Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

I began my hike up the Appalachian Trail just as I had a year and a half before, starting at Bear Mountain. The crisp air bit my cheeks, and I adjusted the heavy pack strapped over my red down coat, feeling the familiar weight settle across my shoulders. My jeans and hiking boots were sturdy enough, but the patches of snow that dotted the trail reminded me this would be no easy trek. I trudged forward, my breath visible in the chilly air as I pushed through the first day.

About halfway in, the weather turned. A sudden squall of flurries blew in, swirling around me with icy gusts that cut through my layers. It didn’t last long—maybe fifteen minutes—but it hit in bursts, each flurry more relentless than the last, as if nature itself was testing my resolve.

My fingers felt like blocks of ice despite my gloves, and my legs ached with each step. I had been slacking on my exercise, too consumed by the chaos in my life to keep up with training. Now, my lack of endurance was catching up to me. Every muscle screamed for relief, but I refused to stop until I’d covered enough ground for the day.

By the time I found a decent spot to set up camp, exhaustion weighed me down. The cold crept in as the sun dipped lower, and I hastily unpacked, eager to settle in. Dinner was a simple MRE of beef stew, but after hours of hiking in the cold, it tasted like a feast. The warmth of each bite spread through me, temporarily chasing away the chill.

Once I crawled into my sleeping bag—good to twenty below, even though it wasn’t nearly that cold yet—I felt the exhaustion sink deep into my bones. The weight of the day, of the trail, and of everything I had left behind clung to me, but sleep pulled me under before I had the chance to think too hard about it all. The steady sound of the wind outside my tent became a lullaby, and I drifted off almost instantly.

When I woke just before dawn, I shivered as I pushed the sleeping bag open, the cold air biting at my skin. My entire body protested with stiffness and soreness, and a flood of doubts washed over me. Could I really stay out here for two weeks? The quiet wilderness offered no comfort this morning—just a brutal reminder of how physically unprepared I was. I lay there for a while, staring up at the faint light creeping through the tent fabric, trying to muster the will to move.

After convincing myself to get going, I reflected on yesterday's hike. Seven hours of solitude had left me plenty of time to think, but instead of clarity, I was caught between two men, two impossible choices.

Slade, my husband, was a complicated mess. There was a time he was everything I wanted—a man full of promise. But now? His infidelity, the lies that came after... his denial about the young woman leaving the hotel with him didn’t sit right. His story didn’t add up.

Then there was Michael. Passionate, devoted, romantic—he loved me as fiercely as he promised. But his intensity came with unpredictability. Michael Elliott could be charming one minute and distant the next, his moods swinging wildly like the weather I found myself hiking through. Could I live with that? Both men had their faults, and I wasn’t any closer to a decision.

Sighing, I unzipped the tent and stepped into the frosty morning air, setting up my small stove to heat water for breakfast. The chill seeped through my gloves as I prepared an MRE of scrambled eggs and cheese. I only managed to eat half before the taste turned sour in my mouth. The cold made even the simplest tasks miserable—washing my face, brushing my teeth—everything was a reminder of how much I longed for warmth, for comfort. A hot shower sounded like heaven. But I pushed on, packing up my tent, sleeping bag, and stove for the day ahead.

As I hiked, I met a few other brave souls venturing along the trail. It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one crazy enough to do this in cold weather. My destination for the night was a small hostel, Collier’s Rock and Rest. It was nothing fancy—just a large white house with a few rooms and hot water—but at this point, it might as well have been a five-star hotel.

By the time I reached the hostel, my muscles ached, and a blister had formed on my right foot. I winced with every step, but the thought of a hot shower kept me moving. Fifty-two dollars a night was a steal for a warm bed and a private bath. I usually bypassed Collier’s in the summer, but now, I craved their lumpy mattresses and the warmth of the boisterous dining room.

As soon as I checked in, I headed straight for the shower. The hot water felt like salvation, cascading over me as I leaned against the tiled wall. I closed my eyes and let the steam work its magic, loosening the tension in my body. When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a white towel, I felt human again.

Dinner was served promptly at five-thirty—hearty beef stew with freshly baked sourdough bread. I chuckled to myself, remembering I had eaten beef stew the night before as well. Still, the hot meal was welcome, and I joined the small group of hikers, listening as they shared stories of the trail. After a half hour and several stifled yawns, I excused myself. Exhaustion was setting in.

Back in my room, I called my parents first, assuring them I was alive and in one piece. Then I dialed Erika.

"How goes it?" she asked, her voice bright despite the distance.

"It’s okay. I’m exhausted, though." I rubbed my temple, feeling the weight of the day pressing down.

