4. Grayson
CHAPTER 4
GRAYSON
T he morning dawns crisp and clear as we break camp. I watch Skylar out of the corner of my eye, noting how she winces slightly as she shoulders her pack. She caught me off guard last night—both with her unexpected appearance at my stargazing spot and with her genuine interest in the mountain. I shake my head, pushing away thoughts of how right it felt to have her close in the darkness.
"Alright everyone," I call out to the group. "We've got a long day ahead. Steep climb to Falcon Ridge, then we'll traverse along the ridgeline to our next camp. Stay alert and stick together."
As we set off, I fall into step beside Skylar. "How are you holding up?" I ask gruffly.
She flashes me a bright smile that does funny things to my insides. "Ready for anything, Mountain Man. Lead the way!"
I grunt in response, torn between amusement and annoyance at her chipper attitude. We begin the ascent, the trail quickly becoming steeper and more treacherous. I keep a watchful eye on Skylar, noticing how she grits her teeth with determination even as fatigue sets in.
About an hour into the climb, disaster strikes. Skylar steps on a loose rock, her ankle twisting as she loses her balance. I lunge forward, catching her before she can tumble down the slope. She cries out in pain as I steady her.
"Easy," I murmur, helping her to a nearby boulder. "Let me take a look."
I crouch down, gently probing her ankle. It's already starting to swell, but doesn't seem broken. Skylar hisses in pain as I manipulate the joint.
"It's just a sprain," I tell her. "But it's going to make the rest of this climb hell."
She looks up at me, her green eyes blazing with determination. "I can do it. I'm not quitting."
I study her for a long moment, weighing our options. We're too far up to easily turn back, but continuing with her injured could be dangerous. Something in her expression makes the decision for me.
"Alright," I say finally. "But you stick close to me. I'm not having you tumble off this mountain on my watch."
Relief floods her face, quickly replaced by a teasing grin. "Aw, I didn't know you cared, Mr. Wells."
I roll my eyes, ignoring the warmth in my chest at her smile. "Don't push it, Hayes. Can you stand?"
She nods, and I help her to her feet. She tests her weight gingerly, wincing but staying upright. I turn to address the rest of the group, explaining the situation and our plan to continue.
As we resume our climb, I stay close to Skylar, one hand hovering near her elbow in case she stumbles again. She's moving slowly but steadily, her face set in a mask of determination. I find myself oddly impressed by her grit.
"You're doing well," I mutter gruffly as we pause for a water break. "Most people would be demanding a helicopter rescue by now."
Skylar takes a long drink, then grins up at me. "What, and miss out on more quality time with you and your mountain man scowl? Never."
I blink, taken aback by her teasing tone. Most people tiptoe around me are intimidated by my gruff demeanor. But Skylar seems entirely unafraid to poke fun at me.
"I don't scowl," I grumble, which only makes her laugh.
"Oh please, you've practically got resting grizzly bear face," she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "But don't worry, I find it oddly charming."
I feel heat creep up my neck at her words, and I turn away, muttering something about checking on the rest of the group. As I move down the line, making sure everyone is hydrating properly, I can't shake the unsettling feeling Skylar's words have stirred in me.
Charming? Me? The thought is absurd. I've cultivated my stern demeanor for years, using it as a shield to keep people at arm's length. It's safer that way—for me, and for them. The mountain is no place for softness or distraction.
And yet I find my eyes drawn back to Skylar as we resume our climb. Despite her injury and obvious fatigue, she's chatting animatedly with Mr. Donovan, her laughter floating back to me on the mountain breeze. I watch as she gestures excitedly, pointing out a soaring eagle to the group.
Her enthusiasm is infectious. I notice the rest of the team seems to have a bit more spring in their step, energized by her positive attitude. Even I feel the corners of my mouth twitching upward as I listen to her gleefully butcher the Latin names of wildflowers we pass.
We reach a particularly tricky section of the trail—a narrow ledge with a sheer drop-off to one side. I move closer to Skylar, my hand instinctively going to the small of her back to steady her.
"Careful here," I murmur, hyper-aware of her warmth beneath my palm. "Take it slow."
She nods, her earlier bravado fading as she eyes the precipitous drop. "Right. Slow and steady wins the race. Or, you know, avoids plummeting to a gruesome death."
Despite the gravity of the situation, I find myself chuckling at her humor. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."
The words slip out before I can stop them, and I feel Skylar stiffen slightly beneath my hand. She turns her head, meeting my gaze with an intensity that makes my breath catch. For a moment, the rest of the world fades away, and I'm lost in the depths of her green eyes.
"I trust you," she says softly, and the simple statement hits me like a physical blow.
I clear my throat, breaking eye contact. "Right. Well, let's get moving then."
We make our way carefully across the ledge, my hand never leaving Skylar's back. I tell myself it's just to ensure her safety, but I can't deny the comfort I find in the contact.
As we reach wider, safer ground, Skylar lets out a relieved laugh. "Well, that was exhilarating! Nothing like a near-death experience to really get the blood pumping, huh?"
I shake my head, unable to suppress a small smile. "You have a strange definition of fun, Hayes."
She grins up at me. "Says the man who climbs mountains for a living. Pot, meet kettle."
Her playful jab catches me off guard, and I find myself chuckling despite my best efforts to maintain my gruff exterior. "Fair point," I concede.
