Page 87 of Kneel with the King
This morning’s activity is a ropes course, which, judging by the towering wooden structure behind him, was clearly built by someonenotafraid of falling to their icy death. It’s not that I’m scared of heights—not like Maddox, my brother—but I do have a fear of falling. It’s why I’ve never considered skydiving or bungee jumping. Things like flying are fine, as long as I can keep two feet on the ground.
Beside me, King looks irritatingly unbothered. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his puffer coat, his shoulders loose and relaxed. I’d asked him if his injured knee would hinder him, and he looked at me like I had two heads.
“You’re going to love this,” he murmurs, leaning just close enough for his breath to feather the side of my neck. The warmth flicks against the leather collar he made me wear. “The feeling of accomplishment when we’re done is going to be epic.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure.Epic.Because nothing says ‘romantic getaway’ like the constant fear of plummeting to my death.”
He grins, his expression almost manic. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
“I’m starting to think you’re sort of an adrenaline junkie,” I mutter, thinking about how his accident was only just yesterday, and he’s already doing a ropes course. If it were me, I’d be milking the injury for days.
“Me? Nah. I just like the endorphins.”
“Well, I should tell you that my idea of an adventure is an evening stroll through Central Park. I don’t hike, or camp, or do anything that requires me to get dirty. Just putting that out there.”
King chuckles. “And why are you telling me that, Harrison?”
My cheeks heat. WhyamI telling him all of that? It’s not like we’re actually going to ride off into the sunset as a real couple when this is all over.
It’s just for show.
The facilitator claps his hands, breaking me out of my self-deprecating spell, and announces, “You’ll be paired with your partner, of course.”
Of course.
He gestures toward the wall of harnesses, and before I can so much as think about wandering off to “accidentally” get lost in the lodge, King’s already guiding me toward it.
“Medium?” he asks, picking one up and holding it out to me.
“Do I look like a medium to you?” I shoot back, snatching the harness and pretending I’m not mentally calculating how much it’s going to hurt when I plummet to my death.
King’s mouth twitches. “Fine. Large ego, medium waist.”
I roll my eyes and turn away so I can strap the thing on without giving him the satisfaction of watching me struggle. Which I absolutely do. Again, because I never do outdoorsy things like this. Ever.
When I finally get the harness halfway situated, a warm hand lands low on my back. “You missed a loop,” King murmurs, close enough that his voice hums against my skin.
I look down, noting that I did, in fact, miss a loop. “You don’t have to sound so smug about it. I was getting there.”
“Sure you were,” he says, fixing it for me anyway. His fingers are steady and quick, and my brain decides now is the perfect time to remember last night—the way those same hands felt against my hips, on my skin. I swallow hard and step away before my body language starts giving away classified information.
We line up at the base of the course, and from here, it looks worse. A series of wooden platforms connected by ropes, planks, and wire—all swaying slightly in the frigid wind. Is there ice? Has someone checked that this is safe?
King looks over at me, smirking like he’s read my mind. “You ready, Harrison?”
“For what? My imminent demise?”
“For me to save your ass,” he says simply, and before I can retort, the group ahead of us starts climbing the first ladder.
When it’s our turn, King insists on going behind me “in case you fall,” which is just code for he wants to look at my ass, I’m sure. The ladder is narrow, and the rungs are spaced too far apart for comfort. Who designed this death trap?!
I can feel King’s presence right behind me. He’s close enough that if I slipped, I’d fall straight into him.
At least if I fell, I’d take him down with me.
About halfway up, my boot slips on a rung that’s slick with ice. My balance tilts, but King’s hand is instantly at my hip, steadying me.
“Got you,” he says, low and calm, like there was never a chance he’d let me fall.
