Chapter 17
Alec
The whispers start the moment we step into Adventure Supply. I know half the faces in here. The other half know me.
Alec Hastings. Here?
Did you hear what happened to Finn?
They were the best.
Only team to summit K2 this year.
Who’s the girl?
He’s never climbed without Finn.
The words snap through the air like ice cracking underfoot.
I keep moving. I’ve been buried in avalanches, starved of oxygen on ridges no one had any business crossing. I won’t let a store full of gossip take me down.
The Wild Trails CPR training looks exactly how I pictured it: fifteen pairs, Clementine and me included, sitting cross-legged on brown carpet that smells like dust and sweat.
Overhead, jaundiced lights wash everyone in a sickly glow.
Each team has a CPR dummy on a mat. Ours has a fake septum ring, and within seconds Clementine jammed a beanie on its head and christened it Buttercup.
There are chairs shoved to the walls, backpacks slumped in corners, and one cracked window trying and failing to bleed out the heat.
The bragging starts immediately.
“Willis Wall, Rainier.”
“Rwenzoris, Uganda.”
Voices climbing over one another, louder, prouder.
My shoulders knot. The four walls and the bad lighting are too reminiscent of being back at school. I only survived high school because they let me test outside.
Clementine, meanwhile, is electric. She’s buzzing in her new pink boots, mud still caked from three hikes this week. No blisters. She leans into me, whispering like we’re plotting a heist, eyes ticking from group to group like a Kit-Cat Clock.
For ten days it’s been just us, the lodge, the forest, and silence. Now the room crowds in, strangers pressing closer, and it makes me itch. Makes me want to win.
“I heard they’re setting the route on the west side of Euspuko,” someone mutters behind us.
Clementine elbows my thigh, not subtly, flicking her chin toward the group.
“Are you listening?” she whispers.
“Don’t need to,” I reply.
Routes are supposed to be secret, but it doesn’t matter. Euspuko breaks you no matter where you start.
Another voice cuts in. “No way. Crews were clearing the south side. Straight gravel chute.”
Then lime-green hair pipes up. Zak Kwan. Last time I saw him, it was red. “Smartwater’s sponsoring. My cousin’s putting water stations on the south.”
The room shifts, everyone leaning in like wolves scenting blood.
Clementine drops her voice against my shoulder. “So…if it is gravel, do my boots even have enough tread?”
“Yes. We have all the right gear.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Okay, but what about them? Don’t you want to know what we’re up against?”
“We’re fine,” I murmur. “Don’t waste energy listening to climbers brag.”
Her nails tap the carpet. “So you don’t size up the competition at all?”
I give the room a slow once-over, letting her see me do it.
“That group there? They care more about their gear than training. That pair looks like gym climbers. They won’t last a day when the trail turns to shale.
And Zak…” My gaze snags on the green hair across the room.
“Flashy. Always has been. Knows how to make people watch, but he doesn’t know how to shut up and do the work. ”
“Zak?”
“The green hair is Zak Kwan. Climbed Kilimanjaro with me.”
She studies him. “He looks badass.”
“He tore both rotator cuffs last year,” I grunt. “On a trampoline. Idiot.”
She stifles a laugh, but she doesn’t look away. Zak basks in the attention like always, playing to the crowd. People eat it up. Clementine included. It shouldn’t bother me. But watching her stare at him makes me want to drag her attention back to where it belongs.
“They’re not competition,” I add. “Not for us.”
She just smiles like I amuse her, like my irritation is a private joke only she’s in on. I don’t like the way it makes the corner of my mouth twitch.
A guy in a red polo waddles in, clapping his hands. Short, round-shouldered, gray curls springing out in all directions.
“Alright, folks! Welcome to Wilderness Safety’s CPR course. I’m Teddy, and we’re going to get started.
“CPR stands for cardiopulmonary resuscitation,” he says.
“It’s what you do when someone’s heart stops.
First, check if they’re breathing. Then call for help.
Next: thirty compressions, two breaths. Over and over until help arrives.
Your job is to keep blood moving and oxygen flowing.
Buy time.” He claps again. “Anyone know what song you should do compressions to?”
“‘Stayin’ Alive,’” I mutter. Finn and I always used “Another One Bites the Dust.” Darker, but the rhythm works.
“Alec Hastings knows the answer,” Clementine says brightly, pointing at me like a kid.
I click my teeth at her. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“Oh, excellent!” Teddy shimmies his shoulders. “Please share with the class, Mr. Hastings.”
Clementine beams, batting her lashes. Wicked.