"Kincaid, you’re nuts. Why the hell would you willingly go out in the cold like that?" She laughed, but I could hear the concern in her tone.

"You know why," I sighed. "We talked about this when I was packing."

"Yeah, yeah. You needed time to think. So, has any clarity hit you yet?"

"No," I admitted, feeling a wave of frustration. "I still can’t make a decision."

"It should be easy. Slade cheated on you!" Erika’s voice sharpened with annoyance.

"I don’t know that, Erika. He said he didn’t, and without proof?—"

She cut me off. "Come on, wake up! Do I need to catch him in the act and send you the video?"

"I love you, but I can’t rule him out just because of a suspicion," I whispered, my voice strained.

"Michael’s twisting in the wind, Kincaid. What the hell did you tell him?"

"What do you mean?" I frowned, the pit in my stomach deepening.

"He called Lincoln the night you left. He was drunk, rambling about having you in his bed. Please tell me you didn’t—" She paused, and I braced myself. "You didn’t sleep with him again, did you?"

I swallowed hard. "I did."

A string of curses flew from her mouth. "You’re a fucking idiot! Why would you do that?"

"Because I love him too!" I shot back, my voice breaking.

"Michael’s a wreck! Lincoln had to go over there, dump all his whiskey down the drain, and put him to bed. He’s torn up!"

"I don’t want to hear this right now," I muttered, closing my eyes against the guilt that surged in waves.

"You need to! You’re not thinking clearly, and someone’s life is falling apart because of it. Michael’s going to be my brother-in-law. I don’t want him miserable."

"I know, Erika. That’s why I’m out here—to think."

"Then do it," she snapped. "And make a decision already."

"I am," I said through gritted teeth. "I have to go. Parlor games in ten minutes."

"Where are you?"

"Collier’s."

"I thought you didn’t stay at that place."

"It’s cold," I said, pulling the blanket tighter around me. "I didn’t want to spend another night out in the freezing air."

"Take care of yourself, Kincaid. And think hard. I’ll talk to you soon."

"Love you," I whispered.

"Love you, too, even though you’re a bitch sometimes." Erika chuckled before the line went dead.

I lay back on the bed, feeling the weight of her words. Michael’s drunken spiral gnawed at me, the familiar guilt creeping in. It felt like history repeating itself—the same story, the same pain. I had to make a decision, but right now, all I wanted was sleep. My body ached, my mind was a storm of confusion, and even though it was barely eight, I crawled under the covers, mentally and physically drained.

I awoke to the aroma of bacon wafting up the stairs. It was just before 7 am, so I figured I would get an early start. I took a quick shower and immediately felt better than the day before. It was nice to have a toilet to do my business in, too. Downstairs, Mrs. Collier had the table set full of platters with bacon, sausage, pancakes, toast, scrambled eggs, slices of oranges, apples and grapefruit, small brown ceramic crocks with butter, strawberry jam and blueberry preserves, two pitchers of orange juice, and a large carafe of hot coffee with cream, milk and sugar on the side.

I ate a couple of pancakes and chatted up a young couple who were spending their two-week honeymoon hiking the trail. The wife, Darla, a cute elfin faced woman with dark hair showed me her thick diamond encrusted wedding band.

“Aren’t you afraid to lose that?” I asked.

“No. I told Paul I would never take it off.”

Her husband was tall and had shaggy blond hair and an infectious smile. I liked them both immediately and hoped I would see them in my travels. They offered to let me tag along with them, but I needed to continue to think so I declined.

After breakfast was finished, I used the bathroom before I donned my pack and got ready to hit the trail. It was colder this morning than yesterday, and I pulled on a pair of thick woolen gloves before giving Mrs. Collier and her son, Jesse, a hug as I walked out the door.

"Fuck!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the fading light as I slammed the stove shut in frustration. No matter how many times I tried, the damn thing refused to catch. No heat. No hot water. I stared down at the unlit stove, my breath clouding in the cold evening air.

Great, just perfect. I sighed, resigned to another meal of protein bars and trail mix. My stomach growled in protest, but I shoved the food into my mouth, chewing mechanically as my foot throbbed.

With a grimace, I set up my tent and flicked on my small lamp. The weak glow cast long shadows as I rummaged through my backpack. Where the hell is it? My fingers finally closed around the first aid kit. I pulled it out and settled onto my sleeping bag, peeling off my boot carefully to reveal the damage.

The skin around the blister was raw and red, abraded from the constant friction. It had opened up, the edges swollen and angry. "Shit," I muttered under my breath, reaching for the antibiotic cream. The sting of the ointment was sharp, but I pressed on, smoothing it over the wound before securing it with a large bandage.

"Please don't get worse," I whispered, almost like a prayer to the universe.

