“Footing. Sure,” I mumble, moving my boot up off the ground and against the coarse rock, kicking myself for agreeing to this.
Luckily, the course is color-coded. Little green-and-blue markings symbolize easy-access areas, yellow and purple are intermediate, and red and orange are hard. Jocelyn is already a quarter way up the ridge, as I attempt to move towards the first green rock. I barely make it to the second marker before my foot slips, and I slide down to the ground, skinning my knee.
The rock is rough against my skin as I use my limited upper-body strength to try again. I assumed that carrying all that camera equipment on my shoulders would have made me stronger, but all it seems to have given me is lower back pain. Harnessing the power of my legs, I push myself to the next marker, and then the next, until I’m a quarter of the way up.
“See, you got this,” Derrick cheers from above, as I slowly continue climbing.
My muscles are on fire, and my skin is peeling off every time my shin collides with rock, but I keep going, determined to make it to the top. I’m just passing the three-quarter marker when I feel my boot slip.
I try to hold on, but my grip is weak, and I free-fall downwards. The harness prevents me from careening into the ground below, but the force of it takes my breath away. I don’t even notice that I’m swinging back towards the cliff face until my knee smacks against it, ripping the already thin skin to shreds.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I hiss, trying to steady my breathing back into a normal rhythm, as blood streams down my leg.
Shock and calm fight one another as I glance down and see Hudson bypassing the line to secure himself to the rope.
“Mira, hold on, okay? I’m going to come and get you.”
I wish I could tell him to fuck off, but it seems that my mouth is incapable of making any sound other than a frightened whimper as I watch him climb up to me with the speed and agility of an Olympic athlete.
“Are you okay?” he asks, once he reaches me, worry etched across his face.
“My knee is fucked,” I say, exposing the trail of blood running down my leg.
“I’m going to get you down from here, but to do that I have to attach your clip to mine,” he assures me, as a protective hand makes its way to the small of my back. His green eyes find mine, tranquil like a Pacific Northwest forest, and staring into them I forget that I’m dangling from the side of a cliff as he reaches for my rope.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask, watching him clip his carabiner to mine. His fingers trail down my spine, firm yet gentle, and my heart starts pounding for another reason besides fear. He must feel it, the rapid thumping against his chest, because he moves a hand to my face.
“You can trust me,” he says, his tone reassuring. And yet the word presses the bruise in my heart.
“You’ve proven the opposite, actually.”
“I know,” he breathes, regret softening his features. “But no matter how you feel about me right now, I need you to know that I’ve done this hundreds of times. And I promise I will get you to the bottom safely.”
I know that everyone is watching us, and a part of me is afraid that if I let Hudson help me, they might see how much I want to hold onto him, that they might intuit what transpired between us, and it’ll earn me another strike against my already tarnished reputation. But the other part of me, the one that wants to be rid of this mountain, slowly moves towards him.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he instructs, the words an order, as I try not to breathe in the earthy scent of him. Instinctively I cling to him, and I’m hyper-aware of the tightness in his shoulders, the muscles flexed against his abs, the pressure of his hands. Regret tightens in my chest as I remember the way those handsrubbed my back last night. Of how I wished he’d crawl into bed with me and use those hands to hold me; to brush them against my lips and kiss me like he had the other night.
I worry he might be able to read my thoughts when I notice a bashful shade of pink flush against his cheeks.
“Hold on tight, okay,” he says as I bury my head in his neck, breathing him in. God, he smells good, like rain and honey. Subtle and inviting. And I take another deep breath before we’re in free-fall, triggering a stomach-dropping sensation that makes me grip onto him even tighter.
“I thought you said you were going to get me down safely,” I scold, clinging to him like a small child.
“We have to release the tension from the line,” he explains, tugging on the rope. His feet press up against the mountainside as he takes another step back and we move down another few feet. I don’t realize that we’ve hit solid ground until I hear the clapping from the onlookers beside us.
Hudson’s hand is still pressed against the small of my back, holding me close. I want to sink into him, to press my lips to his, to let go, but I can’t. Pulling back, I unbuckle my helmet, toss my harness to the ground, and walk away.
I need a minute to think, to get away from the smell of him. To remind myself that no matter how badly I want him, he belongs to Katherine and that’s a line I’ll never cross.
“Mira, wait up,” Hudson says, chasing after me, but I’m using every speed-walking technique I can remember from freshman gym class. I heel, ball, and toe it towards the desert, tricking myself into believing I have some semblance of control over my life, before Hudson grabs my arm. The gentle tug is enough to get my attention.
“What do you want from me, Hudson?” I snap, spinning around and ripping the delicate seams of my emotions. “At first, Ithought you were trying to cover your ass. Then, I considered that the fish, the coffee, the camera, that it was guilt. But having you perpetually show up and come to my rescue, to act like you care about me, it feels like torture, okay? You’re torturing me. So please, just leave me alone.”
The words hang in the air between us, a tension building like a summer thunderstorm as I wait for him to respond. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, he speaks. “Katherine and I aren’t together.”
“As of what? Two seconds ago?” I scoff, the words hollow in my ear.
“We haven’t been together for months,” he clarifies, but I’m wary.
