Page 43 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Hayes

T he rest of the ride gives me time to recharge from my roadside disaster, but I’m still not ready for real food.

I opted out when Josie got hungry, and we stopped at a restaurant to order her a salad to go.

Whether she picked it to be kind or wanted to eat light, I’m grateful either way.

If she’d ordered something with spice, I might’ve jumped out the window.

Simply envisioning the last meal I ate and what happened afterward makes me queasy. The spicy tacos tasted decent on the way down. Not so much on the way back up.

We reach the Grand Canyon in time for the last horseback tour. Before setting off behind our guide, Josie and I take pictures with our horses. I send a shot of us together to Mom, but she doesn’t respond .

She keeps telling me not to worry and to have fun, so I’m trying not to dwell on her silence. But it’s tough being pulled in two directions—between there and here, fear and joy. I want to be home, but I also don’t want to miss what might be my last adventure with Josie.

The sun blazes high above as we sway in rhythm with the horses, winding along a dusty trail. The canyon, a sea of rust, amber, and orangish cliffs, juts toward the sky, jagged and fierce, like the teeth of some ancient, slumbering beast.

Josie rides ahead, her hair spilling out from beneath the wide-brimmed hat she bought at the welcome center.

She’s a natural in the saddle, perfectly balanced and unbothered.

When we were introduced to our horses, she didn’t show one ounce of trepidation, and it hit me.

I may never fully understand this girl. And frankly, I don’t want to.

Every day with her is like opening your favorite gift and realizing it’s even better than your wish.

Every so often, she twists in her seat to check on me, her sparkling eyes and buzzing energy showcasing how much she loves this activity and me.

“You okay? You look like you’re one bump away from hitting the dirt,” she teases.

“I’m conserving energy.” I shift uncomfortably in the saddle, knowing she’s right.

My thighs are already protesting, and we’ve only been riding for twenty minutes.

I can run five miles in full combat gear without breaking a sweat, but put me on a stocky, chestnut gelding named Pancake and I’m ready to tap out .

Josie laughs, a bright, carefree sound that bounces off the canyon walls, loosening those pesky strings around my rib cage. The same ones that always tighten when I think about Ava or my future.

She reins in her horse and waits for me to catch up. “The horse can sense your tension, you know? You’re probably making poor Pancake nervous.”

On cue, Pancake flicks an ear and snorts. It sounds suspiciously judgmental. I console him with a pat on his neck. “Sorry, buddy. I’m doing my best here.”

Josie reaches out and brushes my arm, and even through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, her touch sends a current zipping through me. Between that and the horse’s irritated impatience, relaxing may not be in the cards for me.

“You’ve got this,” she encourages. “We’re in one of the most beautiful places on earth, and you’re riding a horse named after the yummy breakfast you make me. Tell me that’s not fate.”

With a laugh, I try to sit a little looser in the saddle. "It certainly is."

Soon, we round a bend, and the canyon opens into a sweeping expanse of cliffs and mesas with the Colorado River gleaming like a ribbon of liquid silver.

Josie circles and rides up beside me, eyes locked on the scenery. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” I say, watching her instead—the quiet awe on her face. The way the sunlight kisses her cheekbones, adding a touch of rose to her skin. The way she bites her bottom lip as she adjusts the camera settings.

“I can’t wait for your painting of this,” I say, already knowing it will take my breath away as she does.

She points the camera at me, the shutter clicking away.

“I rather paint you. Look left, cowboy.” She gestures without moving the camera.

Because we’re doing a “cowboy-like thing” today, she asked me to wear the hat. She said it makes me irresistible. With that kind of reasoning, I couldn't deny her. Not when this hat drives her wild with desire and rewards us both.

We sit for a while, taking pictures of the view and each other before urging the horses forward again. I send another photo to Mom. Still no response. Still trying not to read into it.

In the quiet, my thoughts switch to Ava like they always do. To how grateful I am that she pushed me to take this trip. This is the most at peace I’ve felt in months. Other than hearing Josie say she loves me, I’ve never been happier than I am right now.

I’m taking it all in—my surroundings, my gratitude, my girl—when all hell breaks loose.

As we come to a scraggly patch of low bushes, a jackrabbit bursts out of the underbrush, shooting past us like a furry rocket.

Josie’s horse rears up, letting out a startled cry, and for one terrifying second, it looks like she might get thrown.

