The climb requires both of us to scale a vertical section using the last two anchors.
“I go first,” Bron says.
“Fine.”
He climbs carefully, driving the anchor into the rock face before hauling himself upward.
When he reaches the top he secures the rope and leans over the edge.
“Your turn.”
I climb.
My arms ache from the earlier sections of the course, but the rope holds steady under my weight.
Bron grabs my wrist when I reach the top and pulls me onto the platform.
The finish horn sounds seconds later.
The scoreboard flickers to life.
Eight couples remain.
We made it.
Bron exhales slowly and sits down on the edge of the platform, staring out across the canyon.
“Well,” he says.
“That worked.”
“Yes.”
For a moment neither of us speaks.
The wind whistles through the rock formations below.
Finally he stands and brushes dust from his hands.
“Good job,” he says.
“You too.”
The words feel strangely formal between us.
But as we walk toward the exit tunnel, something settles quietly in my mind.
Watching Bron today—steady, patient, dependable in ways I once believed were impossible—I realize something uncomfortable.
The man I left two years ago isn’t the man standing beside me now.
And if that’s true…
Then maybe Jesse deserves the chance to know him.
The thought sits quietly in my chest as the arena noise fades behind us.
By the time we reach the compound corridor, I’ve already started planning the conversation I never thought I’d have.
