The sun is unseasonably warm, and I’ve already peeled off my flannel as I let my muscles warm up. Rex lies by the porch, his tongue lolling as he pauses after chasing a squirrel around for the past few minutes, and he looks content as we get back into our routine.

Honestly, I’d like to take a break. My shoulders ache and my forearms are trembling from the chopping I’ve gotten done so far, and nothing sounds more inviting than just kicking back in my chair and sipping on some spring water. But if I stop, I just think about Ana, kicking myself for letting her go and having to hold myself back from storming into town to chase her down. I’m not sure that’s a bad idea, if I’m honest, but I’m not sure it’s a good one either, so I’m trying to hold off on going full-caveman for now.

So I chop and chop and chop some more, filling a big order for one of the bar-b-que places in town who’s hosting their annual cookoff. One whole cow and two pigs do not slow-smoke themselves, and they ordered a truckload of wood. A good thing for me, personally and professionally, but it’s killing me physically right now.

The aches in my shoulders and back don’t replace the ache in my chest since Ana’s left, and this morning, for the first time in a long time, Rex had to chase me out of bed after sunrise.

“I really, really should have gotten that log splitter old Earl in town offered me last time I was at his feed and seed,” I grumble as I set another log. Even though it wasn’t powered, letting gravity and a forty-pound weight do the splitting for me sounds really good right now. “But no, I had to be Mr. Macho. Rex, I think I’m a fucking idiot.”

Rex looks up, thumping his tail twice before getting up and going for a drink. I chuckle darkly, thinking he’s right . . . and that I’m an idiot about more than just log splitting.

The fact is, I let Ana go. It’s been four days, and while I’d told myself to be patient, especially for the days I knew she was working, the two additional days have just about killed me. I’ve left a Good Morning text each day, nothing big, but she didn’t even send an emoji back to those. I can’t help but feel like that’s a bad sign.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” I tell Rex as I go around picking up the split lengths of wood and taking them over to my old work truck. The bed’s about half full, and I need to get the restaurant at least three bedloads before next week. Tossing the lengths in, I know if I can get a move on, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to make it.

Dusting off my hands, I go over to the water spout, grabbing my tin cup. “You thirsty, boy?” I ask Rex.

He wags his tail, tilting his head, and barks once.

I down the rest of my water and refill my cup, tossing the water into the air as Rex jumps through it, biting and barking like the water is a living entity. I do it again and again, laughing at his antics, thankful for the levity.

A loud rumbling fills the air, and I look toward the trail, wildly hoping . . . but it’s Carlotta, driving up in her ATV. Rex, of course, smothers her in kisses and doggy licks as soon as she gets off. “Hey, Car.”

“Ew . . . you’re wet! Stop it, you big lovebug!” Car says, fending off Rex before coming over. She’s surprised when I come over and give her a hug, patting her on the back. “Well, now, what’s this about?”

I shrug, not admitting that I’ve missed human contact the past few days. Car, though, being her normal self, doesn’t let it go. “I see. Does this have something to do with your first guest at the cabin?”

I shrug again, picking up another armload of logs and dumping them in my truck.

“Aubrey?” she asks in that tone of hers, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. “Put the logs down and answer me.”

I toss my armload in the truck, turning back to her. “I’ve got work to do if I’m going to get this order filled. So either give me a hand or leave me alone.” Fuck. I can hear it. The short, clipped words, needlessly harsh, and the virtual growl to my tone. Without Ana to soften my edges, I’m back to being a grumpy asshole, falling back into easy habits to shut myself off.

She stares at me, then sighs in exasperation. “You screwed things up with her, didn’t you?” When I don’t answer, she stomps her foot. “You fucking fool, Aubrey. We don’t always get second chances. If you get one, don’t let it slip away.”

I turn away, grabbing another couple of logs. “It’s none of your business.”

“Bullshit,” Carlotta retorts. “You’re family. Of course it’s my business, especially when you need her.”

Anger stirs my chest as I turn to her, my eyes full of fire. I don’t need shit from anyone when I’m doing a pretty damn good job of my own self-crucifixion.

