Page 45 of Entwined Hearts

“I didn’t want to call too early,” he says.

From across the couch, Marisa’s face is scrunched into a scowl and she’s flipping off the phone.

I turn away slightly to stare out the window at the pale, cracked concrete driveway and desert landscaping. “No, I’m up.”

He sighs. “I’m so sorry about last night,” he says. “Something came up, and I…”

“You don’t have to explain,” I say. “It’s okay.”

“It is?” His voice tightens.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to hold back my emotion. “But thank you for calling.”

“Wait, Anya,” he starts to say.

“Maybe it’s best if we just try to forget it happened.”

“Uh,” he says, and I hear the confusion in his voice. Then, he adds, his voice softer, “Oh.”

“We have to get up Dragen’s Tarn.”

“Right,” he says.

“So, I’ll see you in the Valley?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Okay.” I nod even though he can’t see me. At the other end of the couch, Marisa gives me a thumbs-up.

“Okay, see you then,” Colby says, his voice sounding distant.

After I hang up, my face feels tingly and hot. I reach for my coffee, but it’s tepid now.

“I’m proud of you, girl,” Marisa says, beaming. “Now, I don’t have to teach today. Let’s go climbing.”

It takes me twenty minutes to pack. We jump in Marisa’s beat-up Four Runner. Soon, we’re hiking to a shady canyon that has a handful of routes I’ve been itching to try.

Using my body feels good. The more I walk, the further away my conversation with Colby feels. Once we get inside the canyon’s walls, the resulting shade and coolness soothe me even more. We talk about my upcoming move to Yosemite Valley, and the climbs I’m planning to do to get ready for Norway.

My stomach twists into knots. Everything could fall apart after what happened with Colby…with Jake, too, but I can’t let it ruin the project. Everything has to come together.

“What do you feel like climbing?” Marisa asks as we reach an area with smooth red walls extending into the sunshine. There’s a waterfall at the rear of the canyon, meaning a steady stream of hikers pass by us. They gawk at the climbers scaling the various pitches, their colorful ropes dangling like vertical snakes.

“How aboutFast and Furious?” I ask, recalling the details of the pitch.

“You sure? What about the sketchy runout section?” she asks, frowning.

“Just make sure you’re anchored,” I say as a little thrill runs through me.

“I don’t know. Why notSlim PickinsorGoats of Wrath?”

“No,” I say, my voice sounding dark. I huff a big breath.Too easy, I want to say, but I don’t want to make Marisa feel bad.

She twitches her lips. “Okay,” she says. “But you’re leading.”

This suits me fine. Plus, Marisa doesn’t lead anything more difficult than 5.11.

I rack up, my mind centering on the task. I’ve never taken on this climb because my logical side has steered clear of the section of bare rock Marisa mentioned. Below it, there’s a crack that perfectly holds a number-six hex nut that will stop a fall. Above it, there’s a bolt drilled into the rock I can clip into. In between, though, is the crux—a layback with an undercling, followed by a dyno for a long-reach hold. There’s no bolt, no workable crack for a piece of protection. This means a prolonged fall and an increased risk of injury.

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