I get off the plane in Alaska. It’s the first time I’ve been here. The grand finals last year were in Vermont. Third fucking place. Vermont is dead to me. The place is cursed.

Nah, no east coast Atlantic bullshit for me. I need some good Pacific coast terrain if I want the grand prize. Alaska may be thousands of miles north of Oregon, but it’s still West Coast.

If you’d have asked me five years ago if competitive lumberjacking would become my career, I’d have laughed in your face.

But it pays well, and shit, I like it. I’m good at chopping down trees, but you don’t exactly get much recognition for that in commercial lumberjacking. Sure, Hutch and Sawyer respect me for it, and Jack Ornsley knew I was a reliable and hard-working guy. But nothing compares to crowds of people cheering as you smash a fucking axe-throwing record for $15,000.

Now the grand finals for this year have brought me to Alaska, a place I never otherwise would have visited.

The cab takes me from the airport toward my hotel.

The airport is in the city more or less, but the mountains surrounding it are something else. The nature just feels big. The city seems big for Alaska, but it’s dwarfed by the majestic fucking mountains and nature surrounding it on all sides. The crystal clear lakes and bright snow look somehow bluer and whiter than they do down in Oregon.

I shake my head in approval. Yeah, this is where I’m going to become the grand champion.

I still remember my first competition. I put my hand to my chest, where the ring used to be.

Elisabeth. Whatever I had seen in her eyes, I should have looked harder. She conned me. She must have seen the ring earlier. The jewels in it were worth more than the gold; I’m sure she got some serious cash pawning it. The only thing I had left from my father, and she just pawned it off.

I checked the pawn shops all around Seattle--taking an extra week off from work--but I never saw it. Now that empty feeling by my chest reminds me of my father, and also of how stupid I was. It reminds me not to think with my dick.

I grind my teeth together. The thing is, I wasn’t just thinking with my dick. I mean, sure, she was hot as fuck. And sure, I wanted to get my dick in her, but it was more than that. I wanted her in more ways than just that, and I hadn’t felt that with a woman in a long time. I haven’t felt it since then, either.

Too bad it was all fake. It’s probably best if I just think with my dick. My heart should stay far away from women. I can’t trust it. Yeah, that’s the answer, I’ll just let my dick lead the way.

Sometimes I tell myself that she maybe had a good reason. Maybe she really needed the money. She didn’t seem like she was strung out on anything, but shit, I would have helped her if she’d asked. As much as I could have, at least.

I check into my hotel, drop all my shit down onto the floor by the bed, and crank up the heater.

I consider taking a shower, but decide that I’ll do it later. I want to go check out Anchorage a bit. I’ll take a shower when I get back in.

It’s colder than in Oregon, but Anchorage doesn’t get that cold compared to other parts of Alaska. At least down in the city. My regular coat, a scarf, and a beanie do the job.

I see people doing fucking Segway tours. It seems like a convenient way to get around, but is it worth looking like such a dumbass?

Nah, I’ll use my two feet and my boots. That’s the best way to see a new city. I feel suddenly hungry, and I duck into one of the first restaurants I see. They have a lot of fish listed on the menu board outside, and I’ve been wanting to try Alaskan seafood.

It’s the kind of place where you order at the counter--not fancy--and when I look up from the menu at the woman ready to take my order, my jaw drops open.

It looks like--but it’s not--Elisabeth. I see her, though, in the lines of the woman’s face, in the way her eyebrows raise at me, but it’s definitely not her.

She looks at me almost the same way, tilting her head a bit as she looks me over.

“Sorry,” she mutters, “you just look like--”

“Someone you know?” I interrupt.

“Yeah,” she says.

“I was going to say the same thing to you,” I say, looking at her closer. “Do you...have a sister?”

She bites her lip, and her eyes widen.

“Was that too forward?” I ask. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No,” she says. “It’s fine.” She waves a hand. “I don’t have a sister. You’re new in town, right? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m here for the lumberjack competition.”

She nods.

“I’ll have the blackened salmon,” I say, pointing at the menu. “With a beer.”

She hits a few buttons on the register, then smiles up at me. “Gotcha! How long are you in town for?”

“Just the weekend,” I say. “Leaving Sunday.”

Her face scrunches up, then she says, “Maybe I’ll check out the competition.”

I squint at her again. She really looks like Elisabeth.

“You’re sure you don’t have a sister?” I ask.

She laughs nervously. “Uh, unless she’s, like, my long-lost sister my parents never told me about.”

“I can get you a discount on the tickets,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“A discount?” she asks. “I have to pay to go there?”

“Of course,” I say. “This is an exciting and high-skill competition. We’re all professionals.”

“My name’s Jane,” she says. “Jane Murphy.”

“I’ll get you on the list,” I say.