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We’re all heavy breath.
“You okay?” I ask Sulli.
She’s smiling and collapses back. “Wow.”
“I feel that,” Banks says in a laugh, grabbing his boxer-briefs. None of us forget the hot springs. Putting on clothes, we head out to the river.
The thirty-minute hike leads to us stripping down again. Dipping into the warm water of this primitive, natural hot spring, like a small alcove in the river. Not found on any website or any map.
Steam rising, I kiss Sulli.
And then, Banks kisses Sulli.
We make out with her. We talk. We crack jokes. We laugh. Waiting until the last second to leave. And when we’re running back to the trailer to beat the freezing cold, biting at our flesh, the air hangs thicker. Heavier.
I open the trailer.
Back to reality.
Almost.
Sulli takes the bunk bed. Refusing to let us take it since we’re taller and it’s cramped. So Banks and I share the queen bed. Lying side by side, I stare up at the ceiling of the trailer.
An hour later, Sulli peeks her head out. She sees me awake. Banks stirs, rubbing his eyes in the semi-darkness. The moon shines through the trailer.
Sulli is quiet. Saying nothing, she crawls between us on the bed. My pulse slows, and I turn on my side and spoon Sul, then she burrows into Banks’ chest.
Having her safe in my arms, I finally fall asleep.
39
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
Fuck the rain.
Five days of thunderstorms have constructed a huge roadblock on my goal. Rain means slippage, especially on the slick, flat slab of rock I’m trying to scale. With these miserable weather conditions, I haven’t been able to climb Rattlesnake Knuckle since the day Jack filmed. And that day was supposed to be my last practice climb with gear.
Now, I’m not even confident about free-soloing without another dry run.
Jane and Maximoff flew out to Yellowstone to watch me free-solo, and now they’re not going to get the chance. They fly back with everyone tomorrow. I feel a little bit like I wasted their time, and it’s hard not to beat myself up over it, even if them watching me climb wasn’t my goal.
I haven’t failed.
Not yet, anyway.
I still have time to free-solo at least one of my dad’s old climbing routes. So as long as I free-solo Rattlesnake Knuckle and get to experience something my dad once did, I’ll have succeeded what I set out to do.
I keep telling myself that even as the rain pours harder outside.
Rain isn’t such a deal-breaker for Thatcher and Jane’s bachelor and bachelorette parties today. Their best man and man of honor booked the event at a fucking humongous Montana lodge, set on a ranch with acres and acres of land. Also complete with a brewery and a spa.
The people at the front desk even handed me a map.
I told Jane that I hoped she didn’t choose Montana just out of convenience for me. If she wanted her bachelorette party in Vegas, I would’ve flown there. But she said they’d been looking for a resort-style place like the lodge, and it fit everything she wanted.
It’s five-star worthy luxury.
Considering I’ve been roughing it in a tent and then RV trailer for almost a month, I’ll gladly take some pampering.
Jane’s bachelorette party has been morning mimosas and pedicures, and now afternoon mud facials, and soon, a dip in a mud bath. Staring at my unshaven legs reminds me that I haven’t used a razor in a solid week. One day of no shaving and I’m a fucking cactus. So my hair has grown.
I remember the hot springs.
Five days ago, where my legs brushed up against Banks, then Akara under the water. And neither one took their hand off my leg. Banks actually pulled my legs on his lap.
I smile.
Those memories are scorched in my brain. I want to be with Banks.
But I want to be with Akara.
You can’t have them both, Sulli.
The thought always sinks my stomach and spirits. I know I can’t be in two relationships at once. It’s different while we’re here. It’ll always be different in the privacy and beauty of the wilderness.
Home has never felt so uninviting.
I want to stay out here forever. But I’ll need to pick soon. I can only procrastinate for so long before I’m being totally unfair to Akara and Banks.
Shaking away the stress of choosing, I try to just enjoy this time with the bride-to-be.
Moffy asked me to plan a game for the party. My one task as a bridesmaid: I had the lodge staff print out pictures of dicks. They side-eyed me, but in my fucking defense, some were vegetables.
During pedicures, the Dick or Not? game landed Moffy first place.
No one was surprised, since he’s the only guy at the bachelorette party. He’s stared at his junk his whole life.
We all fawn over Jane. As it fucking should be—she’s always doting over us, but it’s really hard to get Jane to concentrate on herself.
