Page 110 of Grumpy on the Mountain
"Fuck!" I cry out, my feet looking for purchase.
The rope burns through my gloves as I slide six feet in half a second, my heart slamming against my ribs. Above me, I hear Molly's sharp shriek, and Jamie's voice barking orders to the anchor team.
"I'm good!" I call up, though my hands are shaking as I regain control. "All good!"
But I'm not good. Because with every foot I descend, the wreckage becomes clearer, and what I see below me makes rage bubble up in my throat like acid.
Molly's car… her beautiful, perfectly restored independence… is completely destroyed.
The front end is accordioned against a massive pine, steam rising from the crumpled engine block. The driver's side is compressed inward, metal twisted into shapes that shouldn't exist. The passenger window has cracked and crumbled into a thousand pieces, and I can smell gasoline mixing with antifreeze, a smell that makes my stomach turn.
This was supposed to be her freedom. Her ability to drive these mountain roads safely, to not depend on anyone, to choose her own path each and every day she woke up.
And Riley destroyed it in one selfish, reckless act.
Just like he destroys everything.
My boots hit the ground beside the wreckage, and I can see him through the shattered windshield. Riley Callahan, always so perfectly put together, now slumped over the steering wheel with blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. His left arm hangs at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, and there's something wrong with the way he's breathing.
Shallow. Labored. The kind of breathing that means internal injuries.
For a moment, I just stand there, looking at the man who's made my life hell for thirty-six years.
The brother who stole my toys, my achievements, my confidence. Who convinced our parents I was the bad one. Who took every girlfriend I ever had and made sure I knew I wasn't worth keeping.
The man who spent years slowly crushing the light out of Molly's eyes.
Fuck.
I could walk away. Right now. Tell Jamie the angle was wrong, the approach too dangerous. Let the weather and his injuries do what I've wanted to do with my bare hands for decades.
But then I hear Molly's voice carrying on the wind, calling my name with worry and love and absolute faith that I can do this.
Because that's who she thinks I am.
I'm the man who fixes broken things. The man who builds instead of destroys. The man who chooses love over hate, every single time.
"Well, well," Riley's voice is weak but still carries that familiar condescending tone that used to make me feel like nothing. "If it isn't my big brother, coming to save the day."
His eyes are glassy with pain and shock, but there's still that calculating look I remember from childhood. Even trapped and bleeding, he's still an asshole.
"Don't fucking move," I warn, pulling my med kit from my pack. "You've got internal injuries, and if you've damaged your spine—"
"Always the hero," he interrupts, coughing up blood that spatters across the airbag pressing into his chest. "Always so much better than everyone else. Always sorighteous."
I ignore him, running my hands along his neck and shoulders, checking for obvious breaks. He flinches when I hit a tender spot near his collarbone, but his spine seems intact.
"She's not coming back to me, is she?" Riley asks, his voice taking on that wheedling quality he used to use when he wanted something from our parents. "Molly. She's really done with me."
"Yeah," I say, working to stabilize his broken arm. "She is."
"Because of you." There's venom in his voice, the mask slipping. "You turned her against me. Filled her head with your pathetic mountain man bullshit. Made her think she was too good for the life I gave her."
The accusation should make me angry. Should trigger that old sibling rivalry that poisoned our childhood. Should make me dig my fingers into his broken collarbone and make him feel real pain.
Instead, I just feel... sorry for him.
"I didn't turn her against anything," I say, checking his pupils for signs of concussion. "You did that all by yourself when you tried to control every breath she took."
