Chapter 2

Chapter Two

THE CROWD BEYOND the isolation area roared. Ty's stomach twisted. Another top? Lukas was not making this easy for him.

Ty let out a sharp exhale and shook his arms. The soreness was creeping in, a slow ache like oil oozing across water. Ty could only hold it back so long.

One more climb , he begged his muscles. Just one more.

The official in the isolation area waved Ty forward. He emerged smiling and jogged along the long stage covered in climbing mats. Making his way across the stage was like leaping through marshmallows. The cushions under his feet sank with each step, like sand sucking his feet under, but they would keep him safe when he got onto the bouldering wall set up for the competition .

Ty waved at the crowd below the stage. They fanned out through a field. Most were standing, but some had been clever enough to bring their own camping chairs in order to watch the competition in comfort. Climbing was still a new enough sport that many competitions took place in arenas like this that were little more than open fields. But what the sport lacked in refinement, it more than made up for in enthusiasm. Climbing fans packed the field below the stage, so numerous they blurred into an amorphous blob of shirt and hair colors. And they screamed for Ty when he emerged, shouting "allez!" to encourage him up this final climb.

"Come on, Ty." A teammate's familiar voice broke through the wall of noise before more cries of "allez, allez" drowned them out.

Ty stopped before the final boulder problem of the competition. He stood with his back to it, facing the judges, waiting for their go ahead to begin.

He didn't know if he was winning or losing. That was part of the reason for an isolation area. You came out, did your climb, then went back into isolation. Watching the other competitors climb would relay far too much information about how to do the boulder problem, meaning the last person to climb would have an incredible advantage over the first person.

And Ty was dead last.

He'd ranked first after the semi-finals, which was why he was climbing last. It set high hopes for him in the finals. But coming first in the semi-finals was far from a guarantee of doing well in finals. Especially because he knew he was climbing against Lukas Bollenbacher.

All too many comps came down to Ty and Lukas these days. And they rarely gained a definitive edge against each other. Though Ty couldn't watch Lukas climb or know what his score was, he'd heard the crowd's cheers throughout the comp. Judging by the roars that permeated the isolation area, Lukas had had a great competition today.

Ty would need this final climb.

The judges gave him a nod and he turned to face the bouldering wall. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, a clock started counting down. He only had four minutes to figure this out and he'd only gotten a brief look at this problem during the observation period before the competition began.

Now, he ran through the solution again in his mind, visualizing each movement he'd need in order to reach the top. The problem started with a big, red plastic climbing hold. From the look of things, Ty would have to fling himself off that hold and catch the next plastic hold on the route.

Starting with a dyno? You bastards , he thought, sending a mental middle finger to the competition's route setters. Putting a powerful, dynamic boulder last was a mean trick. Ty and all the other competitors had been climbing all day, first the semi-final round, now the grueling finals round. And it all ended on a powerful and dynamic problem.

After the jump, things wouldn't get much better. More powerful moves on red holds led up toward the final hold, which looked like an absolutely horrific sloper. Slopers didn't provide much to hang onto at the best of times. They were often round — literally, sloping, hence the name. If Ty hung onto that hold, it would be thanks to raw friction.

Ty exhaled sharply again, expelling both air and lingering nerves. A tingle of excitement replaced the anxiety. Tired as he was, this was a hell of a fun problem. A flush of renewed vigor washed through his long, lanky body.

He was built for this, truly. Being tall but relatively slim was great for climbing — less weight to carry with you up the problem. He adjusted the elastic headband attempting to tame the tight spirals of brown hair falling almost to his shoulders and dipped his hands into a bag that held climbing chalk. Ty rubbed the chalk all over his hands, turning them from brown to stark white. He'd need a good coating to keep his skin dry as he attempted this final climb. Nothing would knock him off that sloper at the top faster than sweaty, wet hands.

Ty clapped his hands, sending up a plume of loose chalk. He blew them off, shaking out his arms. It was more ritual than anything else, an attempt to flick aside the last of the nervous, buzzing energy that could distract him while he was on the wall.

The crowd clustered behind him in that sunny field disappeared as he stepped across the squishy pads toward the long stretch of the bouldering wall. A peaked roof extended over the wall, keeping it in the shade and out of any unfortunate weather that might blow in. It was hardly necessary today. The weather in Vail, Colorado, had been absolutely stunning all week, maybe a little on the warm side. It was a good thing the plastic holds were in the shade all day. Being the last climber, Ty would be dealing with some seriously hot holds if they'd been sitting in the sun throughout the comp.

But when he touched that first red hold, it was cool. No oily heat, just the cold friction of his chalked up hands against the scratchy grain of the hold. Ty got his feet off the mat and onto the hold under him. Then he wound up for the big starting jump.

His target was to the right and slightly above him. Ty swung on the starting hold, gathering momentum like a pendulum tick-tocking back and forth. On one of the forward swings, he propelled himself off the starting hold and toward that big red target above him.