“‘Stayin’ Alive,’” I bite out.
“A-plus-plus!” Teddy hums the song, swinging his hips. “Come on, class. Mm-mm-mm-mm…”
The whole room joins in, Clementine included, smirking at me as she hums along. I don’t. CPR isn’t a punchline.
“Now, everyone, hands like this.” Teddy interlaces his fingers, pushing down on imaginary ribs. At least he gets the form right. “After thirty compressions, how many breaths?”
“Two,” the group repeats in chorus.
“Experts already!” Teddy grins. “Tilt the head back, pinch the nose, seal your mouth, give two breaths. Watch the chest rise.”
Beside me, Clementine practices in the air, still humming, swaying closer. Her shoulder brushes mine. I catch it in my lungs before I can stop myself.
“Now…” Teddy scans the room, frowning at the front table.
“Looks like I’m a dummy short. And hands-on practice beats theory.
” His fingers tap together. “I like to show the movements on a real person—don’t worry, we never actually practice CPR on someone breathing.
It can really hurt them. But for demonstration?
Way better than just talking through it. Do I have a volunteer?”
Before I can blink, Clementine’s hand shoots up. “I’ll do it.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Hands-on practice,” she says, already slipping onto the table. Teddy asks her name like he’s never been handed a gift before.
She lies back, arms stretched, hair spilling across the wood. She looks—no. I shouldn’t even think the word.
Someone mutters behind me, “Lucky instructor gets to touch that one.”
No.
My body moves before my brain can stop it. “I’ll demonstrate.” My pulse slams against my ribs. What the hell am I doing?
“Oooh, enthusiasm!” Teddy crows. “Usually, I have to beg for a volunteer. Looks like we’ve got a teacher’s pet.” He punches my shoulder like I’m twelve.
“I’m not a teacher’s pet,” I grind out.
“That’s Alec Hastings!” someone calls from the back.
Murmurs ripple. Teddy beams. “Mr. Hastings, thank you. It’s always helpful to show beginners together.” He pats my back, steering me over Clementine. She props herself on one elbow, eyes wide, watching me like she’s not sure if I’m saving her or losing my mind.
“I’m not a novice,” I say flatly. “I’m an instructor too.”
“Well, if you’re in my class, you’re under my instruction. So, follow along. Now—” Teddy launches into a ramble about the origins of CPR.
Clementine tugs on my cargos, jerking her chin down.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
Truth is, I don’t know why I’m up here.
“Just scaring the competition,” I tell her, raising a brow.
Her lips open, ready with some smart reply, but Teddy claps his hands again. “Okay, let’s get started. Hands stacked, center of the chest, thirty compressions. And don’t actually press. Seriously, you could break a rib. Just mimic the motion.”
Before I can move, he grabs my wrists and drags my hands into place.
“I know what I’m doing,” I snap, shaking him off.
At least, I thought I did—until my palms hover over her sternum. Only a thin layer of cotton separates my skin from hers. Her sweater bunches under my fingers. I lock my elbows, brace my shoulders, and press just enough to show the motion.
One.
Her body freezes under my hands.
Two.
Her breath stutters, lashes flicking down, then up again.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Her eyes catch mine, and for a split second I forget to breathe. I have to remind myself to only use light pressure. No real force. Just thirty seconds. That’s all.
In the background, Teddy drones on about depth and pace.
I’ve done this dozens of times, on riverbeds, on rocks high above base camp.
But never like this. Never softly. Never with the heat rising off Clementine, never with the scent of her shampoo in my lungs, never with her watching me like she is now.
Ten.
Her lips part on a small gasp.
Fifteen.
Sweat beads down my temple.
Twenty.
My cock shifts in my pants. Fucking hell. CPR is for safety; it is not sexy.
Twenty-five.
But she is. Her cheeks flush deeper. The room’s gone balmy.
Thirty.
Teddy whistles. “Good. Nice rhythm. Remember, you’re keeping blood flowing, keeping them alive.”
Alive.
Clementine is very much alive beneath my hands, and my blood is very much moving.
I don’t want to step back. A shiver runs down her spine, pupils blown wide, flecks of pale gray sparking at the edge of her irises.
Teddy’s hand claps my shoulder, breaking my trance. I snap my gaze to the crowd. Staring. Waiting.
“Perfect rhythm,” Teddy beams. “Now, Hastings—because you’re partners, go ahead with the breaths. Two quick ones.” He pantomimes. “Show us how it’s done.”
Heat crawls under my skin. I don’t get nervous. But her eyes are on me, wide and unblinking, and it feels like free fall.
