THE WOLF’S CURSE

Chapter 2

Alec

The morning air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. I heave my oversized hiking bag into the back seat of my Jeep, adjusting it so it doesn’t crush the Tupperware container holding Dad’s ashes. I’ve double-checked everything—tent, sleeping bag, food, water, first aid kit, even the journal I plan to sketch in. It’s all there, neatly packed and ready to go.

I’m about to climb into the driver’s seat when I hear the front door slam. Jamie comes rushing outside, her blonde hair catching the sunlight, a small container clutched in her hands.

“Here,” she says, slightly out of breath as she shoves the container at me. “I made them for you. Your favorite.”

I open the lid, and the smell of chocolate chip cookies fills my senses. Warm, buttery, and exactly like the ones she made for me on our first date. I close the container and smile, pulling her into a hug so tight it feels like I’m trying to memorize the way she fits against me. There’s a strange, gnawing feeling in my chest, like some part of me isn’t sure if I’ll see her again. I brush it off quickly, chalking it up to nerves.

“Thank you,” I murmur into her hair.

She pulls back just enough to look up at me, her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I love you, Jamie Miller,” I whisper, my voice soft but steady.

She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You better come back to me, Alec Jones .”

I grin, nodding. “Nothing could keep me away.”

She chews on her bottom lip, a nervous habit I’ve always found endearing, and tugs a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll hold you to that,” she says, her voice trembling just enough for me to notice.

“I’ll message you every day,” I promise, my thumb brushing her cheek. “I’ve got the satellite phone, remember? Even if there’s no signal, I’ll find a way to check in.”

She nods, swallowing hard. “You better get going. You don’t want to get there in the dark.”

I nod, but the lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. I don’t want to leave her, not like this, not with that look in her eyes. But I have to do this. For Dad. For me.

I climb into the Jeep and start the engine, rolling down the window as Jamie steps back onto the porch. She wraps her arms around herself, watching me with that same worried expression.

“Drive safe,” she calls out.

“Always do,” I reply, forcing a smile.

As I pull out of the driveway, I glance in the rearview mirror. Jamie is still standing there, her figure growing smaller and smaller until I turn the corner and she disappears from view.

The road stretches out ahead of me, winding through the foothills and into the mountains. The Black Forest is a four-hour drive, and I’ve got plenty of time to think. Too much time, maybe. My mind keeps drifting back to Jamie, to the way she looked at me, like she was trying to memorize my face.

I shake my head, focusing on the road. This trip is about Dad, about honoring his memory and finally letting go of the guilt that’s been eating at me. But as the miles roll by, that strange feeling in my chest lingers, growing heavier with every passing minute.

The highway stretches out before me, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the rolling foothills. The sun is high now, casting long shadows across the road, and the Jeep hums steadily beneath me. But my mind isn’t on the drive. It’s back in Rocky Mountain National Park, years ago, when I was seven and Dad took me on my first camping trip.

I can still see it so clearly—the way the sunlight filtered through the tall pines, the smell of damp earth and wood smoke, the sound of the creek bubbling nearby. Dad had set up the tent while I “helped,” which mostly meant handing him random sticks and asking a million questions.

“Alright, kiddo,” he’d said, crouching down with a length of rope in his hands. “Time to teach you something important.”

I’d watched, wide-eyed, as his calloused fingers worked the rope into a perfect bowline knot. “This one’s called the king of knots,” he’d explained, his voice warm with pride. “It’s strong, it’s reliable, and it won’t let you down. Just like you, buddy.”

I’d practiced it over and over that weekend, my small hands fumbling with the rope until I finally got it right. Dad had grinned, ruffling my hair. “That’s my boy.”

My fist tightens on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. The memory is so vivid it hurts, like a fresh wound ripped open. I miss him. God, I miss him so much it feels like a physical ache, a weight pressing down on my chest.

Tears well up behind my eyes, and I blink them back, focusing on the road. But the memories keep coming, unbidden.

Dad teaching me how to fish, his hands guiding mine as I cast the line.

Dad laughing as I tried to roast marshmallows, only to set them on fire every time.

Dad pointing out constellations in the night sky, his voice low and steady as he told me the stories behind them.

He was my hero. My anchor. And now he’s gone.

I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, my breath hitching. The Tupperware container sits on the passenger seat, a stark reminder of why I’m doing this. Half of Dad’s ashes, waiting to be scattered in the place he loved most.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the end. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

The road blurs in front of me, and I pull over onto the shoulder, my hands trembling as I grip the wheel. I can’t drive like this. Not when the grief feels like it’s swallowing me whole.

I sit there for what feels like forever, the engine idling, my chest heaving as I try to steady my breathing. The mountains loom in the distance, their peaks sharp against the sky. The Black Forest is out there, waiting for me.

Finally, I take a deep breath and pull back onto the road. The memories don’t stop, but I let them come now, each one a bittersweet reminder of the man who shaped me.

By the time I reach the trailhead, the sun is lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the parking lot. I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulders, and take one last look at the Jeep.

“This is for you, Dad,” I say quietly, my voice steady now. “I’ll make you proud.”