I immediately regret my words when her head drops between her shoulders.
With a quiet sob, she breaks. My strong, determined girl crumbles, crying into her hands, her tiny body drawing in on itself like a wounded animal.
“Hey, come here.” I pull her into my arms, crushing her to my chest as she continues to sob. I push her sweaty hair out of her face and kiss her cheek. “Shh. Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s over, yeah? Does it hurt?”
She shakes her head and clutches onto my shirt. “I hate it here,” she cries, rubbing her face into my neck, her body shaking as she draws me closer. “I hate hiking. I hate all of it. Bugs and my smelly bug spray. All those trees you pointed out. The flowers. Fuck, I hate flowers, Mason. I fucking hate them.”
She sniffs and cries some more. I hold her tighter, running my fingers through her hair and rubbing her back.
“I was lying when I said I loved it. I don’t love it at all. I want to go.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “Okay. We can go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Hey.” I tilt her chin up.
Her face is red, streaked with tears. Her eyes swollen and sad. She looks miserable and scared, and the worst part is she wouldn’t look this way if it wasn’t for me.
I did this.
I brought her out here and made her uncomfortable. I saw her anxiety and kept fucking pushing because I thought she’d enjoy what we were doing. Maybe not all of it, and maybe not right away, but like everything else with Brooke, I was willing to wait for that moment. Guide her to where I wanted her to be with me.
Fucking selfish is what I am. She probably hates me for this, and if she does I don’t blame her. I feel like the biggest arsehole on the planet.
“Come on.”
I stand, bringing her with me and setting her on her feet. I quickly pack everything away into my bag.
I don’t give her the chance to help. She shouldn’t have to. This is all my doing. My bloody mess I need to clean up.
Same goes for the campsite.
Once we make it back, Brooke stands off to the side while I pack up the tent and stow our belongings into our separate bags. I load up my arms with the gear and the cooler. She grabs the sleeping bag, squeezing it against her chest just like she did when we arrived yesterday. Her head stays lowered as she stares at the ground.
Fuck. She can’t even look at me now.
“I’m sorry, Brooke,” I tell her, ready to drop to my knees and beg for this woman’s forgiveness.
She lifts her eyes and nods, acknowledging me, then drops her chin against the sleeping bag and hugs it tighter.
With a jerk of my head, I motion for her to walk in front on the path that leads to the parking lot.
She’s ready to go. I won’t keep her here any longer.
The trip home is different than every other time I’ve been in the car with Brooke. I’m the one turning up the volume on the stereo, but not because I’m anxious or avoiding conversation.
I hate silence. I hate how quiet we’re both being, but somehow I know she prefers music to hearing my voice right now.
She’s completely shut off from me. Head turned and eyes engaged out the window. She hasn’t looked at me once since we pulled out of the lot. I doubt she wants to talk.
I park in front of the studio and grab Brooke’s bag out of the back of the car. I’m ready to carry it for her when she blocks my path with her body and with quick hands, takes the bag away from me.
“It’s fine. I got it.” She slides it up her arm and over her shoulder, huffing a loud breath after. Her eyes slowly reach mine.
She looks unsure of what to say next, if anything.
I’m unsure too.
I take a step back and gesture at her leg. “Clean that again when you get home, and keep some antibiotic ointment on it. You should be fine, but if it gets infected or you start running a fever, you need to go to the hospital.”