I’m about to put my mouth on Clementine Lennox in front of an entire room.
Teddy nudges me forward. “Come, come. Tilt the head back, pinch the nose, seal your mouth. I want to show the class how the chest rises.”
I brush her shoulder, fingers sliding to the nape of her neck. Her head fits into my palm like it belongs there.
“This okay, Clementine?” Her name tastes dangerous on my tongue.
She swallows, lips parting. “Go for it.”
My pulse slows on purpose. I tell myself this is clinical, mechanical. Except the second my lips brush hers, the lie burns away.
Her skin is warm, like she’s swallowed the sun. I savor the cinnamon toothpaste on her breath. Her mouth is soft—so fucking soft that my self-control fractures in an instant. Her lip gloss clings, grapefruit-sweet and tacky, against me, and I can’t stop the slip of my tongue as it grazes her lips.
She gasps but doesn’t pull back. Instead, she lifts her neck away from my palm, like she’s choosing this with me.
It’s not CPR anymore. It’s not a kiss either.
It’s something raw, suspended in the space between.
I want more.
My hands leave the safe place on her chest and trace the line of her jaw, thumb tilting her chin up.
Her throat works around a sound that slices through me, soft and wrecking.
The class, the carpet, the buzzing lights vanish.
There’s only the heat of her, the press of her lips under mine, the way every nerve in my body lights up like a storm surge.
“Phones down!” Teddy snaps. His voice cracks through the haze. “This isn’t a circus. Respect the training.”
I jerk upright, like I’ve been doused with cold water. My lungs drag in air, rough and uneven. My palms swipe down my thighs, searching for ground.
Did I even get the breaths in? I don’t think I breathed at all.
Clementine rolls onto her side, cheeks as pink as a sunburn, eyes catching mine in quick, dangerous flashes. She’s flustered but glowing, lit from somewhere inside.
And Christ, she’s beautiful.
“Good demo,” the instructor says tightly, gaze flicking between me and her, suspicion hanging there. “But let’s remember, CPR is about control and focus.”
Control. The word slices through me. I had none. Not one damn ounce of it. And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to keep pretending I don’t want her in a way I’m not even ready to try and understand.
I’ve watched what climbing does to the families left behind.
I’ve been to funerals where partners, wives, and kids are wrecked because some guy thought he was invincible on a mountain.
I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t do that to anyone.
That’s why it’s always just been flings at base camps.
No one who’d notice if I didn’t come back.
I can’t do that to Clem.
When Teddy dismisses us, I move fast.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Something came up,” I say. She opens her mouth, but I don’t let her respond. I need to get out of here.
The door clangs shut, and I savor the cold rain that hits my face.
Every step across the parking lot reminds me of traversing a narrow ridge. I want to shake off the heat, the taste, the pull of her.
Footsteps scuff behind me.
“Alec—”
I keep walking.
“Alec, wait!”
I stop at the edge of Adventure Supply’s gravel parking lot. She skids to my side, purse half slipped off a shoulder, lips—those lips—twisted in confusion. I wrench my eyes away.
“What was that back there?”
“I—” The truth lingers in my pause. “I didn’t want Teddy hurting my partner.” I’m a coward.
“He’s an instructor and, like, ninety years old.”
“Why’d you volunteer us anyway? I told you we could’ve done this at the lodge or before our kayak drills.”
“Because I wanted practice.”
“Why couldn’t you practice with me?”
“Because—” She huffs, snagging her water bottle from her purse and twisting the cap nervously. “I wanted to see someone else’s techniques.”
“You partnered with me. I have the best techniques,” I snap.
“You sound like you have an ego problem.”
“The only problem I have is with my camp buddy putting herself in danger.”
“I could snap Teddy in two.” She juts her hip out. “Also, I haven’t been certified in years, but what was that in there? You didn’t do the two breaths.”
“Yes, I did. You must not have felt them,” I lie.
“That felt like—”
“It was training.” I interrupt her before she crosses a line. “Like we have tomorrow at five. I’ll see you then,” I say. I can’t stand here any longer, so I pivot and jog. I don’t like surprises. I like calculated steps and schedules. I hate that I can’t predict a damn thing with her.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me, rain falling harder now.
“Home.”
“But your truck.”
“I’ll get it later,” I call over my shoulder, fists shoved deep in my pockets. Then I force air back into my lungs until it burns.
It wasn’t a kiss.
It was training.
That’s all.
And if I keep repeating it, maybe I’ll believe it.