Scot and Bothered

30. Now

30

NOW

In the shadow of the Black Cuillin Mountains, the Bad Step was infamous—a rounded stone slab hovering over the turbulent green waters of Loch Coruisk. The giant crack that split through the rock provided a path of sorts—if Brooke took the same creative license with the word as all the guidebook authors had. The crack was nothing more than a ledge, the width of a single stair, angled up and over the side of the rock so they couldn’t see how far it extended on the other side.

The white light sparkling over the water made her dizzy and she held up a hand to block the afternoon sun. A rocky shore wasn’t an apt description of the edge of this sea loch. The rocks were boulders, tumbling down to the water’s edge and disappearing into the dark depths of the cerulean sea. She had no question why the stories of earth giants had arisen in a place like this.

Cat and Nat tipped their heads like they were contemplating the climb.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Nat said.

Brooke was likewise questioning her rash decision to embark on this particular adventure. Standing on the side of the rock, it looked so much higher than it had in the pictures online.

“There’s a boat that ferries across this loch,” Jack said, ever the expert on touristy things. “We could try to grab that instead.”

A boat was an appealing idea—they could skip this death trap and also, how quaint . It would make an excellent premise for a story.

The wind had come up hours ago but hadn’t felt quite so dire when it was only whipping her hair around. Up on that ledge, it’d be playing with her pack, too, her center of gravity already completely off. Worst case, she would fall in the loch with all her gear and drown.

“We can go back and loop around,” Cat said, holding Nat’s hand. Brooke knew how much Cat wanted to cross this—it was basically the first thing she’d said when they met. But Brooke could tell Cat wouldn’t push Nat—or any of them—if they really wanted to walk away and head back to the official trail.

If they did, they’d lose half a day they couldn’t really afford after picking this detour.

“No. I want to do it,” Nat said.

Jack nudged Brooke’s shoulder. “What do you think?”

She looked into his eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat. She’d survived a raging storm without a full-blown panic attack because of Jack. She could do this, too. Needed to know she could still take chances. “I’ll go first.”

“You sure?” Jack asked. Brooke nodded, not quite trusting her voice to come out anything but strangled.

“I’ll follow you, then.”

Brooke walked down the stepping staircase of fractured boulders, Jack behind her, then Nat and Cat. Brooke gripped the grass growing in pockets between the smooth rock. When she was overwhelmed, Chels often told her to go outside and feel the grass, but this advice seemed laughable now. The grass couldn’t do a single thing to keep her from falling off this ledge.

Sliding her fingers into a long horizontal crack, Brooke shuffled across the incline, her body pressed against the cool rock to counteract the pull of her pack and her fear of falling. She wondered, not for the first time, how rock climbers did this, how they trusted the sheer strength of their fingers to keep them safe. She envied that kind of conviction about literally anything.

The ledge narrowed and Brooke’s heart pumped uncomfortably in her chest as her jacket scraped against the rock.

“This is worse than I thought,” Natalia whined. “I can’t see my feet.”

Brooke took shallow breaths, sliding her hands around the flat rock, searching for some sort of grip.

“Take your time,” Jack said to Brooke, his voice distant. “Don’t move until you see the path forward.”

Brooke nodded, then shook the divot she’d found to make sure it was sturdy before shifting her weight.

She couldn’t see her feet, either, and it sent a panic through her like driving at night in the fog. Like one wrong turn and you could crash over a ledge to your demise. She’d add this to her list of nightmares to revisit.

The water was directly below them now, the sun’s reflection a blinding circle, sparkling and marking the spot where they’d drop into the water. Rocks lay in a jumble on the edge of the lake like they’d fallen and splintered. More boulders were probably just below the surface. If anyone in their group fell, it would mean getting airlifted out of here.

“You’ve got this,” Jack said, his voice calm and firm like his conviction might seep into her.

Brooke pulled her attention back to the rock, smooth from the elements of millions of years and climbers rubbing their hands along it, searching for purchase.

Her breath was coming out in pants and gasps, audible over Natalia’s swearing. “I can’t fucking see my fucking feet. Shit, that’s a long way to fall. Why is this rock so goddamn slick?”

The rock bowed away from the water, making it too hard to grip. Brooke felt like she was teetering on the ledge now. She crept along the side of the rock, keeping her hands splayed wide. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes and she twisted her head into the brunt of the breeze to blow it out.

The roiling green of the water below distracted her, the tiny whitecaps making her seasick. Was it a twenty-foot drop? Two hundred? All sense of spatial skills was lost to the sea below.

“Brooke,” Jack said, his voice commanding. Without realizing, she’d frozen. “Take it slow. Breathe.”

Her anxiety was getting the best of her, the calculating, the playing out routes and next steps and worst-case scenarios.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head, a tiny movement so as to not upset her center of gravity.

“Do you trust me?”

She traced the gray cracks in the rock with her eyes. Trusting Jack had nearly destroyed her. But he’d also pushed her to take risks and if she looked back on her life, the times she felt free and whole and fulfilled had been because of him. Brooke gripped the rock tighter, turning her head to look at Jack. She nodded.

He took exaggerated deep breaths and she followed them. In and out. Her heart rate returned to light-jogging levels instead of top-of-a-roller-coaster realm.

“I believe you can do this,” he said. “Do you trust yourself?”

Jack wasn’t swooping in to rescue her—he’d always believed she could do it on her own. And it’d always made her believe in herself. His reminder was the buoy she needed. She didn’t want to lose these moments to her fear. She wanted to live them fully.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because you’re already doing it.”

Brooke took in the details around her. When she wrote this, she’d describe the deep cerulean of the water and the triangular island in the middle of the loch. The light blue shadows of mountains in the distance, fluffy clouds banding above them. The wind toying with the tabs on Jack’s backpack straps. The slope of his jaw, the curve of his smile. That proud look he had in his dark brown eyes, his fearlessness against the steep slope of the rock, the flutter of her heart that they were doing this together.

After so much had passed between them, it felt like they were right where they were meant to be.

On a cliff hanging over the ocean, Brooke felt safe with Jack again.

“I’m good.” Brooke pressed on. The split in the stone widened, deepened to a cut where they could grab both sides and jump down onto a flat slab, splintered into geometric patterns below her feet, the water trapped in the grooves sparkling like gemstones. Brooke grabbed on to a cracked dome of a rock and slid through a cave-like opening and passed through to solid ground.

She’d done it.

Looking back, the Bad Step didn’t look so daunting. It looked conquered.

She held her hand out to Jack and he took it, jumping down.

He wrapped her up in his arms and she could feel his heart beating under her ear. She let that familiar serenity seep into her. Jack cupped her cheek and tilted her face up to his, searching her eyes, searching for signs of terror. But she didn’t feel afraid anymore.

Something akin to survivor’s lust flared through Brooke’s veins. She wanted him to kiss her, to feel his lips crashing against hers. To feel even more alive. And she’d kiss him back. Feel the slight rasp of Jack’s stubble, trace the seam of his lips with her tongue, moan when he licked into her mouth. Adren aline still coursed through her, compounded by the memory of his touch, his hands in her hair.

The wind brushed her cheeks, and the possibility that’d been snuffed out so many years ago seemed to burst into flame before her. Brooke reached up onto tiptoes, some magnetic pull to be closer to Jack. His eyes darkened and his lips parted, his arms tightening around her, like he felt this need, too.

The smash of boots hitting rock sounded behind them, followed by Cat’s holler. “We fucking made it! That was fucking fantastic!”

A wry smile played on Jack’s lips and he loosened his hold on her. Brooke stepped back, but that pull hadn’t faded in the least.