“I might not know a lot, but that’s one damn thing I do know!” I explode, throwing the chunk of log in my hand toward the woods, watching as it flies before tumbling across the ground. I turn back to Carlotta, who hasn’t moved. My voice is softer when I admit, “I know that more than you realize.”

She sighs and comes over to me, putting a hand on my chest. “I only want what’s best for you, Aubrey.”

“I know. I’ve just been beating myself up and don’t really need it from anyone else. I know you mean well.”

Carlotta steps back. “Why the hell are you still here, Aubrey? If she means that much, you need to fix it right. Go get her!”

“And if fixing it right means she and I . . . don’t end up together?” I ask, scared to voice the fear in my gut. Maybe she got home and realized her life was better without me? Maybe she’s home in her apartment, feeling pity for the beast out in the woods who can’t get over things that happened a decade ago?

Carlotta pats me on the back. “I have faith in the power of what you feel, Aubrey. Think about it.”

Carlotta sticks around another half hour, helping me load the rest of my logs to make my truck three-quarters full before she leaves. I wave as she pulls away on her ATV and I go back to work. Lifting my axe over my head, it trembles before I let it fall to the ground and I slump down onto my chopping block, my head hanging.

Truth is, Carlotta’s right, as she often is, and she’s pretty damn stubborn. I’m a miserable fuck as it is, and if I don’t try to make it right, I’m going to be worse. But I don’t know how. There are so many emotions between us, and if there’s one thing I’m real fucking good at, it’s avoiding those things like the fucking plague. But for her, I’d work it out . . . share and talk and shit.

But even if I could get her to give me a chance, how do we make the logistics work? She lives in town and my home base is here. She’s not gonna leave the job she loves, and while I’m doing better, I need the solitude out here. I’m just not cut out to be a city guy in a suit and tie, surrounded by hustle and bustle. Not anymore. I’d go crazy.

But I’m going crazy without her, haven’t slept in days. I even found myself dozing with her pillow in my arms, face buried in it to keep her scent around me. I miss the little things, the way her nose flares when she’s mad, the softness of her skin against mine, the way just being around her feels like a dose of sunshine straight to my heart.

It was that mental, physical, and soul connection that was as necessary as air . . . and now I’m floating in space again and trying to figure out how to survive when I can’t fucking breathe.

Rex whimpers, and I look at him, knowing Car’s right. I have to do something to fix this somehow. There’s no way I’m going to end up some hermit that lives out in the middle of the wilderness, unbothered by the sheriff simply because I’m too damn ornery, only to die lonely and alone, my body some snack for the pigs or wolves. At one time, I wouldn’t have minded that. Could’ve sold it as dust to dust or some life-cycle bullshit.

It’s a fucking scary thought. I go inside the cabin, and something has me reach under my bed. I haven’t looked at it in years, not since I put it away, but Gabe’s duffel bag was delivered home after he went missing, along with a few letters that the mail hadn’t brought yet. I’d tossed them inside, intending to read them one day. Or not. For some reason, I’m drawn to it today, willing to revisit my big brother and his life before it was cut so short.

I pull the bag out, looking at the old, dusty nylon with O’Day written on the side in permanent marker.

It’s clipped closed and I open it. “I could really use your help, Gabe,” I whisper as I reach inside. I root around, just trying to find some hope. I feel my hand bump against his medals, his dress uniform, and the bundle of letters. I discard them all, my hand finding a piece of cloth that I take out, and I realize I’ve snagged one of Gabe’s old ACU pants. It seems like an oddly personal item, but I can’t help but hug them, knowing he wore these day in and day out on so many adventures, both good and bad. I did the same in my ACUs. Out of habit, I ranger roll them to stuff them back into the bag. But a crunching sound grabs my attention. Curious, I quickly search the pockets and finally find a folded-up piece of paper in the knee pocket.

I unfold the letter and see the date. It was written the day before our last Skype talk, and I feel like the heavens have maybe opened up to me as I read.