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“Yes,” she says simply.
Just like that, I’ve hit a dead end. I suck at small talk.
“You built your shelter by yourself?”
The look she gives me is withering. “No, the forest creatures helped me, you know, like the mice from Cinderella?”
I press my lips tight against a laugh, and she looks absolutely mortified. As if she didn’t mean to say it at all. Like it was just a sarcastic thought that somehow managed to sneak past her defenses. At least she’s talking, so I try asking something else I’m really curious about.
“Where’d you learn how to make that trigger snare?”
That makes her grin. It’s completely different from her shy smiles before. It lights up her face and fucking dazzles me.
“You found it, huh?” She sounds proud of herself.
“I didn’t just find it. I tripped it.”
She frowns. “Wait, so it didn’t work?”
“Oh, it worked just fine. I’d be walking with a spear through my chest if Camden hadn’t knocked me out of the way.”
“Sorry for almost killing you,” she says.
“No, you’re not,” I tell her, raising a brow. She looked way more disappointed that her trap might have failed than worried about my safety. I might as well call her out on it.
“Fine,” she admits. “I’m not sorry. But I didn’t set it for you so don’t take it personally.”
“That’s what Denver said,” I groan. “But really, where’d you learn?”
“My momma.”
I bark out a laugh. It makes the guys in front of us turn around, expressions of confusion on their faces. Might be the first time they’ve heard me laugh.
“All my mom ever taught me to do was make spaghetti and parallel park,” I explain. “Showing me how to sharpen a spear wasn’t on the agenda.”
Brooklyn’s expression turns wistful. “Momma was full of surprises. She was so curious, and she hated not knowing how to do something. Anytime she found out about something new, she had to learn how to do it herself. Baking bread, salsa dancing, pottery—she did it all.”
I almost stumble over a root because I can’t take my eyes away from Brooklyn’s face. She lights up when she talks about her mother. The memories have unlocked something in her—where every word sounded forced before, now they flow easily.
“The best memories from my childhood were out here, with her. She’d take me hiking and show me everything she knew about the woods. How to forage for food, or build a shelter, or set a trap—for an animal or a person. The lessons were real, but they always felt like a game. Like something Momma and I were playing together. I had no idea why she was teaching me how to snare rabbits instead of how to play the piano or something. But she knew that one day, I’d need those lessons to survive.”
Wait, what? Why would her mother assume Brooklyn would need to build a shelter and feed herself in the wilderness? Especially when her family had a mansion like that.
Brooklyn stops talking abruptly, her lips pursed once again. She regrets telling me that, which only makes me more curious.
“Why did she think you’d need the lessons?” I ask, my voice soft.
This time, she doesn’t even give me a word. She shakes her head, clearly done talking. I grind my teeth in annoyance. I know there’s a reason, right under the surface. It might be the same reason she looked so unhappy. Fuck, I wish there was some way I could get her to confide in me.
I shouldn’t push her. If she’s like me, she’ll talk when she’s ready. My focus should stay on earning her trust instead of rushing her to share her secrets with me. Even though I’m dying to know the truth, I keep my mouth shut.
Then Brooklyn hisses in pain and crumples to the ground. Seeing her go down causes my heart to practically stop. I thought she might have twisted her ankle until I see her clutching her stomach. Fuck, the pain from her heat is worse.
I’m on my knees, brushing her hair back from her face before I’m even aware I’m doing it. “Hey, baby, are you okay?” I croon.
She blinks back the tears in her mismatched eyes. She’s still trying to be strong, even while she’s obviously in agony.
“I’m fine,” she insists.