The crowd erupted when he caught it on his first try, a solid indication that other climbers had needed a few attempts before they made the catch. Ty's legs flew out beneath him. He gripped the hold with all his strength as his lower body swung, the momentum trying to tear him off the wall and throw him back to the mats. Worse, he wasn't holding on to anything so much as just pressing his hands flat against the plastic hold and using raw friction to stay on.

His entire body tensed, dispersing the power and momentum that had launched him upward. But every moment left him more sure that he wasn't falling off this hold. The momentum abated and Ty managed to get his feet on tiny chips under him to take some of the weight off his hands.

He gazed upward. The only thing standing between him and a probable victory in this comp was a few more red holds. No more jumps, just strong, precise movements.

His arms and back ached at that news. The route setters had really pushed the climbers during this competition. Even in the finals, few climbers were making it to the top of the climbs. Out of four possible climbs, Ty had so far reached the top of two. And judging by how long the other competitors had taken to return to isolation, two out of four was a pretty good showing.

Getting a third might just clench it for Ty. As long as Lukas didn't have four somehow…

It was possible. Lukas was a damn good climber, and strong as hell, too. Where Ty was long and lanky, Lukas was all power. The climb Ty was struggling with right now played into Lukas's strengths — except that dyno at the start. Had he needed a few tries? Dynamic movements were more Ty's thing than Lukas's, meaning getting the jump on his first try might just be enough to put Ty ahead.

First, he had to finish the damn climb, though.

He hauled himself upward, body protesting after so many hours of relentless climbing. Ty ignored the pleas of his exhausted muscles. He threw his heel onto the same hold his hands were on. The crowd reacted with a ripple of murmurs. Had other climbers lacked the reach or flexibility for this move? Having his foot at the same level as his hands was a little uncomfortable, but it was also giving Ty a boost as he tried to drag himself to the next hold.

The murmuring rose to a hum as Ty pulled himself upward. His whole body strained, every muscle pushed to its absolute limit. He gritted his teeth, shoving himself well past the breaking point. When he reached a hand up, stretching for that next hold, every limb trembled. His fingertips brushed the bottom of the hold. It was big and deep, super easy to hold onto, if he could only reach it. That was going to be easier said than done. Even with all his height, Ty was coming up just slightly short. He'd need to find a couple extra inches of push from somewhere, anywhere.

He exhaled. There was no choice but to throw at it. It wasn't the most controlled type of move, but it was the only way to get those final precious inches of distance.

He braced, inhaled — and shoved himself upward with everything he had left .

His fingers brushed the hold. For a breathless beat, he grazed along the lip of the hold, a nice, big edge he should have been able to grip.

Then he fell.

Ty watched himself drop off the wall in slow motion. He could still feel that brush of plastic against his hand, so tantalizingly close.

He hit the mats with a thump. The crowd behind him was still letting out a collective "aww" at his near-catch.

Ty didn't bother getting up right away. The strain of the climb left his arms numb after just one attempt. He glanced at the clock. He still had three minutes out of four total. The climb hadn't taken long at all. It was just strenuous as all hell.

He stood on the mats and shook out his arms. The veins in his forearms stood out, flushed with blood. He massaged the engorged muscles, but they were hard as rocks after that powerful climb. He could try for it again. He had time for three more attempts, maybe even more. But this climb wasn't a matter of if he could do it. Ty had the moves down. It was just a question of if he still had the energy to execute them.

A risky strategy whispered at the back of his mind. He looked again at the clock. Two and a half minutes. But still Ty didn't approach the wall.

Technically, he could rest as long as he liked. He could leave himself a minute or even just thirty seconds to complete the climb. It was risky. That jump off the first hold was clearly a move that many climbers had missed. At the same time, Ty was exhausted, his muscles completely pumped. Risky or not, he probably only had one real go left in him.

Ty exhaled sharply. His coach was likely freaking out somewhere behind him, but it wouldn't be the first time Ty had gone with something a bit unconventional. If it worked, Ty would look like a genius, a brilliant risk-taker who understood his own limitations to a ludicrously precise degree. If he failed, however, Ty would look like he'd thrown the competition away by not taking more attempts at the climb and placing the whole comp on just one final go.

A thrill raced through Ty's chest, an electric jolt that flushed him with fresh energy. Putting it all on one crazy last attempt was exactly the sort of thing he lived for. Maybe he'd lose. Maybe it wasn't the most careful or calculated plan. But it was everything Ty found most fun about competition climbing.

He turned to the crowd and waved both arms. They cheered instantly, sensing Ty's wild exuberance.

The cries buoyed him all the way back to the climbing wall. The clock beeped. One minute left. If he missed the jump, he could take another shot at it, but if he made it, it was do or die.

Ty smeared more chalk all over his hands, trying to keep them dry despite the nerves tingling in his palms. He got himself onto the climb before he could worry any longer, then lined up for that first big jump.

The second his hands slapped the big hold he was aiming at, he knew he'd stick. The crowd erupted all over again as Ty's legs swung out. He braced against the momentum, but this time he knew it was coming before it tried to rip him off the wall. Before he'd even stopped swinging, he threw his foot up onto the hold where his hands were. It cut off the rest of the swing and put him in a relatively stable position.