“Whoa! Easy, girl!” Josie clings to the saddle horn, knuckles white, but somehow, she stays put. Her horse prances nervously, then steadies under her reassuring touch.

I ride up beside her, my pulse hammering. “That was crazy.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, still patting the horse’s neck. “Yeah. Someone didn’t appreciate the kamikaze rabbit.”

The culprit stops a few yards away, twitching its nose like we’re the problem.

“Don’t tell your easily spooked friend, but I think the rabbit is either challenging you to a rematch or wants its picture taken.”

“How about both?” She raises the camera and takes a few shots before tapping her heels against her horse’s side. “You’re not messing with Bessy and me again, you little troublemaker,” she yells.

In a full gallop, she leads the horse after the rabbit until it zigzags across the clearing and darts under a bush.

Laughing, she circles back to me, triumphant and with her arms up, ignoring the other riders’ disapproval. “Victory!”

“You’re unbelievable,” I say, half with love and half in disbelief.

She beams, of course. “Thanks.”

We get back to the group, content to let the view do all the talking. The canyon shifts around us as the sun dips, shadows covering the rocky floor. Eventually, we stop near a ledge overlooking the canyon and dismount.

Everything hushes around us as the sky shifts through shades of pink, orange, and violet, a living painting .

“I’m going to miss this.”

Josie leans into me, her head falling to my shoulder. “Me too.”

There’s a note of sadness coating her voice that hallows me out. I need a change of subject to lighten the somber mood. Our goodbye is coming too fast, and I don’t want to think about it. I never should have brought it up.

"You’re going to crush it in Vegas. That gallery won’t know what hit them.”

She smiles against my shirt. “And you’ll dive into the Pacific and make Ava proud.”

“Yeah.” But my mind wanders beyond that. “And what about after? What do you think will happen?”

She lifts her head, eyes serious now, reflecting the fading light. “With us?”

I nod.

“I’m not sure, but I know we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Something in my chest folds and unravels all at once. I take her hand, threading my fingers with hers.

“Do you still want to retire?” she asks cautiously, surprising me.

I’d mentioned it before, but I didn’t expect her to remember, let alone bring it up now.

“More than ever.”

A slow, satisfied smile emerges, and she leans closer, her fingertip tracing the black and gray tattoo on my bicep.

“I’ve been meaning to ask . . . why a moth?” She looks up at me, almost shy, but I know better. “It’s beautiful, but unexpected. ”

I follow her gaze to the ink, the dark lines stark against her untouched skin. That same contrast—between my past and present—hits me the way it did the day I got it.

“I never thought I’d get a tattoo. Over fifteen years in the Corps, I’d come across enough bad ink to know it wasn’t my thing.” The past rattles through my system, spiking my blood pressure. “But then everything fell apart, and I needed something permanent to remind me.”

Josie straightens, concern pulling on her features. “Of what?”

“Who I am, and who I’m fighting for.”

For a few heartbeats, I watch the sun dip below the canyon walls, gathering my thoughts. It’s not easy putting something like this into words.

“It started the night we got Ava’s diagnosis,” I finally say. “I was training in Texas when Mom called. Her voice cracked when she told me, and I could barely breathe long enough to tell her I’d be home soon. I’d never heard her break down like that. She’s always been the strongest person I know.”

Her fingers wrap around my arm, steadying me as I push through the memories and swallow back all the buried emotion trying to resurface.

“There were months of hospitals, chemo treatments, and nights spent hovering over a bottle, wishing I could trade places with Ava.”

A passing guide checks on us, giving me a chance to pull myself together .

“The first night I could get home, I sat beside Ava’s bed until she fell asleep.

I was weak and exhausted, but she still saw her hero.

Like I could fix anything. But I couldn’t fix this.

I couldn’t do a damn thing to even help.

” I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the familiar helplessness creeping in again.

“I’ve never experienced true fear until she got sick.

It closes in on me when I’m alone, and I struggle to climb out of that darkness once it settles in.

It was worse that night, and after Mom went to bed, I ran. ”

“Like you did at the B&B?”

I kiss her forehead, grateful for how deeply she understands me. “Yeah. I just took off with no plan, no direction. I felt like my life was being squeezed out of me, and I needed to get it out before it crushed me.”

“Where did you go?”