Catching the Last High

Chapter 2: The Gathering:

The sun had barely risen over the hills surrounding Maple Falls, casting a soft, golden light over the town as it slowly came to life. The streets were quiet, with only a few early risers out for their morning walks. Jesse Parker was not one of them. He was already at work, under the hood of an old Chevy, the smell of oil and grease filling the air as he tightened a stubborn bolt. The auto shop had been in his family for generations, and while it had seen better days, it was still standing—much like Jesse himself.

His phone, resting on the workbench, buzzed with a message. He wiped his hands on a rag and picked it up, squinting at the screen. Tom’s text from last night had been a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Jesse had spent the better part of the night thinking about it, remembering the days when they all used to hang out at the cabin, back when life was simpler and the future seemed full of endless possibilities.

One last weekend at the cabin?

The words had stirred something in Jesse, a mix of nostalgia and longing for a time when he didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. The shop was struggling, and every day felt like a battle to keep it afloat. But maybe, just maybe, a weekend away would be exactly what he needed to clear his head and figure out a way forward.

Hell yeah, man. It’s been too long. I’ll bring the beer.

He’d sent the reply without hesitation, and now, as he looked out at the quiet street in front of the shop, he felt a flicker of excitement. It had been years since they’d all been together like this. Maybe things had changed, but some bonds were stronger than time.

The sound of an engine pulling into the lot drew his attention. A pickup truck came to a stop, and Jesse recognized the driver immediately. It was Old Man Thompson, one of the shop’s few remaining loyal customers. Thompson was a grizzled man in his seventies, with a face weathered by time and a life lived hard. He stepped out of the truck, moving slowly, his joints stiff with age.

“Morning, Jesse,” Thompson greeted, his voice rough but warm.

“Morning, Mr. Thompson,” Jesse replied, wiping his hands again and walking over. “What can I do for you?”

Thompson chuckled. “Same as always. Ol’ Bessie here’s been making a noise I don’t much like. Thought I’d bring her in before she quits on me altogether.”

Jesse nodded, listening to the familiar rattle of the old truck’s engine. “I’ll take a look. Shouldn’t be anything too serious.”

“Good, good,” Thompson said, leaning against the truck. He paused for a moment, looking Jesse up and down. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind, son.”

Jesse shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “Just thinking about the weekend. Heading up to the cabin with some old friends.”

Thompson raised an eyebrow. “That so? Well, that sounds like just what you need. Ain’t nothing like a trip to the lake to clear your head.”

Jesse smiled. “Yeah, I’m hoping it’ll do the trick.”

Thompson gave a nod, his eyes softening. “You’ve been working too hard, Jesse. Don’t let that shop run you into the ground. Sometimes you gotta step back and take a breath.”

The words struck a chord, and Jesse felt a lump form in his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Thompson patted him on the shoulder before turning to head into the small waiting area. “Take your time with Bessie. I’ll be inside.”

Jesse watched him go, then turned back to the truck. As he started working on the engine, his thoughts drifted to the weekend ahead. It wasn’t just the shop weighing on him—there were other things, too. Things he hadn’t talked about with anyone. But maybe this weekend, with Tom, Sara, and Mike, he’d finally be able to get it all off his chest.

Sara Morales was in the middle of the chaos that was the morning news. The control room was a hive of activity, with producers, directors, and techs all working together to get the segment ready for air. Sara stood at the center of it all, headphones on, eyes on the multiple screens in front of her. She thrived in the fast-paced environment, but lately, the pressure had been getting to her. The ethical dilemma she was facing with an upcoming story weighed heavily on her mind, and she found herself questioning the direction her career was taking.

The ding of her phone pulled her attention away for just a moment. She glanced at it, seeing the group chat light up with more details about the cabin trip. The thought of getting away from it all, even just for a weekend, was incredibly tempting. She needed a break—a chance to breathe and figure out what her next move would be.

Sara replied quickly, confirming her plans to join the others at the cabin. But as soon as she sent the message, the doubts began to creep in. Could she really afford to take time off? The story she was working on could be a career-defining moment, but it could also cost her something much more important—her integrity.

She pushed the thoughts aside as the director called for final checks. The segment was about to go live, and she had no time to dwell on personal issues. But even as the cameras rolled and the anchors started speaking, Sara’s mind was already miles away, in a small cabin by a lake, surrounded by the people who knew her better than anyone else.

Mike Davis stepped out of the cab and into the bustling chaos of JFK Airport. The city that never slept was in full swing, even this early in the morning, with travelers rushing to catch flights and the air thick with the scent of coffee and exhaust. Mike, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, navigated through the crowds with practiced ease. He had a flight to catch to Europe later that day, where he was scheduled to interview Jax Slade, one of the biggest names in rock music. It was a big deal—one that could make or break his career at Amplified.

But as he stood in line to check in, his mind wandered back to the text from Tom. The cabin, the lake, the memories of a simpler time when all that mattered was friendship and a good time. Mike had always been the one to leave, to chase after the next big story or adventure, but lately, he’d been feeling the wear of it all. The constant travel, and the pressure to keep up with the fast-paced world of music journalism—it was starting to take a toll.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to the group, letting them know he was in. He’d have to leave early, of course—there was no getting around the interview. But he figured he could at least spend a night at the cabin, reconnect with the people who had been there before the world got so complicated.

As he boarded the plane, Mike couldn’t shake the feeling that this trip might be more important than any interview. There was something about going back to that cabin, back to the friends who knew him before he became Mike Davis, the rock journalist, that felt crucial. It was something he needed to do, not just for the sake of nostalgia, but for himself.

The plane took off, lifting him high above the city, and as the skyline faded into the distance, Mike felt a pang of longing for the first time in a long while. It was a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge—a need for something real, something solid, that wasn’t tied to his career or the next big scoop.

As the plane climbed higher, Mike leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and let himself think about the cabin, the lake, and the friends he hadn’t seen in far too long.

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