The cabin trip has been planned for months.
Jake organized it back in March, before the coma, before the tournament, before my entire life rearranged itself around a man who's now pulling away.
A weekend in the mountains with the friend group I've been neglecting—four days of hiking, drinking, escaping the city. I said yes when the invite came, back when saying yes to things felt possible.
Now, standing in my apartment with a half-packed bag at my feet, all I can think about is how three hours from cell service means three hours where I can't check if Simon's texted.
Three hours where Naomi could be making her move while I'm stuck on a mountain watching people I barely remember how to talk to.
"You should go." Simon says this over the phone, his voice tired in a way that's become familiar. "Seriously, Gordon. When's the last time you did something for yourself that wasn't about me or the gym or any of this mess?"
"I don't want to leave right now. Things are…"
"Things are complicated. They're going to be complicated whether you're here or not." A pause, something heavy in the silence. "Maybe we both need space to think. Time apart might give us some clarity."
The words land like a punch to the sternum. Space, clarity, the vocabulary of breakups dressed up as self-care.
"Simon, if you're trying to tell me something…"
"I'm not trying to tell you anything except go on your trip. Be with your friends. Remember what your life looked like before everything got so tangled up in mine." His voice softens slightly. "I'll be here when you get back. I promise."
"That sounds like a goodbye."
"It's not a goodbye. It's a ‘see you later’." Another pause. "I love you, Gordon, that hasn't changed. I just need to figure some things out, and I think you do too."
I don't know how to argue with someone who's telling me they love me while also pushing me away. So I finish packing, I get in Jake's car when it pulls up outside my building.
I let myself be driven three hours into mountains that don't care about Naomi Chen or failing gyms or relationships built on secrets.
The cabin is beautiful, I'll give it that.
Nestled in a valley surrounded by pines, it looks like something from a postcard—all exposed wood and stone chimneys and windows that frame views of peaks still dusted with late-spring snow.
Jake's family owns it, has owned it for generations, and he moves through the space with the ease of someone returning home.
"Dude, you look like shit." This is Marcus, pressing a beer into my hand before I've even set down my bag. "No offense, but seriously—you okay?"
"Fine." The word tastes like a lie. "Just tired. It's been a long few months."
"The coma thing, right? Jake mentioned it." Marcus shakes his head, settling into a chair by the fireplace. "That's insane, man. Twenty-seven days? I can't even imagine."
"It was surreal." I don't elaborate. Can't explain that the surreal part wasn't the coma—it was everything that happened inside it. "I'm still recovering. Physically, mentally, all of it."
"Well, you're in the right place." He gestures at the windows, the mountains, the impossible blue of the sky. "Nothing heals like nature and alcohol, that's what I always say."
The company is pleasant enough. Jake, Marcus, two other guys from college whose names I keep forgetting and having to re-remember. We hike during the day, drink around the fire at night, talk about nothing that matters. It should feel like a vacation. Instead, it feels like exile.
My mind stays three hours away, trapped in a city where Naomi is circling and Simon's family is drowning and everything I care about is happening without me.
I check my phone obsessively for the first few hours. Watch the bars dwindle from three to two to one as we climb deeper into the mountains.
By the time we reach the cabin, the signal is gone completely—just empty bars mocking me every time I pull the screen from my pocket.
"No service up here," Jake confirms, catching me staring at my phone for the tenth time in an hour. "That's kind of the point. Disconnect, you know? Be present."
"Right." I shove the phone back in my pocket. "Present. Got it."
But I can't be present. I can't stop thinking about what's happening in the city—what Naomi is offering, what Simon is considering, what decisions are being made while I'm stuck on a mountain with no way to intervene.
I spend hours staring at those empty bars like I can will them back to life. Climb to higher ground during breaks, holding my phone to empty sky, searching for even a flicker of connection.
Nothing—just silence, and mountains, and the growing certainty that everything is falling apart three hours away.
The trip stretches from a weekend to four days when the storm hits.
It rolls in on Sunday night—thunder cracking across the peaks, rain so heavy it sounds like applause against the roof. By Monday morning, the road out is flooded. Mudslides have blocked two of the three routes back to civilization.
Jake calls the ranger station on the cabin's ancient landline and gets the same answer he expected: stay put. Wait it out. The storm should pass in a day or two.
A day or two becomes three.
I pace the cabin like a caged animal, driving the others crazy with my restlessness. Sleep becomes impossible—I lie awake listening to rain hammer the windows, imagining all the things that could be happening without me.
Simon at dinner with Naomi. Simon accepting her father's offer. Simon deciding that the easy path is easier than the complicated truth, that a relationship that makes sense is worth more than one that doesn't.
On the third day, I hike to the highest ridge I can find.
The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and I climb through mud and wet brush until I'm standing on a rock outcropping with a view of the entire valley.
I pull out my phone—battery at twelve percent now, drained from all my futile checking—and hold it to the empty sky like an offering to gods who aren't listening.
No signal, no bars, no way to reach Simon, no way to know if he's tried to reach me. I stand there for an hour, getting soaked, feeling more alone than I've ever felt in my life.
On the fourth night, the storm finally breaks.
The clouds part like curtains, revealing stars so bright they hurt to look at.
Jake declares the roads should be passable by morning, and everyone celebrates with the last of the whiskey, but I'm already calculating drive times. Already planning to leave at first light, before the others wake up, before anything else can delay me.
I leave at 3 AM instead.
The roads are treacherous—slick with mud, branches scattered across the pavement, visibility minimal even with high beams.
I drive like I'm fleeing something, hands white-knuckled on the wheel, pushing speeds that would terrify me under normal circumstances. Three hours of darkness and danger, my dead phone sitting useless in the passenger seat.
I pull into my apartment complex as dawn starts bleeding across the horizon. My hands are shaking as I fumble with my keys, as I plug my phone into the charger in my living room, as I wait the agonizing minutes for the screen to illuminate.
When it does, the notifications cascade down like a waterfall.
Eleven missed calls, thirty-two text messages, all from Simon.
Whatever happened, it's clearly nothing good.
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