Maybe this has all been a fool’s errand.
Me here, disrupting Rhys’s life. Bringing up things that obviously still haunt him.
Maybe when it’s all said and done, curiosity is a cold master. Because Rhys was right about one thing. Phoenix is never coming back.
Chapter
Eleven
RHYS
Dark clouds gather overhead, thick and swirling. I have to work fast because I can’t go back into that cabin knowing I’ve failed her completely.
I can’t tell her what she wants to hear. Can’t tell her the truth either.
It would kill what’s left of Phoenix. Maybe he deserves it. Sloane doesn’t.
I grab rope from the shed, searching for other things I might need. A shovel, tools for cutting branches. I bring them all, stacking them along the edge.
I find a large pine standing next to an even sturdier one. That’s going to matter later. Then, I secure the rope with a bowline knot to belay down the washout. I don’t have everything I need for this. The gear a rock climber would use.
But fuck it. I have to work quickly. Would rather fight a losing battle with Mother Nature than show up empty-handed to Sloane again.
Thunder booms distant, clouds building overhead. The wind picks up a notch, making my decision for me. Should’ve done this yesterday. So she hadn’t stayed.
Because what she wants and what I need are two different things.
I descend over the edge without hesitation, using my gloved hands to work the rope, dropping in short bursts that look as controlled as they feel, feet sliding, traction gone, mud sucking at my boots with every step.
My boots grind against shale and clay, still slick from yesterday’s cloudburst.
I brace my feet on a boulder, sneaking a glance down.
There it is. Not much farther.
The Jeep’s tires stuck in a good two feet of mud. The sludge brought the vehicle to a halt before it began the drop into the ravine below.
I continue the descent until I reach the Wrangler. A boulder punctured the driver’s side door on the way down, an angry gash of sharp metal flashing. It gives a low groan, slipping another foot down when I rest a palm against it. Not even half my weight.
The rope lurches and drops down with another sickening jerk. My feet fight for purchase, stomach churning. Keep this up and I’ll be winching the Jeep and me up together.
“Rhys!” I hear Sloane’s voice up top, distant but carried by the wind.
Dammit.
Don’t need her to see me like this. In this precarious position.
“Rhys!”
I don’t speak, just hang on to the rope, feet digging deeper into the ruddy muck, hoping she’ll go away. Instead, I hear a gasp that turns into a scream.
“You’ll kill yourself.”
I look up, wincing at how close she is to the edge. “Go back inside. I’ve got this.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“I can help. Tell me what to do.”
