Chapter 2: The Night Aaron Returned

I used to always tell him, “You shouldn’t risk your life just for a few more views.” He never listened.

He’d roll his eyes and tell me I sounded like his mom. I never knew if he actually listened, but I had to try.

But he’d say, “If I don’t take risks, you gonna pay my bills?”

He always had a comeback. That was Aaron—never serious for more than a minute at a time.

I’d reply, “I won’t pay your bills, but I can help you look after Natalie.”

I tried to keep it light, but there was always a little truth in the joke. Sometimes I wondered if he ever noticed.

Aaron would laugh. “Get outta here.” Then, grinning, “It’s been eight years—are you still hung up on my wife?”

He’d punch my shoulder, grin that lopsided grin, and I’d pretend to be offended. For a second, I’d almost forget the ache in my chest.

Natalie, Aaron, and I—the three of us were best friends in college.

We were inseparable back then. Movie nights. Taco Bell runs at 2 a.m. Finals crammed in the same dorm room. I still have a Polaroid of us at graduation, arms around each other, smiling like idiots.

Both Aaron and I liked Natalie, but in the end, she chose Aaron.

No drama, no betrayal—just the way things shook out. For a while, I let myself hope. Then I let it go.

I understood. Aaron was six feet tall and into every kind of outdoor sport back then.

He was the life of every party, always dragging us out to hike or kayak or try some new sport he’d seen on TV. Compared to him, I was just the bookish sidekick.

If I were her, I’d probably have picked Aaron too.

That thought used to sting. Now it just feels honest. Some people have a gravity you can’t fight.

But I had thick skin. Even after they got together, I still tagged along.

Third wheel? Maybe. But they never made me feel like one.

After graduation, Aaron worked in education and training, but lost his job about a year and a half ago.

It hit him hard. He tried to play it cool, but I could see the worry lines start to show.

He and Natalie were saving up to buy a house and get married. YouTube seemed like the next big thing, and since he loved the outdoors, he started making adventure videos. He figured it might be their ticket out.

I remember when he bought his first GoPro. He called me up, voice buzzing with excitement, telling me this was it—his shot at something real. Natalie was supportive, but I could tell she was nervous. Who wouldn’t be?

He went to all sorts of remote places, basically filming a low-budget version of “MythBusters.”

Sometimes I’d help him brainstorm video ideas. We’d joke about how he’d end up on the news one day—"Local Idiot Found Hanging From Cliff, Says It Was For Science."

Knowing it might not be safe, he called in two experienced hiking buddies this time, before heading to Black Ridge.

He wasn’t reckless. He did his homework, made plans, brought people he trusted.

But nobody thought something would actually go wrong.

That’s the thing about accidents. They don’t care about your plans. They just happen, and you’re left picking up the pieces.

I remember before Aaron left, he mysteriously told me he wasn’t just going to shoot videos, but also to find something.

He wouldn’t say what—just kept dropping hints, like he was starring in his own adventure movie. Honestly, I thought he was just messing with me. But there was a spark in his eye I hadn’t seen in a while.

He said, all fired up, “If I find it, man, I’ll finally make it big.”

He sounded like a kid on Christmas Eve. I almost believed him.

“Natalie won’t have to struggle with me anymore.”

His voice got quiet when he said that. I knew he hated feeling like a burden. He wanted to give her the world.

“Looking for treasure?” I asked, half-joking.

It was a running joke between us—every remote trip was a treasure hunt. But this time, he didn’t laugh it off.

So I Googled “Black Ridge Mountain treasure.”

It was late, I remember, and I was half-asleep. Still, curiosity got the better of me.

The info said that during the Prohibition era, some bootleggers hid a stash of gold bars in the Black Ridge Mountains.

The stories read like something out of a pulp novel—gangsters, shootouts, hidden loot. The kind of thing that gets recycled every few years when the news is slow.

But come on, that was obviously just clickbait. I figured it was all nonsense.

I rolled my eyes and sent Aaron a screenshot with a bunch of laughing emojis. I figured he’d get a kick out of it.

I told him, “Come on, you went to college for four years—don’t tell me you actually buy into that stuff.”

He just grinned, like he knew something I didn’t. That look always drove me nuts.

Aaron just gave me a meaningful smile.

He was good at that—leaving you hanging, making you wonder. I let it go, figured he’d tell me if there was something real.

After Aaron died, I only saw Natalie twice.

Once at her apartment, the night it happened. Once at the funeral. Both times, she seemed like a ghost herself.

We barely spoke. There was nothing to say that would make any of it better.

At the funeral, Natalie barely showed any emotion. She looked numb the whole time.

People grieve in different ways. Some cry, some get angry. Natalie just seemed... empty. Like she’d run out of tears before the rest of us even started.

Maybe she was just too sad. Or maybe she felt guilty.

I kept wondering if there was more to it—some secret she was carrying, something she wished she’d said or done. But I never asked. It didn’t feel like my place.

Aaron had complained to me before he died that they’d been arguing more and more lately.

He’d call me late at night, voice low so she wouldn’t hear. I tried to give advice, but I’m no expert on relationships.

“It’s all about money. If I’d known Natalie wanted so much, I should’ve just let her be with you.”

He said it like a joke, but there was an edge to it. I knew he was hurting, but I didn’t know how to help.

Aaron’s bitter smile still haunts me.

I see it sometimes when I close my eyes—a flash of regret, of things left unsaid.

I remember giving him a hard punch back then.

Not enough to hurt, just enough to snap him out of it. Sometimes your best friend needs a reality check.

I told him, “She’s with you now. Be a man and take care of her.”

He just nodded, rubbing his arm, and promised he would. I believed him.

After the funeral, I kept my distance. Eventually, I just deleted her from Facebook.

It felt harsh, but I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want to be a reminder of what she’d lost—or what I still felt.

Maybe I should’ve comforted her. Maybe I should’ve spent more time with her.

I replayed that decision a hundred times. Maybe I was a coward. Maybe I just didn’t want to get hurt again.

But would that be fair to Aaron, who’s gone?

The question kept me up at night. Loyalty, guilt, longing—all tangled up in a knot I couldn’t untie.

Honestly, deep down, I still had feelings for her.

There it is—the truth I never said out loud. It’s ugly, but it’s real.

It’s better this way. For her, for me, for Aaron.

I told myself that, over and over. Sometimes it even worked.

I planned to cut her off for good.

I blocked her number, archived our old messages. Tried to move on, the way you’re supposed to.

But half a year later, late one night, I suddenly got a call from her.

My phone lit up at 2:13 AM. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. But her name was right there on the screen, and my heart started racing.

Her voice trembled. She told me something I couldn’t believe.