Hanson took another twenty seconds to actually let himself fall, a small shriek escaping him as he slowly fell towards the ground.
“You’re fine,” Onassi said, shaking her head from the very top of the wall just to his left.
Hanson grimaced when his feet finally landed on the ground. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of rock climbing. I’ll save it for you adrenaline junkies.”
“Not it,” I called, stepping farther back from my group. “Ford. You go.”
“Jeez, you’re a bunch of pussies.”
“No, I’m just being a considerate airman. You know, service before self.”
Ford shoved me playfully before stepping up to Hanson to take his place on the belay.
A loud whooshing sound ensued, and Ford shouted, “Watch out!”
The belay was whipping in a wild fashion all the way to the top of the wall where the device was secured.
“Shit,” Hanson cursed, looking up at the belay rope now completely wound inside the device at the top.
“Leave it! I’ll retrieve it.”
Emory approached one of the other climbers that had come here before us, one of the free climbers. Emory and the climber worked together, Emory wearing a harness that was also connected to the rope as she pulled the slack from the line as the climber ascended. The climber reached the top in a matter of minutes before securing the clip of the auto-belay to his own harness and descending.
“How much trouble do you think I’m gonna get in?” Hanson asked in a hushed voice.
“I think you should be worried about that Emory. She looks like she’s going to murder you,” Ford said, his head turned in her direction.
I refused to look at her face. Willing to keep torturing myself for just a little bit longer.
“Damn. I’m in deep shit. I swear her face alone could kill a man.”
“Shut up, she’s coming over here,” Ford hushed.
“Listen,” Emory said, her voice just behind me now. “First rule, clip in.”
An uneasy feeling unfurled in my gut as I slowly turned my body to face her.
Hazel eyes froze me into place.
The world stopped.
My heart stopped.
Shiloh.
I wouldn’t forget those hazy autumn eyes. I knew her. And the woman standing in front of me was supposed to be dead. I set up her funeral. I mourned her death. And yet…Shiloh.
I dug my nails into my palms hoping to ground myself, or wake up from this nightmare, but she was still there. Same long hair. Same red, foggy, hazel eyes. Same scar through her eyebrow.
How the fuck is this happening?
“Shiloh?” My voice came out a cracked whisper, but that didn’t matter when my feet were already carrying me right to her. I watched as her eyes went wide, and I couldn’t get my brain to match up to reality.
How is she here? I don’t understand. I must be dreaming or hallucinating or having some psychotic break because this isn’t possible. My Shiloh is dead. My Shiloh is gone. My Shiloh isn’t alive and working at a gym in Anchorage fucking Alaska.
Whatever fucked-up dream I was having was going to give me a damned heart attack.
“Shiloh?” I asked again, timidly reaching my hand towards her face. I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to feel if she was real. And even if she wasn’t, I would hold her in my arms for as long as the figment of my imagination lasted.