With my foot somewhat tended to, I grabbed my phone, hoping for some small relief. No signal. Of course. I wasn't surprised this deep in the woods, but the isolation gnawed at me. Just one call, one text—anything.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow I'd be in the vicinity of Newtonville. Sally and Nick Murrow, owners of The Backpack Motel, would be expecting me. I clung to the thought like a lifeline.

I lay down, feeling the weight of the night settle over me, but unease crept into my thoughts. My head pounded, a dull, relentless ache that only worsened as I tossed and turned. By the time I finally drifted off, it felt like my body was betraying me at every turn.

When I woke, it was with a groan. My head throbbed with a vengeance, and a dull ache had settled into my foot, reminding me of yesterday's struggle. Six miles—just six miles to The Backpack. That was all I needed to get through today.

I dragged myself out of the tent, greeted by a thin layer of flurries that had fallen overnight. The snow dusted everything, making the rocks along the trail look even more treacherous.

I brushed the snow from my tent, shoving a handful of trail mix into my mouth. No time to waste. In less than twenty minutes, I had packed up my things and hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders. My foot throbbed, but I pushed through, limping along the trail. The bandage held, though each step sent jolts of pain up my leg.

By the time I reached The Backpack Motel, it was nearly eleven. Exhaustion clung to me like a second skin, and my foot screamed in protest with each step.

A mishap with my pack had delayed me—my canteen broke free from its strap and tumbled down a hill. I cursed as I scrambled to retrieve it, the top broken off when I finally fished it out of a muddy ditch.

Thirst clawed at my throat, my mouth dry, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. All I could focus on was the dull ache in my body, the weight of the pack that seemed heavier with each passing hour, and the faint hope that Sally and Nick had a replacement canteen in their store.

When I finally crossed the threshold of The Backpack, the lobby was empty, and there was no sign of Sally at the front desk. I rang the bell once, then again, harder, as the minutes stretched on. Finally, I heard a shuffle from the back room. Sally emerged, wiping her hands on her brown jeans.

Her face lit up like the sun when she spotted me. “Damn, girl! It’s been ages since we last saw you! What happened to visiting us more often?”

Before I could answer, she rushed around the counter, pulling me into a warm, tight hug. Her embrace was so familiar that, for a moment, the exhaustion I’d carried in melted away.

I smiled weakly as I pulled back. “Life’s been… hectic.”

She gave me a knowing look. “Where’s that nice man you were with the last time you came by?”

My heart clenched at the mention of him. I swallowed hard. “He’s, uh, my husband.”

Sally’s eyes lit up with curiosity as she grasped my gloved hand, feeling around for a ring. I gave her a sheepish smile.

“We’re going through a rough patch.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she sighed, her expression softening. “It comes with the territory. Marriage is hard.”

“Don’t I know it,” I muttered. My gaze shifted around the room, searching for anything to focus on besides the gnawing feeling in my chest. “Where’s Nick?”

“In the diner, as usual. You know him—can’t resist his morning routine.” She paused, her tone playful. “So, what’s the plan? Just stopping by for a hello, or are you staying?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I admitted.

“Well, maybe this will help you make up your mind.” She motioned toward the television behind the counter. A news report flashed on the screen, and Sally turned up the volume just as the reporter warned of a spring storm barreling in, set to dump several inches of snow by morning.

I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “Shit, shit, shit. I thought we were done with this stuff.”

Sally smirked. “So… does that mean you’re staying?”

“Hell, yes, I’m staying. I’m not getting caught in that mess. Remember those hikers who nearly froze to death one spring?”

Sally’s face turned serious. “Danny and Bonnie Archer. They come by every summer now. I guess they learned their lesson.”

“Yeah, I’m not making that mistake. Do you have any rooms?”

“A few,” she said, glancing at her reservation book. “But I bet they’ll be gone by this afternoon. One or two nights?”

“Better give me two. Looks like the storm will pass, and the snow should melt quick enough.”

“But it’ll make the trail muddy and slippery,” she warned, her eyes narrowing.

I waved her off with a tired smile. “Been through worse.”

“Just be careful, okay?”

She busied herself with the paperwork, setting me up for two nights, then handed me the room key. “Need anything else?”

“Actually, do you have any antibiotic cream in the store? I’ve got a nasty blister.”

Sally winced in sympathy. “Oh, no. How’d that happen? I thought those boots were broken in?”

“They are. It’s a mystery.”

She tapped her chin for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “I’ve got something better than that. Wait right here.” With a wink, she disappeared into the back.

As I waited, the bell above the door chimed, and I turned to see Paul and Darla walk in. Paul’s familiar grin widened when he saw me.

“Well, look who beat us here! You staying, Morgan?”

