Page 21 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

He confirmed with a curt incline of his head, orange helmet wobbling with the motion. The helmets didn’t do us any favors (and I was pretty sure they wouldn’t save us, if the line snapped and we plunged six hundred feet to the trees below), but he somehow managed to look good. Even though it clashed majorly with his hair. “It seems like it would get old, people sticking their nose in your business.”

“It didn’t happen as much before.” Although I probably would’ve welcomed the attempt at conversation under different circumstances, I was having a hard time focusing right now. Any attempts at flirting would have to wait until I was back on solid ground.

“Before,” Declan repeated after a beat, and I realized he was waiting for me to elaborate.

“Before the podcast got big.” I was distracted as we arrived at the small platform and jostled around to find our own space. Jo offered to go first. It should have been a relief, but I realized now that it might’ve been smarter to go first and get it over with. The anticipation was only making me antsy. I leaned to sneak a peek over the railing. Greenish-gold grass sloped down the mountainside, disappearing into the tops of trees that looked like tiny broccoli florets in the gully below. The line was strung between hills—a long cable that sagged beneath the weight of the first guide as he zipped ahead to the platform in the distance, where he would wait to ensure we all had a safe landing.

My stomach did a backflip.

Declan leaned against the wood railing beside me, folding his arms. Lightheaded and dazed in the harsh sun, I found myself staring at the sheen of sunscreen on his forearms, the way the light curved with the muscle. “I guess it was nosy of me to ask,” he said, apparently interpreting my silence as somehow directed at him. He cast me a sideways glance, gauging my reaction. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The guide below gave a signal, and Jo eased off the platform. The shutter on the camera clicked rapid-fire, the same sound as shuffling a deck of cards.

Peter followed. As soon as he landed on the platform a thousand yards below, the guide named Yesenia set her sights on us. “Next up.”

I made no motion to step forward. Declan swept a hand in front of me. “Ladies first.”

What had I thought earlier about getting it over with? I’d forgotten already. “Oh, no, it’s fine.” I stepped backward, away from the zipline. “I’m not exactly a lady.”

“Don’t be stupid.” One of his hands found the small of my back and eased me toward the launch point. My heart thrashed around in my chest like it was trying to escape. “She’ll go first,” he told the guide before checking in with me. “Right?”

Unable to get the words out for fear of vomiting, I only nodded.

Yesenia buckled me in and gave me a few last-minute tips that my brain wasn’t capable of processing at the moment. My knuckles were milk-white on the handhold. Declan had stepped back to let her work, but it felt like his handprint was branded into my back, red-hot.

“Got it?” Yesenia asked when she’d finished.

“Yes,” I lied, blood rushing in my ears. I tugged one of the leg straps down my thigh subconsciously. It felt like a rubber band around a water balloon. Why had I chosen to wear shorts today? It had seemed like an appropriate choice, given the heat, but that was before I had considered the logistics of ziplining.

“Then whenever you’re ready.”

There was an expectant pause. I was acutely aware of everyone watching me. Declan, Yesenia, Rory the Photographer. Probably judging the sweat that had pooled along my backside, or the way all the color had drained from my face. The camera’s shutter winked somewhere in the periphery.

But I wasn’t moving.

My feet remained firmly on the platform. If I stood there long enough, maybe they’d grow roots, and then no one could force me to move, ever. Except it was very hot standing still like this, the sun beating down on the wooden platform without the mercy of trees or a canopy to shade us. I removed a shaky hand from the handhold to wipe a bead of sweat from my brow and the movement made the handle go lopsided; I gripped it again, but now my hand felt sweaty. I couldn’t decide if I should let go again to wipe it on my shorts.

“Are you …” Declan was standing a few feet back, but his forehead creased in a frown as he studied me. “Scared of heights, or something?”

“No,” I lied again. “I’m just not a huge fan of trusting”—I gestured vaguely at the contraption overhead, holding my life in its carabiners and pulleys—“all that.”

“It looks safe enough.” He leaned in to inspect the specifics. He smelled good, but in that simple, everyday sort of way. I didn’t think the pine scent was cologne after all, now that I was paying attention—it was more like pine-scented soap mingling with sunscreen and maybe a hint of sweat. “Though the regulations for building these things are pretty sporadic.” I shot him a murderous look and he added, “It’ll be over before you know it. And accidents are statistically pretty rare. Well, kind of rare. It’s slightly less dangerous than skydiving, anyway.”

“Appreciate the reassurance,” I muttered. Trust a former STEM major to mansplain the dangers of ziplining.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back from the launch point until it’s your turn,” Yesenia interjected.

Declan obliged, watching me closely. “You could still back out, you know.”

“I know.” Aside from the small measure of embarrassment I would feel chickening out at the last second, it seemed like the easier option. But I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of taking the easy way out with everyone watching. So I steeled myself, lowering my weight into the harness. “Wish me luck.”

Before anyone had a chance to discourage me, I stepped off the platform. The line bowed ever so slightly and my stomach dipped with it, and for one wild moment I thought I was falling. But then it bounced back, adjusting to the weight, as though to reassure me that it had me. My feet dangled high above the gully. I tightened my grip on the handholds as the pulley eased forward. There was no going back now. A quick glance over my shoulder informed me that I was already a couple yards from the platform, though it was taking a few seconds for me to pick up speed.

My heart was beating, but the adrenaline had taken over and it was no longer the nauseating pounding, but instead a tiny, rhythmic blip—my own personal vitals monitor, reminding me that I was alive, that I hadn’t flatlined. The world blurred, but at the same time, the things I focused on were sharpened somehow: the rustle of the leaves on the trees below; the laces on my tennis shoes, hundreds of feet above them. Wind rushed in my ears and my stomach swooped like the wind was somehow in there, too, and I let out a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a squeal. I had taken the plunge—gone all in, enjoying the high despite the risks. And when my feet landed on the solid wood planks of the second platform, I was surprised to discover that I was okay with doing it again.

From: Renee Dunkirk ([email protected])

To: Jo Hernandez ([email protected])