Page 25

EPILOGUE

RYDER

Yellowstone National Park

1 year later

September was, in Caleb’s opinion, the best time to visit Yellowstone. By early fall, the massive summer crowds thin, leaving the park significantly less packed, and the green leaves of the aspen trees start to change, popping with bursts of fiery red and eye-catching gold. Not to mention, of course, that most of the bugs are gone, a fact that made Emily smile so widely you’d think there was a half-off sale at HomeGoods.

And as Emily and I look out over a lush green valley, a soft breeze gently mussing her curls, I’m starting to think that Caleb was right—Yellowstone in September is beautiful. And Yellowstone in September with her? Well, it’s pretty damn perfect.

I watch as she packs dirt over the small hole where she just finished spreading some of her dad’s ashes, then stands up and brushes off her knees.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” she says, leaning into me, and I slip an arm around her waist. “I wish you were here.”

“We sure do,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So a lot’s happened in the last year,” Emily continues. “Which you might know already, if you can check in on me from wherever you are now, but I’m obviously not sure about that, seeing as how I’m not, you know, dead myself, and therefore have no clue.”

She sighs and glances up at me. “This is clearly going great.”

“It is going great,” I assure her. “Just say whatever feels right.”

I’m sure as hell not going to judge her, just like she didn’t judge me for crying like a baby when Tara, the proud new owner of The Little Adventure , took the two of us on the first of many rides on Caleb’s beloved boat. That’s one of the best things about my relationship with Emily: because we both understand grief, it makes it easier for us to understand each other, and she doesn’t ask questions when I tear up at the opening credits of The Sandlot or spend an hour listening to mundane voicemails Caleb left me just to hear his voice. She only grips my hand and understands, just like I understand why she listens to Cleveland Guardians games on the radio even though she doesn’t give a damn about baseball. Just like I get why she still won’t go into bookstores, even though she’s a big believer in buying local, and so I stop in for her, loading up on cozy mysteries and Nora Roberts and ridiculous how-to guides on reorganizing every room in your home.

Emily doesn’t try to get me to move past my pain; she helps me live with it, and I try to do the same for her.

“Okay, so,” she continues, trying again, “Brooke had her baby. A son. They named him Lucas Roger, in tribute to you, but don’t hate me for thinking Roger is a rough middle name for an infant.” She smiles, her voice less reluctant now. “I’ve been to four national parks, all of them with Ryder, and after Isle Royale, we’ve encountered nary a henchman or angry wild animal.”

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at nary , and she elbows me gently.

“We were VIP guests at the Smithsonian,” she says, “which is not a sentence I would have ever imagined saying, but it’s true. There was a gala for the opening of the Evermore diamond exhibit, and we were the guests of honor.”

“It was a fancy gala,” I add. “There was a harpist and everything.”

“I’m sorry to say that the Browns still haven’t appeared in the Super Bowl,” says Emily. “Though to be fair, if you’d lived to be three hundred, that would still be true.”

I nod as she clasps her hands together, thinking.

“I work less these days,” she says. “I still work a lot, but it’s less, and I still see you in every patient who comes through the door. And I think that actually makes me a better doctor. Kinder, you know. More observant.”

“Don’t forget to tell him about Cedar Point,” I whisper.

“Oh. Right.” She grins, her cheeks flushing with pride. “I rode a roller coaster at Cedar Point.”

“Not just any roller coaster,” I clarify. “She rode Millennium Force! It’s a giga-coaster. Over three hundred feet.”

“It was horrible,” she admits. “I screamed so loudly going up the hill that I made some little kids cry.”

“But you did it.”

She smiles. “Yeah. I did it.”

I watch as she bends to the ground again, giving the dirt a firm pat.

“I miss you, Dad,” she says, “and I love you even more. I always will. Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday, Roger,” I echo.

I reach for Emily, and she burrows her head into my chest, and we stay like that for a moment, together. Then she steps back, smiling, and smooths the front of her forest green Fleet Outdoor Adventures T-shirt.

“Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell her, adjusting the straps of my pack.

“Good.” She grins at me, reaching up to brush my cheek with her hand. “I’m really proud of you, Ryder. And I think Caleb is, too.”

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to laugh at the thought that the second part might be true. And not just because I’ve rebuilt Fleet Outdoor Adventures from the ground up—a feat that required me to take many, many survival and backpacking courses, and one made easier by the fact that national press over the discovery of the Evermore garnered the agency a lot of attention and a chance to start over—but because I’ve found something that makes me happy. I love helping people, and I love being outdoors, and once I stopped trying to be just like Caleb and started aiming to be a better version of myself, I succeeded.

In fact, I didn’t just succeed. I kicked ass. Not only can I now use a fuel canister without almost causing an explosion, I can also identify which nonedible plants could instantly kill me. And thanks to Emily, who’s always up long before any sane person should be, I haven’t slept through an alarm clock in ages.

Thanks to her, and the obstacles we faced on Isle Royale together, I’m starting to realize that I might never stop grieving, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop living. And sure, there are nights when I still toss and turn with guilt, my mind playing the what-if game it loves to torture me with. What if I hadn’t missed my flight to Caleb’s bachelor party? What if I could have done something to help him? But those nights are becoming less frequent, and when they happen, Emily wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek to mine and whispers, “ What if we just lay here like this?” and I feel better. Less alone.

“We’d better get back to the group before Biff terrifies any more of your clients,” Emily observes. “I heard him warning everybody about what happens if you’re dumb enough to touch a geyser. There was a lot of talk about fourth-degree burns and the stink of boiled flesh.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, shaking my head as we turn to hike back toward the group.

Despite the fact that Biff isn’t so great with people—and that I have yet to discover what Biff is actually short for—asking him to join the agency as a wilderness expert was a no-brainer. The fact that he actually accepted the invitation, albeit in a grumble, surprised me, but what can I say? I guess our adorable haplessness grew on him. Besides, nobody likes to be alone all the time. Not even Biff, who still packs Edith’s camping chair and glowers at anyone who dares to look at it.

“So,” I hear him telling the tour group as Emily and I return for the end of the hydration break, “as I said this morning, I will answer three questions per hour, max.”

A worried-looking teenager who signed up for the tour with her parents bites her lip. “Can we borrow questions from future hours? So like, can I ask you four questions from five to six o’clock if I only ask two from six to seven?”

“No,” Biff says flatly.

“He’s joking, Callie,” I tell the dejected-looking teenager, casting a sideways glance at my ill-mannered friend. “You guys can ask me or Biff as many questions as you want, whenever you want. We’re all here to learn, right? And to have an adventure.”

“To adventure!” Callie’s dad cheers, punching the air with his fist, and I ignore Biff’s piercing glare as I prepare my dozen fearless clients for the next leg of our hike.

Finally, when everyone is hydrated and ready to go, their hiking boots laced and their backpacks on, I turn to Emily and extend my hand.

“Ready?” I ask her, grinning at the woman who took my broken heart and helped me piece it back together.

She smiles, slipping her hand into mine. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And then, together, we set off to explore the beauty of Yellowstone. Because whatever challenges we face on the trail before us—rocky terrain, or the deep, sometimes overwhelming grief of missing someone gone too soon—I know the two of us can handle it. Because we’ve got love, laughter, and enough high-SPF sunscreen to hike all the way to the sun and back.

“I love you,” I tell her, squeezing her hand, and the tender look she gives me in return is worth more than any diamond.

“I love you, too.”

Adventure awaits.