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“Oh, this looks awful.” Hal groans. “It’s a strategy game.”
“A what?” I ask her.
“I read about this before I came here. Apparently, you have to choose the proper reaction before you can move on to the next station—but there aren’t straightforward situations like, ‘Should you punch the lady at Walmart?’ No, it’s harder than that.”
I nod my head, my curiosity piqued. “This will be interesting, then.”
I look up at Cameron, who looks a little more than disappointed right now. I nearly laugh as I picture him trying to win this game.
I don’t think it matters how athletic someone is for this.
We listen to Tina’s instructions, and then the counselors head to their booths. Dr. Shadid is at the furthest position—the final booth to pass before finishing the course. Tina positions everyone in a line, Cameron and I being the first two.
“Is it okay if I take some pictures?” I ask Tina, who gives me a funny look.
“No, not on group activities. The other participants haven’t consented to their journeys being documented by a social media influencer.”
“I’m not a—”
“No pictures,” she cuts me off with a gaudy smile. “It’s just common protocol. That being said, if you’d like to skip this exercise, you’re more than welcome to. You can go back to the main lodge and use the Wi-Fi for whatever you need.”
I bite down on my lip, looking over at Cameron. Considering I don’t need to learn how to control my temper, that sounds really nice right now. “I think ... I think I’ll do that, actually.”
“Perfect. You can regroup with your client at the end of the day. We’re going to be spending the rest of the day doing group activities.” Tina then turns her attention back to the group.
“Have a good day, Nila,” Cameron says, his voice with an edge of something that I can’t decipher. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, you, too,” I tell him before leaving the group and walking the gravel trail back toward the lodge. I untie my flannel from around my waist and slide my arms into it, the breeze leaving me with a chill.
When I arrive at the lodge, the emptiness is welcoming. Ever since we arrived, I haven’t had much time to myself, and now, given the opportunity, it feels like a dream.
“Can I help you?” one of the front ladies working the sign-in desk calls out to me.
I walk over to her, peeking over the desk at the young woman. “I just need the Wi-Fi password. I’m working for Cameron Hasten’s management team.”
“Ah, yes.” She nods. “Just give me a moment and I’ll write down the staff password for you. It won’t reach all the way to your cabin, so you’ll have to hang out around here. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine, thank you,” I tell her as I take the slip of paper from her hand. I wish I would’ve brought my laptop with me, but I don’t feel like walking all the way back to the cabin to retrieve it.
I glance around the empty lobby and see a lounge area on the far side. I make my way there, ignoring all the brochures lining the wall. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably assume this place is a tourist resort, but if you pick up the brochure, it’s all focused on mental health.
I plop down on one of the couches and pull my knees up to my chest as I connect to the internet. My phone fills with notifications and messages, though none of them are all that important. I mindlessly scroll through them anyway, more out of habit than anything else. I’m beginning to realize that social media has become a way for me to escape reality, a way to pretend that everything is okay in my life.
I eventually make my way to Cameron’s profile, which I’m signed into. He’s got thousands of direct messages. Thousands. And most are from women.
There’s no way I could handle that.
I’d probably be jealous all the time. At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself. Which would make me no better than my ex. It would be miserable to deal with women throwing themselves at your boyfriend all the time ... right?
My stomach knots up, but not in a way that confirms what I’m trying to convince myself of.
I focus on updating his profile and then catching up on emails. I have a few job prospects lined up after this is over, but I can’t confirm them until I know this will be wrapped up.
Assuming there are no more curveballs thrown.
Hours pass, and I grab a snack from the vending machine. Apparently, the group isn’t coming back here for lunch. However, when the main door eventually opens sometime in the late afternoon, I find myself hopeful when I look up.
Ugh. Nope. Not Cameron.
