Page 109 of Broken on the Mountain
The group erupts in a flurry of questions, and for the next ten minutes, I regale them with tales of daring rescues and near misses. By the time I’m done, they’re practically offering to name their firstborn children after me.
"So this guy had fallen about forty feet, broken his leg in two places." I take a sip of the third whiskey someone has handed me. "My teammate Beau anchored the line while I went down. Found the guy wedged between two rocks, unconscious. Had to stabilize the leg with what we had in the pack before we could even think about hauling him up."
"That's insane," another guy off my growing audience says, eyes wide. "How do you even train for something like that?"
"Repetition. We drill constantly—rope work, emergency medicine, navigation. Jamie, our coordinator, he's ex-Army Ranger. Runs the team like a military operation."
"Jamie Striker?" The younger guy perks up. "I've heard of him. Didn't he do some crazy rescue in Afghanistan?"
"Several. Guy's a legend."
We all laugh, and I'm about to launch into the story about Mabel's fake emergency when I catch Piper staring at me.
She's frozen mid-conversation with two older ladies across the room, champagne glass halfway to her lips. The look on her faceis something I've never seen before. Soft. Awed. Like she's seeing me for the first time all over again.
I wink.
Her cheeks flush pink, and she quickly looks away, but not before I see the smile tugging at her lips.
"Excuse me, gentlemen." I set down my whiskey and weave through the crowd, snagging Piper's champagne glass as I reach her. Taking a sip, I lean in close. "What, Chicago? Never seen me network with billionaires?"
"You're a natural." Her voice is breathless, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are shining. "They love you."
"They've never even been camping before. They love thestories. I'm just the guy who lived them."
"No." She shakes her head, reaching up to straighten my bow tie even though it doesn't need it. "You're the guy who drove nine hours to crash a gala because I was too scared to choose what I really wanted."
"And what do you really want, Piper?"
The question hangs between us, and before she can answer, the fancy band music shifts to a slower tempo, something classical and sweeping. Couples begin drifting toward the dance floor.
I hold out my hand. "Dance with me."
"Chase—"
"Please."
She places her hand in mine. "Okay."
The dance floor is already crowded, but I don't care. I pull Piper close, one hand at her waist, the other holding hers, and we start to move.
She's stiff at first, totally aware of every set of eyes on us. But gradually, as we sway to the music, she relaxes into me and forgets the world outside of us even exists.
"You know," she says softly, "you're quite fetching in a tuxedo, Morrison."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But it's not really you."
"Are you saying you just want me to be myself?" I grin. "Because I can grab a flannel shirt from my truck right now, baby."
She laughs and some of the nervous tension melts from her shoulders. "Please don't. My mother would have an aneurysm."
"Might be worth it."
We spin slowly, and I catch sight of Maxwell glaring at us from across the room. Good. Let him watch. Let him see exactly what he's lost.
"This would've never worked as just friends with benefits, Chase," Piper says suddenly, her voice quiet but firm. "Have you ever realized that?"
