Chapter 30
Jake
M y phone buzzes next to me, pulling me from my thoughts about Mia, thoughts that have been occupying most of my days.
Relief for the distraction, I answer and move toward the window. “Talk to me, Sergio.” I press the phone to my ear, the cityscape below becoming a backdrop to our conversation. While I’m up here in Boston, Sergio’s been my point man, keeping me in the loop on all the operations.
“Hey, Jake, I just wanted to give you some updates on the hotel expansion.”
“What’s happening?” A half-smile finding its way to my lips despite the tension I’ve felt all day. I might not have chosen hotel management as my dream career, but I’ve got a knack for it, especially when mixed with my marketing expertise.
About a year ago, our hotel was on the brink of collapse. I rallied, brought in investors, and since then, business has been booming. We’re on the verge of transforming from a simple hotel to a full-blown resort—a key player in hospitality.
“The expansion is moving early,” he says, a bit of static cutting through his words.
I nod to myself, forgetting for a moment that Sergio can’t see me. “That’s great news. Just make sure the construction isn’t too disruptive for our guests.” My gaze drifts across the city as I imagine the future of the hotel.
“Will do. Oh, and we’ve had some inquiries about hosting events at the new conference center once it’s finished.” His enthusiasm nearly jumps through the phone.
The excitement is infectious, and I can’t help but share in it. “Alright, let’s tentatively schedule those and adjust if needed.”
After we end the call, I put my phone down and stare at the ceiling, thinking about the past eight months. The hotel has been a welcome distraction. It was hard staying at the cabin after she left, expecting to see her next to me when I woke up. Every corner of that place reminded me of her, her voice, her smell, her laughter. After getting everything settled at the hotel, I went back to Boston, but that didn’t help.
I’ve thrown myself into work. The hotels, the brand collabs, the volunteering, they were meant to keep my mind occupied. No matter what I do, or how busy I get, she’s always there.
My alarm goes off, breaking through my thoughts. I need to get ready for the brand photoshoot at the local indoor climbing center. We’re promoting their latest climbing shoes.
As I pull up to the center, the professional team is already bustling around, setting everything for the shoot. After a quick briefing on the shot lists and the movements the photographer is looking for, I’m geared up and ready to go. My heart races as I approach the climbing wall.
I chalk up, my hands working automatically, patting and prepping as I assess the route ahead. Finding my initial grip, I start my ascent. The rough texture under my fingers and the familiar stretch of my muscles instantly reminds me why I love this sport. It’s just me against the wall, where all other concerns seem to melt away.
“Good, good, hold that pose, Jake,” the photographer calls out, snapping me back to the task at hand. I pause, maintaining my position, every muscle finely tuned and holding steady.
Climbing has always been my refuge. I revel in the control it offers, the way I can navigate risks on my own terms. Love is wild and unpredictable, revealing vulnerabilities and making leaving as easy as opening a door. Those thoughts often haunt me, lingering like unwelcome shadows.
Yet, as I cling to the wall, I realize climbing has taught me about more than just control. It’s about embracing risks, about the calculated trust between me and the wall. There’s a give and take here where you must sometimes risk falling to experience the thrill of the climb.
Maybe love is also about finding a balance between risk and trust. I’ve always kept everyone at arm’s length, yet Mia found a way to slip through the cracks. Despite my efforts to move on, she still grips my heart with a hold I can’t seem to break.
Pushing aside those thoughts, I try to concentrate on the wall, but memories of her keep playing on my mind.
And perhaps the risk, the very chance of falling, is what makes the climb, love, so incredibly worthwhile. I really hope one day you meet that person worth falling for.
Her words have been hunting me for the past few months.
I really want to be that person, worthy of her love, capable of loving her, but what if I can’t? What if I end up hurting her even more?
I forced myself to focus back on the wall. The synergy between me and the team is palpable. We’re creating art here—me with my climbs and them with their lenses. For a moment, I lose myself in the climb’s physicality; the world narrowing down to the next hold, the next move. After reaching the top and satisfying the photographers, I lower myself down, still feeling the rush of adrenaline.
“You’re made it look too easy, Jake!” One of the team members chuckles as she reviews her shots.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and offer a half-smile. “It’s all about understanding your balance and knowing your strengths,” I say, grabbing my water bottle and towel.
As the crew wraps up and the center clears out, I absentmindedly grab my phone and start scrolling to check if Mia has sent me a message. Nothing new, just the same old texts and social media notifications. My thumb hovers over the keypad; I miss you, I type, before deleting it. Thinking of you, I type again, and delete it like always.
She probably doesn’t even think about me.
I shove the phone back into my pocket.
Forcing the sinking feeling away, I gather my things and leave the climbing center. Focusing on the next part of my day. The sound of my own steps seems to mock the solitude I’ve crafted so carefully around me.
After wrapping up the photoshoot, I grab a quick lunch to refuel before my afternoon activities. I opt for something light, mindful of the active afternoon ahead. I open the Kindle app on my phone and find one of her novellas. She published them under a pen name, which she told me back at the cabin. I’ve read them many times but still love reading them. I especially enjoy the spicier scenes at night, imagining that we are the characters. Sometimes, though, I wonder if someone else inspired those scenes.
My next destination is the Peak Finders Club, an organization I founded to help young climbers. A place for them to learn technical skills, and the art of climbing.
It’s there, among the eager faces of kids learning to climb, that I find a different joy. Watching their expressions transform from concentration to elation as they reach the top, I’m reminded of my passion for climbing—the blend of physical and mental challenges, the necessity for precision and on-the-spot decisions. It’s a love affair that’s about more than conquering heights; it’s about unlocking potential, something I aim to share with these kids most afternoons.
The laughter and chatter from the kids at the climbing club fade as I head home, a contrast to the silence awaiting me. The walls of my condo looming even before I get there, a dread in my gut at the thought of its emptiness.
I unlock it with a quick scan on my phone, stepping into the open-plan space. The kitchen’s white marble countertops contrast with the black cabinets, and the expansive living room hosts a large dark gray sectional sofa, all oriented toward a 75-inch TV screen. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows frame the cityscape, a view I once thought was the epitome of a bachelor’s dream. I thought that’s what I wanted, but now I don’t know anymore.
Everything just feels empty.
Something is missing.
Someone is missing.
Pouring a shot of whiskey from the bar, I head to the bedroom. The king-size bed is neat, untouched, and sterile. I let out a slow breath, imagining for a second that she’s there, her laughter filling the room. I catch myself, closing my eyes to banish the vision, and my hand clenches around the glass.
In the shower, the warm water initially soothes, washing away the physical traces of my day. I lean against the cool tiles and let the water run cold, not ready to face an empty bed.
The months have passed, and I waited for the adrenaline rush to fade, for the ache in my chest to subside, but they cling stubbornly, her memory as vivid as ever.
She’s etched herself into my heart indelibly. I miss her—her smile, her laughter, the adorable way she would crinkle her nose when she gets frustrated, and yes, even her little snorts.
I was whole before her, or at least I thought I was. Now, it’s as though she took a piece of me with her when she left.