"You didn't?—"
"I hesitated." He cuts me off. "Three seconds of hesitation, trying to find a better angle to cut him free, and the fuel tank blew. Three seconds between him living and dying."
I want to say something comforting, but I understand the weight of those seconds. The moment of Nathan's betrayal, when I froze for just a heartbeat before rolling away from the needle—if I'd hesitated one second longer, I'd be dead.
"Come on," he says, standing. "We're exposed here."
Like before, he climbs just ahead, occasionally reaching back to help me over obstacles, his hand warm and solid in mine.
Then we hit theactualclimbing section.
"Oh, hell no." I stare at the rock face rising into darkness, the fixed rope line that looks like dental floss against granite. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't." He turns to face me, and in the headlamp's glow, I can see patience in his eyes. "I'll be right behind you. Every step. You won't fall."
"I can't—" My voice cracks. "I'm terrified of heights. Always have been. I can't climb that."
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the cedar and gunpowder, the clean sweat from our climb. "Look at me, not the cliff."
I focus on his face—the steady gray eyes, the stubble darkening his jaw, the absolute confidence in his expression.
“You fought off trained killers with kitchen knives and chemistry.” His voice is low, threaded with quiet awe. “You survived three days on the run with the FBI hunting you. You jumped between buildings on a motorcycle an hour ago. This—” he nods toward the jagged rock face ahead “—this is just granite. One hand, one foot, one move at a time.”
“That’s different—and technically, you jumped the gap. I just clung on for dear life.”
His mouth curves, the memory sparking between us like flint catching flame. “That kiss made it worth it.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I try to focus on the cliff instead of the way he looks at me—as if that moment’s still playing behind his eyes. The breathless shock of it. The taste of adrenaline and rain and want.
He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t smirk. Just studies me, thumb brushing over the carabiner in his hand. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he says quietly.
The confession hangs there, raw and unguarded, heavier than the pack between us. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air smells of stone and storm, thick enough to choke on.
Then he clips the first line into place, voice rougher now.
“Let’s get through this climb,” he murmurs. "I'm going to attach you to a safety line. Even if you slip, you won't fall far. And I'll be right behind you, close enough to catch you."
My hands shake as he checks the harness around my waist and thighs, professional but careful. This close, I can smell him again—that cedar scent mixed with clean sweat and something uniquely him. Something about his solid presence makes my panic recede slightly.
"Too tight?" He adjusts a strap, fingers brushing my hip.
"No, it's fine." My voice comes out breathy, and not from fear.
He clips me to the safety line, then positions himself behind me. "Climb. I'll guide your feet if you need it."
I reach for the first hold and immediately make the mistake of looking down. The ground drops into a black, endless nothing, and vertigo punches through me. My stomach lurches. My fingers slip. I press myself flat against the rock, breath tearing too fast from my lungs.
“Hey.” He’s suddenly there, heat and strength at my back, not trapping—shielding. His body brackets mine, his breath brushing my ear, steady and deliberate. “Feel me breathing? Match it. In… out… in… out.”
His chest rises against my spine, slow and controlled, each inhale rolling through me like an anchor dropping. I latch onto that rhythm, forcing my lungs to follow. The panic loosens its claws, inch by inch.
But the awareness of him?
That only gets sharper.
His hips press into mine with every breath. His arms cage around me, solid and sure, heat bleeding through my clothes like a wildfire. I can’t tell where he ends, and I begin.
“Good girl.”
