Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
I drop down onto the cold stone, my legs giving out beneath me, and bury my face in my hands. The weight of what I’ve lost, what I pushed away, sinks into my bones, heavy and unyielding. And for the first time in years, I let myself admit that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as invincible as I’ve been pretending to be.
A surge of determination to regain all that I’ve lost overcomes me then, and I stand and head on confident strides back to the lodge. I’m going to conquer the mountain, literally and metaphorically.
An hour later, I stare up at the north cliff face of Devil’s Peak, the sheer rock that used to feel like an extension of my own body. But today, it looms taller, more intimidating. The sun cuts through the cold morning air, casting sharp shadows that stretch down the mountain. It’s the kind of day that used to make me feel alive, the promise of danger thrumming in my blood. But since the accident, since the fall, every time I look at this rock, all I see is what I lost.
The rope feels rough in my grip, and I flex my hands against it, testing its strength. My knee twinges in protest, a reminder of why I’ve avoided this climb for so long. But I’m done avoiding. Today, I’m taking back control, one way or another.
I rub chalk into my palms, the familiar grit calming my racing pulse, and I force myself to take a deep breath. “Let’s do this,” I mutter, the words rough in the stillness, barely louder than the wind that cuts through the pines.
I grab the first handhold and haul myself up. Muscle memory kicks in, guiding my hands and feet from one grip to the next. But every few feet, doubt gnaws at me, bringing back flashes of that day—the snap of bone, the air rushing past me, the gut-wrenching certainty that I wasn’t going to walk away this time. I grit my teeth, forcing those thoughts down as I reach higher, digging my fingers into the rock.
My body remembers the climb even if my mind doesn’t. Every move is a struggle, but there’s a twisted comfort in it, the kind that comes from pushing myself to the edge. I focus on the burn in my arms, the stretch of my legs, anything to drown out the thoughts that keep clawing their way to the surface.
About halfway up, I find a narrow ledge and pause, the wind tugging at my hair, whistling around me. I look down—bad idea. The ground spins far below, a dizzying drop that tightens my chest. I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to steady the wild beat of my heart.
And there, in the quiet, her voice cuts through the chaos in my head. It’s not real, just a memory, but it’s enough to knock the breath out of me. Lila, standing on that damn trail, eyes blazing, challenging me like no one else ever has. The way she looks at me, like she can see every crack I try to hide, every fear I’ve buried.
“Why the hell did you have to get under my skin, Lila?” The words slip out, rough and desperate, carried off by the mountain wind. My fingers dig into the rock edge until my knuckles go white. “You don’t even know how much I’ve been holding back. How damn terrified I am of... needing anyone again.”
Admitting it feels like pulling glass from a wound—painful, but there’s a relief in finally saying the words, even if there’s no one around to hear them. I’ve spent so long convincing myself that I don’t need anyone, that I can do this alone. But Lila... she’s the first person to make me question that. The first person to make me want more than just the next climb, the next thrill.
I shake my head, trying to push those thoughts away. But the truth is, she’s all I’ve been thinking about since she walked away. Since I let her walk away. I open my eyes, squinting against the sun’s glare, and force myself to look up instead of down. Focus on the climb, Holt. One hold at a time.
I reach for the next grip, my movements more certain now, each pull of muscle grounding me. The burn in my arms is sharp, my knee protesting with every push, but I welcome it. It’s a reminder that I’m still here, still fighting. And as the ledge gets smaller beneath me, I realize I’m not just climbing for myself anymore.
It’s her. Lila, with her stubborn pride and the way she made me feel like the man I used to be—hell, like a better version of him. I grit my teeth, swinging my body up over a particularly tricky overhang, and the thought hits me like a punch to the gut. Maybe I’m more afraid of losing her than I am of this damn mountain.