Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gretchen
Kirk is already halfway down, suspended between safety and disaster as far as I can tell.
I can do nothing but bite my nails, literally.
One crew member, a strapping young Scot with long wavy hair, sidles up to me and explains, "Going back up isn't an option.
Kirk's only choice is to continue the descent, as fast as he can.
The harness will catch him if he completely loses control, but he isn't the sort who never relies on safety equipment.
And he's not about to start now. Kirk's reputation is built on doing the impossible without backup. "
I swallow hard, my throat so dry and tight I can barely speak. But I manage to shout, "Kirk! Are you okay?"
Of course he doesn't respond. He has more important matters to deal with, like not hitting the ground so hard his body turns into sludge.
The crew chief rushes over, speaking frantically into his headset. "We need to cut the remaining charges! Get the safety team in position!"
I can't breathe. Can't move. My ears are ringing, and I can barely think, what with my heart thundering as I watch Kirk clinging to that rock face.
He's hanging by what looks like just his fingertips, his body swinging slightly in the wind.
The floodlights cast a harsh glow on the mountainside, highlighting the determination etched into every line.
Someone grabs my elbow---the assistant director, I think. "Miss, you need to step back. If something goes wrong---"
"I'm not going anywhere," I snap, yanking my arm free. "And nothing's going wrong."
But even as I say it, I see Kirk grimace in pain.
His left shoulder seems to hang at an odd angle.
He's hurt. Watching him struggle makes me feel utterly helpless.
I've never had someone I care about in actual danger before.
Not like this. My parents' occasional fender benders, or that time my college roommate broke her ankle, don't compare to watching Kirk dangle from a cliff face after an explosion nearly blew him off the mountain.
"Kirk!" I scream loud enough the sound bounces off the mountains.
The next explosion should have been canceled, but something's wrong. I hear frantic shouting from the pyrotechnics team. A technician runs past me, his face pale with panic.
"The remote detonator's malfunctioning!" he yells to someone. "Manual override isn't responding!"
Oh God. I press my hands to my mouth, watching Kirk's every move.
He's shifting his weight, testing his injured shoulder.
The determination in his expression is evident as he adjusts his strategy.
No matter how many stunts I've watched him do, this is different.
This is real danger, unplanned and deadly.
The pyro team leader is shouting into his radio. "Everybody clear the area below! Charge five is going to blow in approximately twenty seconds!"
I'm frozen in place, watching Kirk as he begins moving with desperate speed. His injured arm seems to slow him down, but he's still making progress, traversing laterally across the rock face instead of continuing straight down. He's trying to get away from the next blast zone.
"Ten seconds!" somebody yells.
Kirk's pace quickens. I can see the strain in his movements, the way his body tenses with every handhold. He's racing against time, and all I can do is watch.
"Five seconds!"
I'm holding my breath, silently begging him to move faster, to get clear before---
BOOM!
The explosion rips through the air with a force that rattles my teeth. I stagger backward, momentarily blinded by the flash. When my vision clears, I frantically scan the rock face.
"Kirk!" His name is torn from my throat, raw and desperate.
Amid the settling dust and smoke, I catch a glimpse of movement. Kirk is still there, still clinging to the mountain, but he's moved at least fifteen feet from where the blast hit. The clever lunatic anticipated exactly where the explosion would be and got himself clear in the nick time.
The crew erupts in a mixture of relieved cheers and frantic activity.
The director is shouting orders, demanding to know if there are any more charges that might go off.
The pyro team is frantically checking their equipment, trying to prevent further malfunctions, I assume.
The safety coordinator, Murray Clacher, is on his radio, demanding updates from the rescue team positioned at the base of the cliff.
I can't tear my eyes away from Kirk as he continues his descent with one good arm, compensating for his injury with sheer strength and will.
Even in this moment of genuine danger, there's something mesmerizing about the way he moves.
Every placement is deliberate, every shift of weight calculated despite the bedlam.
"Will he be okay?" I ask no one in particular.
"If anyone can make it down safely with a busted shoulder, it's Balfour," Murray says in his gruff voice as he comes up beside me. I turn to find several other stunt coordinators watching us. "He's the best in the business for a reason, lass."
"But his arm---"
"Has been worse before," Murray explains. "Three years ago, he dislocated both shoulders during a waterfall stunt in the Three Sisters Mountains and still managed to finish the sequence. Kirk doesn't know when to quit."
Is that supposed to reassure me? I clench my fists tight enough that my nails dig into my palms. Kirk is still moving, and every motion is clearly painful but still precise. The way his face contorts when he shifts his weight tells me everything his stoic silence won't.
"What happens when he gets to the bottom?" I ask.
"The medical team is standing by," Murray says. "They'll assess the damage, but my guess is a dislocated shoulder, maybe some ligament damage."
