Phoenix laughing in our backyard at fourteen. Phoenix cracking up when we learned how to drive together. Phoenix shoving a cupcake in my face after my first article got published.
Phoenix risking an entire Marine team.
None of the versions fit together. The version I knew feels real. But the one Rhys described fills gaps… gaps I couldn’t miss, though maybe I wanted to.
Gray light slowly fills the room. Morning in Hollow Peak arrives muted and cold, fog clinging low across the mountains outside.
I finally push upright, still half snuggled in the sleeping bag. Reluctant to leave, to face reality.
Rhys stands at the kitchen counter with a mug in his hand, staring out the window toward the washout.
Fully dressed already. Bandaged arm hidden beneath flannel. As if yesterday never happened. And my hands were never on him.
His eyes cut toward me briefly before returning to the window. “Coffee’s hot.”
I stretch, then rise, stepping toward him slowly. My muscles ache from the climb and storm, and too little sleep. The cabin smells of pine smoke and coffee, and rain-soaked earth.
I pour myself a cup.
The silence stretches endlessly.
Outside, clouds hang thick over the mountains again. Colorado weather. Violent one minute. Beautiful the next. Then violent again before you can trust it.
“What’s the slope look like?” I ask finally.
“Worse.”
My stomach tightens.
“The Jeep?”
His jaw shifts once. “Still there.”
No easy way out. The realization settles heavily between my ribs. I’m still stuck here. With him.
Rhys reaches for his jacket hanging beside the door. Immediately, tension spikes through me.
“Are you really going back out there?”
“I need to check the anchor points before the ground gets any worse.”
“It already is.”
“Exactly.”
I hate how calm he sounds, as if hanging off cliffs in storms is normal. And bleeding out yesterday was an inconvenience.
“You tore your arm open.”
“I noticed.”
“You could’ve died.”
His eyes meet mine then, quiet and sharp. “You could’ve, too.”
I shove the thought away before it finishes forming.
Rhys pulls on his Carhartt carefully over the injured arm. I watch the tiny flicker of pain he tries to hide.
