“Hang on!” I dropped to my knees, yanking the rope from my belt—thank God for the years of cattle work and backcountry habits. I looped it around a boulder, the sturdiest one I could find, and double-knotted it.
She was slipping.
“Talk to me!” I called out, throwing the line around my chest and threading it through a second hitch to brace myself.I anchored it through my belt’s carabiner. It was not made for this. None of it was. But it would do.
She screamed again. Her grip broke on one hand, and I swore violently under my breath.
“Maya, I’ve got you!”
I went over the edge, my boots scraping against crumbling rock, the rope burning against my ribs as it took my weight. Dirt rained down, and the boulder groaned under the tension. My fingers reached her…almost?—
“Look at me,” I said as she dipped her head. “Just me. Not the fall.”
Her eyes locked onto mine, wide and brimming. Brave.
I swung low, using my legs to brace against what little slope I could find, my boots sliding. The anchor slipped an inch, maybe two.
She cried out, “Noah!”
“Hold on to me,” I said, chest to chest with her now, my free arm wrapping around her waist. “Right here. I’ve got you.”
She didn’t ask questions. She just grabbed me, her arms tight around my neck like her life depended on it. And it did.
The rope strained as I began the climb back up, inch by inch, using my legs to push against the slope and my shoulder to shield her body. My back screamed, and every breath was a curse. But her heartbeat thundered against my ribs, wild and alive.
We reached the top. I dragged us both to the grass, collapsing beside her, my breath coming in ragged pulls. My arms ached, my chest burned, and my knees were scraped raw. But none of that mattered.
She didn’t let go.
And I didn’t make her.
Her fists stayed tangled in my shirt like she couldn’t trust the ground beneath her yet. I wrapped an arm around her,letting her lean into the solid weight of now. Her breath hitched, then started to settle, shallow and uneven but real. Her whole body trembled.
God, she could’ve died.
And I would’ve watched it happen.
I pressed my face into her hair, just for a second. She smelled like dirt and sweat and fear—and it undid me.
Then her mouth parted. A beat passed. And her voice came hoarse and cracked.
“You were fucking late.” She yanked at my collar.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I breathed. “Give me hell for it. I’m all yours.”
She pressed her face into my chest, and all the humor faded as her body trembled again. “Hurts,” she whispered.
My arms tightened instinctively. “Where, sweetheart?”
She pointed, barely lifting her hand. “A strain, I think. Left side.”
Relief and fury warred inside me—relief that she was still breathing, and fury because this was no accident. Those heavy footprints were scattered around the edge of the slide. Whoever the bastard was, he’d left her there.
She tried to push herself up but wobbled. I caught her before she could tip.
“Easy. Just sit for a minute.” I guided her onto a flat rock.
Her breath came slow, eyes drifting to the litter scattered across the ground.