I nod numbly, watching Kirk navigate the last thirty feet of his descent.
His movements are slower now, more deliberate.
The pain must be excruciating, but he keeps going, refusing to give up.
I'm learning that Kirk Balfour doesn't just do the impossible---he makes it look like it was his plan all along.
The final fifteen feet of his descent feels like it takes hours.
Every movement is a negotiation between gravity and his remaining strength.
I can see his good arm trembling with the strain of supporting his entire body weight.
His face is a mask of concentration, jaw clenched so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding from here.
"Nearly there, Kirk!" someone shouts. "Just a few more meters!"
He doesn't acknowledge the encouragement.
His focus remains absolute, as if the entire world has narrowed to just his body and the rock face.
When his feet finally touch the ground, I feel like I might faint.
Thankfully, I don't do that. My legs feel like jelly as I sprint toward him, pushing past crew members and ignoring the director shouting instructions.
The medical team is already surrounding Kirk, but I need to see him, need to touch him, need confirmation he's really okay.
"Kirk!" I barrel through the last of the crew members, gasping for air by the time I reach him.
The immortal bastard is sitting on a boulder, his face pale and streaked with dust and sweat. The medical team is already cutting away the sleeve of his shirt to get to his injured shoulder. Despite what must be agonizing pain, he manages a crooked smile when he sees me.
"Told ye I wouldnae die," he says, his voice rough but steady as he winks at me and quirks his lips.
I could slap him. Or kiss him. Maybe both. I want to scream at him for scaring me half to death. Instead, I just stand here, trembling with relief and lingering fear.
"You're a goddamn idiot, Kirk Balfour," I say with my lips trembling. "A hot-headed, reckless, completely insane idiot who nearly got himself crushed to smithereens."
I'm shaking now, not just my hands but my entire body. The adrenaline crash hit me hard, making everything seem too bright, too loud.
Kirk winces as the medic prods at his shoulder. "Just dislocated, lass. Nothing I haven't dealt with before."
"Nothing you---" I cut myself off. When I look at him again, my vision is blurry with unshed tears, and my lips quiver faintly. "I watched you nearly get blown off a mountain, Kirk. That's not normal or okay."
The medic glances between us. "We need to reset the shoulder. It's going to hurt."
Kirk just nods, his gaze never leaving mine. "Gretchen, mo leannan, I'm alive, and I'll be fine. Trust me."
I can't simply "trust him" after what I've witnessed. My hands are shaking so badly I have to clasp them together to hide it. The medical team surrounds Kirk like a protective barrier, their practiced movements efficient and clinical as they prepare to reset his shoulder.
"I need to be here," I say when one of the medics tries to usher me away. "I'm not leaving."
Kirk gives me a look that's half pain, half admiration, then glances at the medic. "Let her stay. She's tougher than she looks."
The medic sighs but nods. "Fine, but stand back. This isn't going to be pretty."
I watch as they position themselves around Kirk, one medic bracing his body while another takes hold of his arm.
Kirk's gaze finds mine, and he gives me the smallest nod---a silent request for strength.
I shuffle closer, ignoring the medic's instruction to stand back.
If Kirk can handle doing this, I can handle watching it.
"On three," the lead medic says, positioning himself. "One---"
Without finishing the count, he wrenches Kirk's arm with a sudden, violent motion.
The crack of bone sliding back into its socket makes me wince and look away.
But it's Kirk's reaction that will haunt me.
His entire body goes rigid, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles bulge.
He doesn't scream or make the slightest sound, but the color drains from his face completely.
For a terrible moment, his eyes roll back, and I think he might pass out.
But of course, he doesn't. Kirk Balfour is too stubborn to faint from mere excruciating pain.
"There we go," the medic says, sounding almost cheerful. "Clean relocation. You'll need to immobilize it for at least a couple weeks, but you've avoided surgery this time."
"Only a few weeks?" Kirk's voice is strained but determined as he looks up at the medic. "I've got another stunt scheduled for next week."
I nearly choke. "Are you kidding me? You almost died and you're already planning your next death-defying act?"
The medics work efficiently around him, fashioning a sling from their supplies. Kirk's skin is ashen beneath his tan, but his eyes are clear and focused. Too focused. Like he's using sheer willpower to push through the pain that would have most people screaming or unconscious.
"It's a wee shoulder dislocation, Gretchen. Nothing serious." He attempts to shift position and immediately grimaces, belying his casual words.
He won't die, and I'm grateful for that. But I need to consider how deeply involved I want to get with a man who loves danger.
Kirk flashes me a crooked grin, giving me a thumbs-up sign. My heart does a silly little flip-flop, and all I want to do is hug him---for at least a week.
Oh yes, it's way too late to back out now. I think I'm in love with this lunatic.