We continue our ascent, the group's spirits lifted by the successful navigation of the treacherous ledge. I notice Mr. Donovan watching Skylar with obvious admiration, and I feel an unexpected surge of... something. Jealousy? Protectiveness? I push the unsettling feeling aside, focusing on the trail ahead.
As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, we finally reach our campsite for the night—a small plateau with a breathtaking view of the valley below. The group lets out a collective sigh of relief as we begin to set up camp.
I help Skylar lower her pack, noticing how she winces as she puts weight on her injured ankle. "Sit," I order, pointing to a nearby log. "Let me take another look at that."
She complies without argument, which tells me just how much pain she must be in. I crouch down, gently removing her boot and sock. Her ankle is swollen and mottled with bruises.
"You should have said something if it was getting worse," I growl, angry at myself for not noticing sooner.
Skylar shrugs, trying to maintain her cheerful facade. "It's not so bad. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."
I look up at her, exasperated by her stubborn optimism. "This isn't a game, Skylar. You could have seriously injured yourself pushing so hard."
Her lips curl at my use of her first name, and I have a feeling that me using it makes her happy. I clear my throat, suddenly uncomfortable with our proximity.
"I'll wrap it for you," I mutter, reaching for the first aid kit. "But tomorrow, you ride with the supply team. No arguments."
As I gently wrap Skylar's ankle, I'm acutely aware of her gaze on me. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words.
"Thank you," she says softly as I finish securing the bandage. "Not just for this, but for... everything today. For not making me turn back."
I look up, meeting her eyes. The sincerity in her expression catches me off guard. "You earned it," I say gruffly. "You showed real grit out there."
A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "High praise from the mountain man himself. I'm honored."
I roll my eyes, but can't quite suppress my own smile. "Don't let it go to your head, Hayes. We've still got a long way to go."
As I stand to leave, Skylar catches my wrist. The touch sends an unexpected jolt through me. "Grayson," she says, her voice low. "I meant what I said earlier. I trust you. More than I probably should, given how little I really know about you."
I swallow hard, unsure how to respond to the vulnerability in her words. Part of me wants to pull away, to retreat behind the walls I've so carefully constructed. But another part—a part I thought I'd buried long ago—yearns to let her in.
"You shouldn't," I say finally, my voice rougher than I intend. "Trust me, I mean. I'm not... I'm not good for anyone, Skylar."
Her grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "I think that's for me to decide, don't you?"
Before I can respond, a call from across the camp breaks the moment. "Hey boss! Where do you want the bear canisters?"
I step back, Skylar's hand falling away from my wrist. The loss of contact leaves me feeling strangely bereft. "Get some rest," I tell her, my voice once again gruff and businesslike. "I'll have someone bring you dinner."
As I walk away to deal with the rest of the camp setup, I can feel Skylar's eyes on my back. I resist the urge to look back at her, knowing that if I do, I might not be able to walk away again.
Later that night, as the camp settles into sleep, I find myself unable to rest. My mind keeps replaying moments from the day—Skylar's determined face as she pushed through the pain, her laughter echoing across the mountainside, the feel of her hand on my wrist.
I step out of my tent, needing some air to clear my head. The night is clear and cold, the stars blazing overhead in a way you never see in the city. It's the kind of night that usually brings me peace, reminding me why I've dedicated my life to this mountain.
But tonight, even the vast expanse of the wilderness can't quiet the turmoil in my mind.
A soft sound catches my attention, and I turn to see Skylar emerging from her tent. She's wrapped in a thick blanket, her hair tousled from sleep.
"Can't rest either?" I ask quietly as she approaches.
She shakes her head, coming to stand beside me. "Too many thoughts spinning around up here," she says, tapping her temple. "Plus, I didn't want to miss this view. It's incredible."
We stand in companionable silence for a while, gazing up at the star-strewn sky. I'm acutely aware of her presence beside me, of the slight shiver that runs through her despite the blanket.
Without thinking, I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to share my warmth. She stiffens for a moment in surprise, then relaxes against me with a contented sigh.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "For everything today. I know I'm not exactly the ideal expedition member."
I snort softly. "You're tougher than you look, Hayes. Most people would have given up after that fall."
She tilts her head to look up at me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Was that almost a compliment, Mr. Wells? Careful, or I might start to think you actually like having me around."
Her teasing tone belies the vulnerability in her eyes, and I find myself at a crossroads. I could brush off her comment with a gruff remark, maintain the professional distance I've worked so hard to cultivate. Or I could be honest—with her, and with myself.
"Maybe I do," I say quietly, surprising us both. "Like having you around, I mean."
Skylar's eyes widen, and for once, she seems at a loss for words. The silence stretches between us, charged with unspoken possibilities.
Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grayson, I?—"
But whatever she was about to say is cut off by a sudden, ominous rumble in the distance. My body tenses, years of mountain experience kicking in.
"Was that...?" Skylar asks, fear creeping into her voice.
I nod grimly. "Thunder. There's a storm coming, and it's coming fast."
As if on cue, a gust of icy wind whips through the camp, carrying with it the first few drops of rain. The peaceful night has transformed into something far more dangerous in a matter of moments.
"We need to secure the camp," I say, already moving into action. "Wake the others. We're in for a rough night."
As Skylar hurries to rouse the rest of the group, I can't shake the feeling that this storm is more than just a weather event. It's a harbinger of change—for the expedition, for Fire Mountain Expeditions, and for whatever is growing between Skylar and me.