“My arms are?—”
“You can do anything.”
My eyes sting. I blink hard and grip the rope tighter trying to psyche myself up to keep going.
“Avah, look at me.”
Jeremy’s voice is close, and I glance over to see him no more than an arm’s length away, beside me on the net.
“You can’t do it twice.”
“I know,” he says gently. “I’m going to pace with you. I won’t touch you or give you any kind of advantage. I’ll just be here.”
He’s close enough that I could reach out and touch his arm if I needed to. Far enough that it’s clear he’s not doing the work for me.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I want to be a woman who can do this. Not the girl my father raised to bully and manipulate in order to get what I wanted. Or the woman Jon whittled down to someone who couldn’t even stand up for myself. I want to be a woman who does hard things because I’m strong and will not give up, especially not on myself.
My arms scream, my shoulders protest, but I grit my teeth and haul myself up one square, then another while Jeremy moves beside me. He doesn’t coach me or murmur platitudes that wouldmake me want to punch him in the throat. He’s just there, and it’s exactly what I need.
Three squares from the top, I nearly lose my grip when my left hand cramps. Jeremy twitches like he’s going to reach for me, but pulls back just as quickly. I shake out my hand and grab the rope again.
Two more squares, and my fingers curl over the wooden edge of the platform. I drag myself up and sit on top of the cargo net with my arms shaking and my chest heaving.
A moment later, I’m greeted by enthusiastic applause, whoops, and whistles from the other teams and the campers and staff watching from below. Lumberjack dad girl cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Yaaasss, Queen,” and I laugh…because I did it. I did the hard thing.
Jeremy pulls himself onto the platform, looking at me like I just summited Everest.
I grab the front of his bold fashion choice T-shirt and kiss him full on the mouth in front of fifty near strangers. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, and he kisses me back, slow and thorough. The clapping gets louder, and someone wolf-whistles, but I don’t care. I could not possibly care less who sees.
This is joy, and I’m inviting it in for as long as I can.
26
AVAH
I standin front of my bathroom mirror in a towel, mascara wand in hand, trying to decide if I look like I have my life together, or if I’ve been faking it so convincingly I might believe my own performance.
Three days have come and gone since Steamboat and the cargo net and realizing I’m in love with Jeremy Winslow. I almost said it out loud on the drive home when he laced his fingers through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then on the phone last night, when his voice dropped low around my name as he told me he needed to catch an early flight back to California for some nonprofit board meeting.
I didn’t say it. Saying it would make it real. And real means I’d have to deal with every ugly thing I’ve been keeping in a box shoved into the deep recesses of my soul—my father and Jon and the fact that I told myself I wouldn’t fall again. Definitely not for a man who could use his power to crush all of us, if my secrets don’t crush me first.
I apply mascara and blink at my reflection. I waited years to tell Jon the truth about my family. And from that moment on, he used it as ammunition against me.You’re lucky I don’t care about yourpast.The implication that my secrets made me damaged goods and he was benevolently overlooking them.
I’m so tired of secrets. They rot you from the inside, and by the time anyone notices the stink, there’s nothing left to salvage.
The rational part of my brain says it’s too soon for love, but what I feel for Jeremy isn’t practical or safe or any of the things I told myself I needed. It makes me want to be the version of myself I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist. I want to be vulnerable and feel joy and stop wielding words like weapons.
What if I sat across from Jeremy and put every awful piece of my history on the table? Can I trust that he won’t weaponize it against me? Maybe I could lean into his power and let him handle my ugly past the way billionaires handle problems, scorching the earth until nothing remains.
But that could be side-stepping one disaster and faceplanting into another.
My mother married my father because she believed wealth was protection, and she paid far too high a price. I stayed with Jon because his family’s connections felt like a shield, but they did nothing when he turned his fists on me. If I ask Jeremy to clean up my mess, I’m part of the same cycle I swore I’d break, just with a better man and a bigger bank account.
I want to stand on my own and manage my own way, without trading pieces of myself for safety. And I want to believe I can tell Jeremy the truth and he’ll still look at me the way he did on top of that cargo net—like I’m the bravest person he’s ever met, even when I’m terrified.
My book club friends are going to figure out the truth eventually. Keeping secrets from women who’ve laid their entire lives bare through bucket list challenges feels like a betrayal I can’t stomach much longer, even though I know they’ll love me through anything.
