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He wasn’t moving. Was barely breathing. I checked his pulse.
I fucking cried over my friend’s body.
“When the helicopter came,” I say in a heavy breath, “I fucking hobbled in and that’s when…” I choke on a pained laugh. “Fuck you, Sul.” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut with my fingers. Fuck you for dying on me. “They stopped compressions in the fucking helicopter, and I tried to fight them on it—tried to do it my fucking self. They sedated me, and I passed out. The next time I woke up, I was being wheeled into surgery.”
I lost Adam Sully at twenty-seven, and I thought I’d at least have him for another five fucking years. Not ten, not twenty, but I thought five—just give me five more years with my friend.
And we’ll reach the summit again.
I’d say he’s too young to die, but we know the fucking risks. We talk about them all the time. He’d be the first to tell you his life is cut in half every time he climbs.
Daisy wraps her arm around my waist, her tears dripping again, from her own sorrow. She had a lot of love for Sully. I know he’d miss her too.
“Have his parents…?”
She nods. “They flew in this morning and took his body home.” Her chin trembles. “He’s with his family now.”
I nod. “I think he said he wanted to be fucking cremated.” He also said that he’d rather die on a mountain than die any other way. It meant that he was living—truly living—his life, the life that he made for himself. The life that he loved.
I shut my eyes again, the weight of grief like shackles around me. Like the inked chain drawn on my ribcage, dragging me so far down.
Regardless of my leg.
I’m not sure I can ever climb again.
RYKE MEADOWS
When Daisy leaves my hospital room, I ask her to send in my brother alone first. I pull myself higher against the bed, my biceps and triceps doing all the fucking work. I grimace, my arms about to give out, but I adjust myself somewhat and try to relax.
I don’t bother inspecting the cast on my leg. I just wait. About a minute later, the wooden door swings open and my brother slips inside, closing out everyone behind him.
I scrutinize him, about fifteen feet separating us. His bloodshot eyes dart to all the hanging paper flowers and birds, his complexion fucking pallid, a color I’ve only seen from him when he pukes.
He stands at the end of the bed and tugs at the collar of his black shirt, like it’s stuffy and hot in here.
It’s actually pretty cold.
“You were right,” I suddenly say, the words closing my throat. I have no idea why I fucking say it. Maybe in the back of my mind, I truly believe this now. Or maybe I just thought it’d help him feel better.
Then again, Lo never wanted to be right. Not about this.
I shake my head before he can process my comment. “That was fucking stupid. Forget it.”
“Forgotten,” he says instantly. Then he approaches the plastic frame of my bed, holding onto the end. He eyes my legs—or kind of looks past them, at nothing really at all.
“You okay?” I ask my brother.
His gaze narrows to something fucking brutal, and they finally meet mine. “You’re the one who fell off the side of a fucking cliff,” he snaps. “We need to be focusing on you.”
“I’m alive.”
“Barely.”
I don’t respond to that, and the tension builds as fast as Connor Cobalt can complete a fucking Rubix cube. My relationship with my brother is one of the most precious things I have in this fucking world, and it’s not easy.
Never has been.
I love complicated things, hard things—most rock climbers thrive off them, the challenges, physical and mental. Push through anything. We can.
Part of me is screaming for this, the other part…the other part is slowly, but surely, saying goodbye.
Lo clears his throat, his gaze shifting to the blankets again. “I’m sorry…about Sully. I know what he meant to you.” He twists his wedding band.
I feel like I’m saying the wrong things, but I know he must feel the same exact way right now.
“Take a fucking seat,” I tell him. “Actually bring it closer.” I point at the chair by the foot of the bed.
He glares at the chair like it’s already hounding him. Instead of sitting, he walks closer to the left side of my bed, concentrated on reading my heart rate, oxygen, and blood pressure levels on the fucking monitor. Then he glances over his shoulder, his expression so fucking familiar.
Like he’s searching for a way out.
I know he’s stronger now, but whatever’s eating at him must be dragging him down.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He touches his chest. “I’m a sick fuck, okay?” His words are so sharp they could be laced with glass.
“You’re not,” I refute.
“Yeah I am,” he tells me. “I’m not exactly upset by the outcome here.” His tortured fucking eyes bore into mine. “If things reversed, if you died and your friend lived…I’m just relieved, alright?” His face contorts in a pained half-smile. “How’s that for the sickest fucking human on Earth?”
He looks like he’s about to turn and leave, and I reach out, catching his wrist. “Hey,” I say strongly, the word carrying more severity than I thought it would.
He meets my gaze again.
“You’re not a sick fuck,” I say, passionate about this truth. “I’m your brother, and you didn’t really know Sully. It’s a human reaction, Lo—what you’re feeling, it’s okay, man.” I don’t tell him the rest.
That Sully didn’t even want me to save him. That he asked me to fucking leave him so I could save myself.
Lo lets this sink before shaking off my hand, his throat bobbing. His glare is softer than before. “I told you that we need to be focusing on you, bro.”
I flip him off. “I’m done being the focus of everyone’s attention.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have fallen off the side of a goddamn cliff then.” He grimaces almost immediately after it comes up.
I actually smile. “There he is. My little brother.”
He wipes his eyes with the collar of his shirt and then nods at me. “Are you okay?”
After a long pause, I say, “No.”
He nods again and then drags the chair next to my heart rate monitor. He sits down about the same time the door cracks open.
Lily peeks her head in the room, her Wampa cap covering her short brown hair, the strands barely touching her shoulders. I love that she’s brave enough to wear her Star Wars hat here. And always be herself.
I wave her inside. “Come in, Lil.”
Lily rushes in, hurriedly brushing her heavy tears away, and she removes her fuzzy white hat like she needs to be respectful in my fucking presence.
“He’s not Jesus,” Lo says, obviously thinking the same thing.
Lily sniffs, ignoring her husband. She flings her arms around my neck in a tight hug, and her tears drip on my shoulder. This kind of Lily Calloway almost never comes out for me.
I get the snarky fucking Lily with tons of attitude.
I’ve grown fucking fond of that, so this is just new.
I raise my brows at Lo while I hug her back with one arm.
He mouths, she thought you died, man.
Fuck.
When she pulls away, the room has suddenly filled up with friends and family. Sam and Poppy stand by a cellophane-wrapped tray of food: a sandwich and Jello. Next to them, Daisy’s mom has her hands on Maria’s shoulders, the young girl flipping through an entertainment magazine.
Moffy, in a Spider-Man shirt and tiny red Vans, tries to climb on Lo’s lap. My brother lifts his kid up, setting him on his knee. Connor has Janie in his arms, her lips parted as she sleeps against his side. He watches Rose closely though.
She’s trying to lead Daisy into the last unoccupied chair, but Daisy shakes her head, cajoling a very fucking pregnant Rose into it
with hushed words and a smile.
“Daisy,” Lo calls. “Take mine.” He immediately stands with Moffy against his side. Then he tosses the kid over his shoulder. Moffy laughs and tries to snatch a blue dangling bird.
“Thanks,” Daisy says, wheeling her IV over to the free chair by me.
I look around for someone. “Where’s Willow?” I guess I thought she’d be here, not just because we’re related. I thought she’d come in support of Daisy.
“Right here.” Willow squeezes out from behind Sam and gives me a sheepish wave before pushing up her glasses.
“Hey,” I say.
“Are you feeling better?”
I nod, being truthful about this. I stare around at everyone, seeing the faces of people who care about me. Someone else slips inside.
