I blink at the non sequitur. “I—Yes. Did you? Is that why...”
Heath frowns, and his unblinking stare makes my heart race faster. Finally, he says, “It was just one of those days, okay? I knew you’d be here so I came, but I don’t feel like making a big deal out of it. Can we just...?”
I nod, longing to press for more but understanding that he’s not ready to give it. I can’t help but feel like he’s not telling me everything. He hasn’t told me about what happens in his nightmares, but I’ve felt sick from mine more often than not and I can only imagine how much worse his must be. Still, I’m glad he sought me out, whatever the reason. Glad enough that I force the rest away.
He looks up at the tree. “How high did you get this time?”
“Almost nine. Eight and a half at least.”
“Brooke, that’s great.” He hesitates but only for a moment before stepping forward and pulling me into a hug that I return. I’ve gotten very used to touching Heath over these past weeks, but it’s usually in the guise of practice or the occasional conciliatory gesture when we are talking about our families. We don’t touch each other just because, and I feel the difference this time when we do. I feel Heath with nothing else to distract me. I feel his strength and his warmth the same way I felt his voice when I was climbing. I feel his heartbeat and his breath exhaling over my neck and it’s like the ground is moving again even though my feet are firmly planted on it.
He lets go before I would have and seems not the least bit affected by our embrace. “So eight and a half, huh? Does that mean we can try theDirty Dancinglift?”
“It’s called a swan lift.”
Heath gives me a look.
“It was a swan lift long before that movie came out.”
Heath continues to look at me.
“And my leg position is slightly different.”
“Brooke.”
“Fine. Yes, I think I’m ready to try it,” I say. “Maybe.”
“That’s the kind of rock-solid confidence I’m looking for. Let’s do this!”
Heath jogs back to his truck to turn his headlights on and give us some much-needed light. Watching Heath’s silhouetted form walk back toward me has my heart galloping in my chest.
He stops in front of me, and I have to look up a little to meet his gaze. I hear myself swallow.
He looks at me expectantly. “So are you going to run at me?”
“No, I’ll step into you, grab your wrists and, once I’m up and I have my balance, I’ll let go.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
I give Heath a look.
“I’m serious.”
I continue to give Heath a look until his smile infects my own.
“I told you I won’t let you fall, and if I feel it starting to happen, I promise you’ll fall on me and not the ground.” He says it so seriously that my pulse kicks impossibly higher.
“I believe you.”
Heath closes the remaining distance between us. “Where do I put my hands? Here?” His hands settle low on my hips. Since I was planning only on climbing a tree tonight, I opted for cutoffs and a loose tank top instead of the yoga pants and fitted racerback tank I normally wear when practicing. The cutoffs are low and the tank top barely skims the waistband, so his hands touch that thin stretch of exposed skin and I almost jump.
“Um, no. Here.” I shift his hands so his palms are touching my hip bones and only the tips of his fingers reach the around the sides.
We practice me stepping into him and him finding the correct hand placement several times before moving on to the beginning of the lift, just a small hop off the ground so he can get used to holding my weight in that position.
I never get used to his hands on my bare skin, however small the contact is.
We move on to Heath lifting me higher—not over his head, but even with it. We work on this longer than we need to, more so for me to acclimate to the height than anything else. It does feel high, but so much of me is focused on my skin touching his that I don’t cross that line of being scared. Not of falling anyway.
