He sits up, his eyes narrowing as he watches me. “Thinking about what?” He moves closer, each step a reminder of how easily he fills up space, how he’s always challenging me to take up my own. “About last night? Or about how fast you’re going to run back to your perfect little city life?”
His tone is sharp, but I hear the question buried beneath the sarcasm, the edge of uncertainty in his words. I force myself to look at him, to meet those intense blue eyes. “I need to think about what I’m doing here,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, but it gains strength as I keep talking. “About what happens next.”
His expression hardens, and he steps even closer, his shadow falling over me as the sun rises behind him. “Is that what this was to you?” he snaps, each word cutting deeper than I want to admit. “Just a ‘few nights in the mountains’? Jesus, Lila, I thought you were different.”
Anger flares, hot and raw, driving me to my feet. I spin to face him, my cheeks burning. “You don’t know anything about me, Holt!” I snap, my voice ringing out across the empty ledge. “Not everyone can afford to live like you, without any plan, without thinking about the consequences. Some of us haveresponsibilities. I can’t just... abandon everything and hope for the best.”
He crosses his arms, the movement making his muscles flex under his shirt, but his expression is as hard as granite. “Or maybe you’re just scared, Lila,” he counters, stepping so close I can see the fire in his eyes. “Scared of wanting something that doesn’t fit neatly into your little plan. What are you really afraid of? That you might actually be happy here? That this might be real?”
The words strike like a blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I feel a crack open inside me, raw and painful. But I can’t let him see it. I lift my chin, throwing every ounce of defiance I have into my glare. “I’m not afraid, Holt. I’m just being realistic. Not everyone can live in a fantasy world where all that matters is the next thrill.”
The bitterness in my voice hangs between us, colder than the mountain air. He flinches, just barely, but I see it. And I hate that I care. I turn away, wrapping my arms around myself as if that can hold me together. “I have a career back in the city,” I continue, my voice quieter now, more like a plea than an argument. “I’ve worked so hard to build something, and I can’t just... throw it all away.”
He lets out a rough laugh, the sound cutting through the early morning stillness. “Fine. Be realistic, Lila. But don’t pretend that’s all this is. You felt it last night as much as I did. And you’re running because it’s easier than facing it.” His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, a storm brewing behind his eyes, the same way one rumbles through the mountains before it breaks.
His words pierce deeper than I want them to, but I force myself to keep my back straight, to keep my voice steady even as my throat tightens.
“I–I don’t know what to say, Holt.” The words slip out, barely loud enough for him to hear, but I feel their weight settle between us.
For a moment, I think he might grab my arm, might pull me back into the mess of us, but he just stands there, his jaw clenched, his shoulders rigid. I gather my things quickly, stuffing my sleeping bag into my pack, my fingers trembling with the effort of keeping my composure. Each motion feels like a goodbye, like closing the door on something I don’t quite understand but know I can’t afford to want.
I don’t look back as I start down the trail, even though every step away from him feels like it’s tearing something inside me. The path is steep, rough beneath my boots, and I focus on the sound of my footsteps, letting it drown out the thoughts swirling in my head.
But as the distance grows between us, I can’t shut out the memory of his touch, the way he looked at me last night like I was the only thing that mattered. And I can’t escape the gnawing ache in my chest that tells me I’ve left more than just a night under the stars behind on that ledge.
Chapter Eight
Holt
I watch her go, the fire in my chest burning hot and out of control, searing through every shred of my self-control. The urge to call out to her claws at my throat, to demand she turn around, face me, admit that there’s more between us than just some fleeting fling. But I clamp my mouth shut, locking the words behind my teeth, letting the anger twist into something darker, something I don’t know how to control.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms until the pain becomes a sharp, grounding point. The mountain wind howls around me, icy and relentless, but it’s nothing compared to the storm raging inside. I thought I could keep this simple, keep her at arm's length, but somehow, she slipped under my skin, and now she’s dragging a part of me down that damn trail with her.
What the hell am I supposed to do with the empty space she’s left behind, with the silence that rings louder than the angry words we threw at each other? I stand there, rooted to the spot like an idiot, feeling the warmth of her fading fast against the chill of the dawn. My chest tightens, every breath burning with the memory of her body pressed against mine, of the way shemade me feel like I was more than just the man I’ve become since the accident.
With a sharp curse, I turn and kick at a loose rock, sending it skittering over the edge. It bounces down the mountainside, disappearing into the shadows below, and I wish I could fling every damn emotion in me right along with it. I should be relieved that she’s gone—that I don’t have to face the risk of wanting something that could break me all over again. But as I stare out at the valley, the sun creeping up to paint the horizon in gold, I know that relief is a lie—just like every other wall I’ve built around myself.
I drop down onto the cold stone, my legs giving out beneath me, and bury my face in my hands. The weight of what I’ve lost, what I pushed away, sinks into my bones, heavy and unyielding. And for the first time in years, I let myself admit that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as invincible as I’ve been pretending to be.
A surge of determination to regain all that I’ve lost overcomes me then, and I stand and head on confident strides back to the lodge. I’m going to conquer the mountain, literally and metaphorically.
An hour later, I stare up at the north cliff face of Devil’s Peak, the sheer rock that used to feel like an extension of my own body. But today, it looms taller, more intimidating. The sun cuts through the cold morning air, casting sharp shadows that stretch down the mountain. It’s the kind of day that used to make me feel alive, the promise of danger thrumming in my blood. But since the accident, since the fall, every time I look at this rock, all I see is what I lost.
The rope feels rough in my grip, and I flex my hands against it, testing its strength. My knee twinges in protest, a reminder of why I’ve avoided this climb for so long. But I’m done avoiding. Today, I’m taking back control, one way or another.
I rub chalk into my palms, the familiar grit calming my racing pulse, and I force myself to take a deep breath. “Let’s do this,” I mutter, the words rough in the stillness, barely louder than the wind that cuts through the pines.
I grab the first handhold and haul myself up. Muscle memory kicks in, guiding my hands and feet from one grip to the next. But every few feet, doubt gnaws at me, bringing back flashes of that day—the snap of bone, the air rushing past me, the gut-wrenching certainty that I wasn’t going to walk away this time. I grit my teeth, forcing those thoughts down as I reach higher, digging my fingers into the rock.
My body remembers the climb even if my mind doesn’t. Every move is a struggle, but there’s a twisted comfort in it, the kind that comes from pushing myself to the edge. I focus on the burn in my arms, the stretch of my legs, anything to drown out the thoughts that keep clawing their way to the surface.
About halfway up, I find a narrow ledge and pause, the wind tugging at my hair, whistling around me. I look down—bad idea. The ground spins far below, a dizzying drop that tightens my chest. I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to steady the wild beat of my heart.
And there, in the quiet, her voice cuts through the chaos in my head. It’s not real, just a memory, but it’s enough to knock the breath out of me. Lila, standing on that damn trail, eyes blazing, challenging me like no one else ever has. The way she looks at me, like she can see every crack I try to hide, every fear I’ve buried.
“Why the hell did you have to get under my skin, Lila?” The words slip out, rough and desperate, carried off by the mountain wind. My fingers dig into the rock edge until my knuckles go white. “You don’t even know how much I’ve been holding back. How damn terrified I am of... needing anyone again.”
Admitting it feels like pulling glass from a wound—painful, but there’s a relief in finally saying the words, even if there’s no one around to hear them. I’ve spent so long convincing myself that I don’t need anyone, that I can do this alone. But Lila... she’s the first person to make me question that. The first person to make me want more than just the next climb, the next thrill.