Ty peered up at that elusive hold above him. It still looked high and imposing, but this time he knew what to expect.

He hauled himself up, arms burning. Ty dug his heel down against the plastic hold, trying to get some extra leverage out of his leg as well. Slowly, painfully, the next hold neared.

Ty pushed until his arms were straight. He planted a palm on the big hold below him, praying that chalk kept his palm dry so he didn't slip off when he let the other hand come off. His whole body trembled from the effort of remaining balanced on the hold. He stretched, using every centimeter of lanky length at his disposal. His fingers brushed the plastic — and his body started falling backward.

For a heart-stopping moment, the world froze. Ty didn't even dare breathe as time itself slowed. He was falling away from the hold, falling back to the mats. At the last second, he pushed with everything he had left, closing the precarious distance between himself and safety.

His hand grasped the hold. His body jerked backward, but the hold was good. Even though Ty slipped a little, he didn't fall off the climb.

His heart stuttered. The rest of the climb was like a dream, a hazy, half-formed memory. Ty remembered getting his other hand on that tenuous hold, standing up on the big hold under him, dragging his body — numb with shock as well as exhaustion — through the rest of the climb, grasping the hold marked "top" at the pinnacle of the four-meter wall.

Then the roar of the crowd washed over him, drowning out his own voice as he slapped the wall and screamed. Ty hung from one arm and turned to face the spectators. Several had jumped to their feet. Most were shouting themselves hoarse. They were a sea of color to Ty. He pumped his fist at them before releasing the wall to fall back down to the mats.

He didn't need to look at the score. The crowd was proof enough that he'd just won this competition.

Instead, Ty collected his chalk bag off the mats and basked in the adoration of the spectators, waving and grinning. Team USA was near the front of the arena, a cluster of black jackets and blue shirts. Ty wore the same uniform himself, minus the jacket, and few things made him prouder. There weren't a lot of people in those uniforms who looked like Ty. Hell, there weren't a lot of people in the entire sport of climbing who looked like Ty. And not everyone in Team USA gear had found a place in the finals of their respective disciplines, but Ty had. And he'd won on top of that.

His teammates were going crazy, but he couldn't stay up on the mats gloating all evening. When he turned to head off the stage, he glanced at the judges. There was always a chance they'd say he didn't really have "control" at the top, or some other technicality like that, but they offered no objections as Ty skipped across the mats.

This time, he didn't go back into the isolation area. The comp was over. He was the last climber on the last climb. No more need to isolate.

Rather, he headed to an area just to the side of the stage where the other climbers in the finals gathered. All of them were already on their feet, eager to congratulate Ty on his victory. All but one, of course. Lukas had his head down and was pretending to busy himself with switching out his tight climbing shoes for a more comfortable option.

Ty ignored him. Lukas could grimace all he liked; it wouldn't change the final score.

He exchanged hugs and fist bumps with the rest of the climbers. Even in a place like Colorado, a slew of accents greeted Ty as the other climbers congratulated him. Climbing attracted an international crowd no matter where the competition took place. For many of the European and Asian climbers in particular, Vail was well worth the long trip.

"That was sick," Jude, a fellow American climber, said when Ty sat to release his feet from the torture of his climbing shoes. "You have no idea how many of us missed that dyno."

They relived the climb together, miming the motions, chatting about variations in technique, hardly even caring who won or lost. It wasn't really about that stuff, not for Ty, at least. It was moreso about this, the camaraderie, the challenge, the thrill of testing himself against some of the best climbers he could find. Ty was willing to bet a good portion of those cheers he'd heard from up on the wall had come from right here among the other climbers in the finals.

The awards ceremony interrupted the climbing talk. It wasn't Ty's favorite thing in the world, but it was a necessary part of competition climbing. Besides, standing up on a podium while a crowd cheered for him wasn't exactly a burden.

Ty got called last, right after a scowling Lukas took his place on the second-highest platform. When Ty stepped up and waved at the crowd, they went crazy all over again. Some people had already started filtering out, but most were staying to watch the ceremony. A judge handed Ty and his competitors bouquets of flowers. They waved them at the crowd, then wound up to fling them at the spectators, as was tradition.

Just as Ty cocked his arm back, something in the front row made him pause. He froze with the bouquet poised overhead. Ty blinked, but the man before him remained inexplicably real.

Is that…

The guy in jeans and an Access Fund T-shirt could have been just about any climber in that crowd. Tall, white and sandy-haired, with obviously muscular arms even at rest. When the sun hit his face, his stippling of stubble shone golden. The woman next to him sealed the deal, though. Everyone knew Jane Miller at a glance. Which meant that was…

Elijah freaking Reed?!

"Hey, are you going to throw that or what?"

Ty barely caught Lukas's snarky remark. His mouth was hanging open as he finally lobbed his bouquet out into the crowd, but all the while, he never tore his eyes from the climber in the front row.