Page 78 of Entwined Hearts

“You see now that we don’t need Colby?”

I take a moment to digest this. “What are you saying? That we should kick him off the team?” I frown. “We don’t have the power to do that.”

“You do,” Jake says, raising his eyebrows.

I think about Colby in the meadow below us, probably with Kabir, Jo, and a few others, all lined up in camp chairs drinking beer and watching us through binoculars.

“Marvik wants him there, Jake.” The thought of going to Norway without Colby feels like a betrayal. I remember the climbs we did in the Buttermilks, how much we laughed. Climbing with Jake is always so serious. I used to think that was what I needed, but now…

“Think he’ll even show up? Three weeks is a big commitment to him. Maybe too much.”

My shoulders sag. I have wondered if Colby can be away from his family that long. What if they need him?

Jake leads the next pitch while I gently rotate my ankle to warm it up after our rest. I think about what Jake proposed, that I can remove Colby off the team somehow. That Jake wants it so badly makes me uneasy. Will it be a disaster, trying to climb with them? Especially since I don’t know where Colby and I stand?

I think of Jake’s touch and how it stirred up old feelings. Hell. MaybeI’ma disaster.

By the time I reach the crux pitch, I’m back in hyper-focus mode. My ankle pain hasn’t worsened, the sun is nearing the horizon, my fingers are shredded and bloodied, but there is nothing that can stop me from this final challenge.

I sense Jake, but I don’t hear him. Granite and the earthy aroma of the trees on the summit replace the smell of my bloodstained t-shirt and metal climbing gear. It’s as if those days we spent practicing this pitch have been downloaded into my muscle memory. The moves flow through me, my fingertips and legs and feet, shoulders and lungs, all moving as one unit. Shifting, balancing, and reaching until the actions start to feel effortless.

This is what climbing is for me: these precious, flowing movements, my mind a peaceful hollow of focus. A delirious form of joy blooms in my chest. My heart feels like it’s glowing. It’s as if I’m floating instead of climbing on this sheer rock face. When I get to the anchor and affix my rope and gear, I let my head fall back and give a war cry of satisfaction.

Still breathing hard, I switch out all the systems, then belay Jake to the anchor. I watch him expertly move through the crux.

He high-fives me. The next moment, I hear a rattling roar, as if the heavens are answering our sentiment of triumph. I look up, wondering if a giant thunderclap has exploded above us, but the sky is clear. The wall starts to vibrate. Earthquake? I look down, and my stomach drops through my feet.

A giant plume of gray-brown smoke billows upward.

“Oh my God,” I cry. “Is something on fire?”

I catch Jake’s eyes, which are wide with fear. “Fuck,” he yells over the subsiding roar. “That’s rock.”

My pulse pounds into my eardrums.

“Was anyone below us?” I ask in a tense whisper.

Jake shakes his head. “Not that I saw.”

I look down again, seeing the smoke for what it is: dust. Whatever broke free from the wall must have been huge because there’s a cloud of it expanding outward.

“Aw, shit,” Jake mutters, clearly distressed. He starts to rock from side to side, hugging himself tight. “Jesus.”

I wipe away a sudden blur of tears. Less than an hour ago, we’d been climbing in the path of that rockfall.An hour. “Oh my God,” I breathe as my entire body starts to shake.

Jake pulls me close, wrapping his arms tightly around my shoulders. A thin dusting of powdered granite coats my cheeks.

He holds me until we both calm down. When he releases me, I see something in his eyes, something fierce. A long silence stretches between us while my mind tries to fathom how close we just came to being crushed.

“I love you, Anya. I hope you know that,” he says, surprising me.

“I love you, too,” I say, my still-hammering heart beating even faster.

Pain fills his face, and it’s like he can’t look at me. “I’m sorry about Morocco.”

I study him, confused. What happened isn’t his fault.

His gaze darts in my direction, but then he focuses on his hands. “I couldn’t protect you,” he chokes out on a sob.

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