He knows my soul better than I do. And now I’m back to anonymity.
“You up for a climbing session this afternoon?” Trinity asks.
“Yes! Let’s go.”
I give it my best effort on the wall we choose, but I scale only a portion of the route before giving up. Any successful move I accomplish tastes like ash in my mouth.
I belay for Trinity until her partner Chase arrives, thendisappear on a hike, trying to get my bearings. I walk aimlessly. The scenery is beautiful, but to what purpose? It feels pointless without him to share it with.
Logan was so good at supporting me—on and off the ropes. Will I ever find a partner like that again? Do I even want to when he’s so thoroughly commandeered my memories of climbing? Even my fucking climbing equipment isn’t mine anymore.
A real partner was something I never let myself hope for. I always imagined I’d die young. Living on the streets of Tucson with a pack of runaway teenagers on 4th Street for the first couple of months after my escape, I saw a few of them disappear without a trace. There was no point in looking too far into the future—I was on borrowed time, living in the moment day to day.
I was on borrowed time in Sagebrush too. Nothing changes.
But oh, how I wish it had. Because I can’t escape the truth: how my life was more fulfilling back in Sagebrush with Logan.
Nothing feels as good as lying in Logan’s arms, quietly celebrating the hard work we put in that day and enjoying each other’s company. He has such vision, and for a moment, I let myself get swept up in it. Meeting up with his family and being part of their community. Being loved by him.
I taste the loss so keenly. No amount of adrenaline can hold down the despair that climbs up my throat and chokes me.
It feels like I’ve finally met my own disaster. I tell myself over and over that it’s not. I can pick myself back up again—go somewhere new. Find a new path.
But it doesn’t work. It still feels like a disaster. Even though every time I count the strikes, I come up short.
I know it’s because there’s only one strike that matters: that I loved him and lost him. And there’s no surviving that.
Thirty One
Logan
I wish I could say life goes on, but it doesn’t feel the same.
I am putting away all the harnesses, helmets, and gear from the last tour, when Ethan pops around the corner with an ominous “Logan, a word?”
The tour didn’t go well. Some kid was being reckless with his climb, and I snapped—called him a Darwin Award in the making. Told him if he wanted to maim himself, he could do it on his own property and time.
My siblings sit around the conference table, not speaking until I walk in.
Emily taps her pen against the desk—a sure sign she has something to say but is struggling to find a tactful way to say it.
“Go on, spit it out,” I tell her.
“I had to comp the last tour group. And the one yesterday left a terrible review on multiple booking sites.”
Shame rises in my throat, but I shove it down. “A few bad reviews are to be expected.”
“You know how much those hurt,” Emily snaps.
Cole raises a hand to Emily. “Seth said you broke up with Sierra?” he asks gently.
My throat tightens. I stare at the worn laminate of the conference table. I can’t bear their pity, or worse, I-told-you-so looks. I just nod.
“Do you want to take some time off?” Ethan asks.
“It’s fine,” I say, clearing my throat. “I can do this. I’ve just had a few hard days.”
No. “Hard” doesn’t come close. It’s impossible. Every single thing in my life stops me in my tracks with a painful memory.
