, my face feeling raw and swollen. I have to make a decision fast. I could stay here, huddled in my car, hoping for a miracle. Or, I could go back to the cabin and beg Hunter Graham to let me spend the night, even if it means swallowing my pride. The thought of going back to him fills me with a mixture of dread and anger. He had made it clear that he didn’t want me there. His words, harsh and dismissive had been like icy daggers piercing my heart. But the alternative is even worse. I can’t stay out here, alone, in the dark with the night closing in. I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself. I know I have to swallow my pride. I have to go back there, even if it means facing Hunter’s rejection. Anything is better than being dinner for any wild animal out here. I reach for the door handle, my fingers trembling. I step out of the car, the rain immediately soaking through my clothes. The wind whips at my face, carrying with it the scent of bad earth and pine needles. I grab my bag and pull it closer to my shoulder. I grab my flashlight and I shut the car door closed. I lock Betty up, hoping her rusted exterior would deter anyone from stealing any stuff in her. Then I click on the flashlight and start walking, my steps heavy with exhaustion. The path is barely visible in the darkness and I stumble more than once, my ankle twisting on the uneven ground. The distance feels endless, each step a monumental effort. Soon, the cabin comes into view. I quicken my pace, my heart pounding in my chest. I reach the porch, and my hand shakes as I reach for the bell. It rings out with a hollow clang, the sound lost in the roar of the storm. I wait, my heart hammering against my ribs. There’s no answer. I reach out again, my fingers hovering over the knocker. Just as I’m about to knock, the light bulb flicks on and the door swings open. Hunter stands at the doorway, his face etched with annoyance. He clearly isn’t happy to see me. Well, neither am I.