Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

H olt

I watch her go, the fire in my chest burning hot and out of control, searing through every shred of my self-control. The urge to call out to her claws at my throat, to demand she turn around, face me, admit that there's more between us than just some fleeting fling. But I clamp my mouth shut, locking the words behind my teeth, letting the anger twist into something darker, something I don't know how to control.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms until the pain becomes a sharp, grounding point. The mountain wind howls around me, icy and relentless, but it's nothing compared to the storm raging inside. I thought I could keep this simple, keep her at arm's length, but somehow, she slipped under my skin, and now she's dragging a part of me down that damn trail with her.

What the hell am I supposed to do with the empty space she's left behind, with the silence that rings louder than the angry words we threw at each other? I stand there, rooted to the spot like an idiot, feeling the warmth of her fading fast against the chill of the dawn. My chest tightens, every breath burning with the memory of her body pressed against mine, of the way she made me feel like I was more than just the man I've become since the accident.

With a sharp curse, I turn and kick at a loose rock, sending it skittering over the edge. It bounces down the mountainside, disappearing into the shadows below, and I wish I could fling every damn emotion in me right along with it. I should be relieved that she's gone—that I don't have to face the risk of wanting something that could break me all over again. But as I stare out at the valley, the sun creeping up to paint the horizon in gold, I know that relief is a lie—just like every other wall I've built around myself.

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.

That thought fuels me, driving me up the last stretch of rock. I haul myself over the final edge, my chest heaving, muscles screaming, but for the first time in months, the pain feels... right. Like I'm finally earning something again. I stand at the top, looking out over the valley, the river a silver thread far below. My legs tremble, my knee a sharp reminder of everything I've fought through, but I feel lighter, like I've shed something I didn't realize I was carrying.

The wind whips across the peak, chilling the sweat on my skin, but I barely feel it. I let out a breathless, bitter laugh, running a hand through my hair. Damn, it's not just the climb. It's everything.

I think of Lila, her words still ringing in my head, cutting through the bravado I've wrapped around myself for years. She's right, of course. She sees through me in a way that no one else does, straight to the parts I've tried to bury. But as much as her honesty cuts, it's the only thing that makes me want to be honest too.

I glance back down the way I came, the route that nearly broke me once, and a different kind of determination surges through me. The fear is still there—of falling, of failing, of wanting something I don't know how to keep. But now, there's something else too—a realization that maybe, for once, I don't have to do this alone.

I lower myself to sit on the edge, my legs dangling over the drop, and for the first time, I let myself imagine what it might feel like to reach for more than just the next hold. To reach for something real. Something that doesn't fit neatly into my world of risks and adrenaline.

"Dammit, Lila," I murmur into the wind, my voice barely carrying over the rush of air. "You might be the one thing I can't out-climb."

I scrub a hand over my face, the rough stubble scratching against my palm. The realization feels like a weight lifting off my chest, even as it leaves me raw, exposed to the mountain air. I thought climbing this route again would be about conquering my own demons, about proving I'm still the same guy I was before the fall. But now, I know it's about more than that. It's about admitting that I don't have to keep pretending I don't need anyone.

I push to my feet, staring down at the valley below, the sun casting long shadows across the pines. My jaw clenches, but there's a small, stubborn smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Because this time, I'm not just climbing back to who I used to be—I'm climbing toward something better.

And if that means taking a risk on Lila, on letting her into a place I've kept locked up tight, then maybe—just maybe—I'm ready to do it.