“Looks like it,” I said with a sigh. “Storm’s rolling in, and I’m not stupid enough to trek through that.”

“Same here,” Paul agreed, glancing out the window at the gray sky. “One or two nights?”

“Two,” I replied. “Maybe we can grab a meal together?”

Darla smiled. “That’d be nice.”

Just then, Sally reappeared, holding a small white container with a screw-on lid. She handed it to me, her eyes twinkling with pride. “Here. That’s an old family secret. It’ll heal that blister right quick.”

I turned the jar in my hands, curious. “Thanks, Sally. I owe you one.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. And don’t be a stranger. I mean it.”

I waved goodbye to them all and headed down the sidewalk to find my room, my footsteps echoing softly as the weight of the storm—and my own thoughts—pressed in around me.

By the time I shrugged off my pack and cranked up the heat, the afternoon sun had long passed its peak, casting muted light through the motel window. My fingers fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, each movement sluggish. A wave of nausea crept up again—persistent, like an unwelcome guest. I’d felt off since the morning, but now, it lingered like a weight I couldn’t shake.

After plugging my phone into the charger, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the screen. I should let them know I’m safe. My fingers hovered over the screen before I made the necessary calls—my parents, Slade, Erika. Quick, efficient, reassuring.

I stopped short when I scrolled to Michael's name. Should I? My pulse quickened. Maybe hearing his voice would make things clearer, or maybe it would only make everything worse. I debated longer than I should have, then tapped the call button before I could overthink it.

The line rang once, twice, then clicked. His voice came through sharp with alarm. “Where are you?”

“I’m safe,” I replied, keeping my tone calm. Neutral.

“Where?” His urgency cut through the static. “It’s going to snow, Morgan.”

“I know. I’m at a motel.” I exhaled slowly, bracing myself for the inevitable pushback.

“For how long?”

“Two days. I won’t head out until the storm clears.”

He let out a frustrated breath, the kind that spoke volumes. “You should come home. I could drive up and get you. It won’t start snowing until later this evening.”

“Michael, that’s not necessary. Really, I’m safe.”

“I don’t like this, Morgan. I love you, and I want to make sure you’re okay.” His voice softened, but there was an edge beneath it. “Have you made a decision?”

My throat tightened. “No. Not yet. I… I need more time.”

“I’ve got time,” he said, though the impatience in his tone betrayed him. “But you know I hate waiting.”

I smiled faintly, though he couldn’t see it. “Yes, I do, but you don’t have a choice.”

His frustration spilled over. “This isn’t fair, and you know it’s not.”

I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temple. “You can say it’s unfair, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a terrible person for dragging this out. I can’t make a decision like this when so much is at stake. Our future is hanging in the balance, Michael.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “If you pick him, you’re sentencing me to hell. I can’t live without you.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Funny. He says the same thing.”

Michael’s voice was sharp, almost pleading. “But does he mean it?”

“Please, Michael,” I whispered. “Give me a few more days. I’ll have an answer.”

He hesitated, then sighed heavily. “This waiting… it’s torture. Take care of yourself, okay?”

The line clicked dead before I could respond. I stared at my phone, the emptiness of the conversation echoing in the silence of the room. The television droned on in the background, but I barely heard it.

I unwrapped a peppermint candy and popped it into my mouth, hoping the sharp mint would settle my stomach. But before I could relax, my phone chirped with an incoming email. Without thinking, I swiped to open it—and froze.

The breath left my body in a rush. A video clip filled the screen, showing Slade at a restaurant. My husband, leaning in to kiss a younger woman. Their smiles were soft, intimate—familiar. Too familiar.

I stared at the scene, bile rising in my throat. They looked cozy, comfortable. The kind of ease that comes with affection, with something more than just a fleeting affair. My fingers trembled as I tried to respond to the email, but the message bounced back. The sender no longer existed. A ghost.

Slade had lied. Just like his father, keeping women on the side. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the questions that now flooded my mind. Was this why he’d been pushing for a baby? To keep me occupied, too distracted to notice his infidelity?

My stomach churned as I replayed the video. There he was, looking at her the way he used to look at me. His smile, that effortless charm—it felt like a knife to the gut. He told me he wanted us to last. But now… I wasn’t so sure.

What had changed between us? My mind raced, trying to pinpoint the moment when we’d shifted. I hadn’t changed. I was still the same woman he’d married.

The knot in my chest tightened until it felt unbearable. I set my phone on the pine nightstand, my fingers numb and crawled beneath the covers. The soft glow of the television flickered against the walls, but I barely noticed.

I felt beaten down. Hollow. And despite the warmth of the room, I couldn’t shake the cold that settled deep in my bones.