Page 1 of Jealous Lumberjack

1

KNOX

Mornings like this are what I live for.

The rising sun kissing my bare back, warming the sweat collecting there.

The sound of my axe splitting clean through a log is better than any goddamn therapy.

It’s sharp. Final. Clean.

That’s why I do it first thing every morning, just as the sun claws its way over the spine of Eagle’s Crown. That’s what I call my mountain.

To the tourists down in town, ten miles east, it’s a picture postcard—peaks that blush pink at dawn, forests that roll out like a green sea, and a lake that shines silver whenever the moon hits it.

But they don’t know the real heart or soul of it.

The hidden cliffs that shear straight down into nothing.

The pines that twist into snarled fists where the wind’s strongest.

They only imagine the cougars that prowl the lower trails, the black bears that roam the midlands.

And up here at the top?

Me. Knox Hunter.

The most dangerous animal of all.

I sink the axe into another log and revel in the shock that runs up through my arms. I don’t drink or smoke. Don’t touch the powdered or pill-shaped shit that ruined every last Hunter before me.

Once upon a time, adrenaline and adoration were my vices.

Now it’s wood. Splitting, stacking, sweating. It burns the itch out of my blood and keeps my mind steady when the dark gets too loud.

Some men need a bottle. Some need a needle.

Me? I needed the fight. The pain.

I used to get it under bright lights, in front of tens of thousands with ropes under my hands, sweat on my shoulders and faces screaming my name.

The Grizzly.

That was me. Six-foot-eight, scarred, brutal, chewing up and spitting out anyone they put in front of me. Made the kinds of millions that brought out the bottom-feeders and parasites.

I loved every second of it. Until I didn’t.

Because crowds are liars. Friends even worse. And women? Fuck, don’t get me started.

I spit in the dirt, jaw flexing, growl building at the back of my throat.

The blade whistles down again, splitting oak with a crack that echoes off the ridge.

I pause for a moment, breathe in lungfuls of cleansing air. Gather back my control, shake away memories of the crap I left behind, and remind myself why I’m here.

Eagle’s Crown doesn't lie.

She’ll kill you if you don’t respect her, but she won’t smile while she does it. She’s honest, wears no mask and knows nobetrayal. Just her stark truth. That’s why I bought her outright the second I cut ties with the WWE machine eight years ago.