"Living in Vermont," I said. "Hiking, camping, learning to survive."
He set me up with gear that was functional instead of fashionable. Showed me the difference between equipment that looked good and equipment that worked. Taught me how to layer properly, how to choose boots that would actually support me, how to pack a bag for real wilderness instead of Instagram photos.
When I left, I had everything I needed to survive in Sam's world. Not because I expected him to take care of me, but because I was going to take care of myself.
I took an intensive wilderness first aid course online, studying every night after transitioning my cases. Learned about hypothermia, frostbite, altitude sickness. Learned how to treat injuries, build shelters, find water.
Learned all the things Sam had tried to teach me in three days, except this time I was paying attention.
I set up my legal consulting LLC, designed a website, reached out to former clients who might need remote services. I could do this. I could build a life that wasn't tied to eighty-hour weeksand partnership tracks and slowly drowning in other people's expectations.
I could save myself.
And then maybe—maybe—Sam would want to be part of the life I was building.
On my last day in Manhattan, I stood in my empty apartment, looking out at the skyline I'd thought represented success.
Now it just looked like a prison I'd finally escaped.
My car was packed. My forwarding address was a PO box in Burke, Vermont. My phone had seventeen messages from former colleagues telling me I was insane.
But I felt saner than I had in years.
I locked the apartment door for the last time and started driving north.
Chapter 11
Sam
I didn't sleep that night.
Neil's words circled in my head like vultures:You gave her a test. You made her prove she loved you in three hours.
By dawn, I knew what I had to do. I was going to Manhattan. Today.
I was throwing gear into my truck when vehicles approached. All three brothers pulled up, blocking me in.
"Going somewhere?" Kevin asked.
"Manhattan. I need to tell her I was wrong—"
"No." Shane stepped in front of my truck. "You're not."
"Get out of my way—"
"Sam." Kevin's voice cut through my desperation. "Stop. Think. You're about to drive twelve hours to Manhattan looking like you've been living in the woods, and do what exactly?"
"Apologize. Tell her I was wrong about the ultimatum—"
"You look insane," Neil said bluntly. "You haven't slept. You're running on rage and coffee. You're going to scare her, not win her back."
"I don't care how I look—"
"But she will." Shane's voice was quiet but firm. "Brother, you're about to prove to her that you're exactly as unstable as she probably fears. That you can't give her space. That you're still the guy who demands immediate answers."
The words hit like cold water.
"What am I supposed to do? Just sit here?"
