Chapter 5
Daisy
My heart hammers in my chest as Wyatt leads the way up the first few pitches of the imposing Fang. Every muscle in my body strains to follow his precise movements, matching him hold for hold as we ascend the merciless granite face. Thankfully, the compact body cam in my shirt pocket captures every heart-pounding move, though I”m careful to keep it discreetly angled away from Wyatt”s line of sight.
One misplaced foot or missed handhold could send us plummeting hundreds of feet in a sickening freefall. The stakes have never been higher, yet I can”t seem to wipe the grin from my face. This is living—raw, primal, every fiber of my being hyper-focused on the present moment. Just me, this mountain, and the rugged man who”s currently holding my life in his hands.
Wyatt pauses to scan the dizzying array of micro-holds and razor-thin ledges above, jaw set in an intense look of concentration. Even from down here, I can see the taut flex of those broad shoulders, the muscles along his sculpted back and arms.
Christ, I could watch this man move all day.
With a slight nod, Wyatt begins the next sequence, pulling himself up to latch onto a thin ledge. He makes it look effortless, like the human body was simply meant to defy gravity in such a way.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to focus, picking my way up to the same precarious stance. My fingers strain, calves quivering as I fight to hold that tenuous position.
”Easy, Delgado.” Wyatt”s deep rumble seems to reverberate through the rock itself. ”Keep your weight centered and breathe.”
I shoot him a sidelong look, fighting to keep my features relaxed despite my thundering pulse. ”I”ve got this. No need to mother hen me.”
One dark brow arches slightly in response. ”Whatever you say. Just don”t go crying for me to rescue you again when you bite it.”
A surprised laugh bursts from my chest despite my body”s desperate need for oxygen. ”You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
Wyatt holds my stare for another beat, the barest hint of a smirk playing across those rugged features. Then he”s off again, flowing into the next precarious sequence like mercury.
I take a steadying breath and force my focus back to the climb, determined not to let his taunts shake me. Carefully, methodically, I follow in Wyatt”s wake.
The next few pitches continue in the same grueling rhythm—Wyatt leading the way while I trail behind him, moving in seamless sync. The world around us fades away until nothing is left but the sound of my ragged breathing mingled with the scrape of rock against calloused fingertips.
By the time Wyatt calls out that he”s ready to set up an anchor, sweat coats my body in a sheen of glistening salt. I wedge myself into a secure stance and fumble for my chalk bag, desperate to dry my palms before the final few harrowing moves.
”You good?”
I glance up to find Wyatt perched about twenty feet above me, studying my every move with those intense dark eyes. There”s no judgment in them, just a simple acknowledgment of the shared reality we”re facing—one wrong move could spell disaster up here.
Offering him a resolute nod, I stuff the chalk bag back into the pack on my harness and begin the final push toward the anchor. Each reach, each foot shuffled higher, seems to take every ounce of my remaining willpower.
Then, just when the trembling in my arms threatens to overtake me completely, my fingers latch onto Wyatt”s secure stance. He”s there instantly, bracing me with those solid hands as I crunch my body against the sheer rock face beside him.
We stay there for a few heartbeats, our chests heaving in unison as the adrenaline thunders through our veins. This close, I can see the dark smudges of fatigue beneath Wyatt”s eyes, the sheen of sweat coating his chiseled features.
Yet his stare burns with a quiet intensity, boring into me with a look that seems to strip me bare.
”Not bad for a city girl,” he finally rumbles, the barest hint of approval lacing those words.
My lips quirk in a cocky grin, body humming with satisfaction at that simple acknowledgment. ”I”m just getting started, mountain man.”
Wyatt holds my challenging stare for another heated moment before giving a slight nod. He doesn”t say anything else. He doesn”t need to. That look in his eyes says it all—he”s taking me seriously now, seeing me as a true partner out here rather than some tagalong amateur.
My heart swells with a sense of pride I can”t quite put words to. For so long, I”ve been chasing a sense of purpose, of meaning. Maybe I”ve finally found it in the most unlikely of places.
With a few efficient clips of carabiners and a quick systems check, Wyatt finishes securing the anchor and passes me the lead rope. My brow furrows slightly as I take the coiled line, glancing up at the sheer wall of granite still towering above us. ”You sure about this?”
”You”ve got skills, Delgado,” he replies simply. ”Time to put ”em to the test for real.”
A tremor of excitement races through me, quickly followed by a steadying breath. This is it—time to take the reins and prove I”ve got what it takes.
I turn my attention to studying the next section. The granite face above is a maze of hairline fractures and crystalline edges, with only the most subtle changes in texture hinting at potential handholds. This is going to take every ounce of focus and commitment.
Drawing a deep, centering breath, I subtly tap my sternum to ensure the body cam is still recording, determined to document every grueling pitch of this insane ascent. Then, I reach up and latch my fingers into the first thin seam, feeling the familiar bite of rough stone against calloused fingertips. With a slight shift of my hips, I launch into the first few moves of my lead.
I lose all sense of time and space as I flow from one position to the next, seeking out each micro-edge and dimple with a sixth sense born from years of practice.
Up and up I go, each move seeming to take more effort than the last as fatigue seeps deeper into my muscles. The exposure grows increasingly serious, a yawning void of open air surrounding me on all sides. But the higher I climb, the more something seems to click into place, like I”ve finally found that elusive rhythm.
At one point, I risk a glance back down to where Wyatt clings to the rock, his eyes trained intently on my every move as he takes up the slack in the rope. His intense gaze sends a jolt of heat through me.
I shake off the distraction and refocus on the stone before me, determined not to let anything break my concentration. Not when I”ve come so close to proving myself out here.
Gritting my teeth, I latch onto the next thin granite rail and pull myself up into a high step, fighting against every ounce of gravity”s insistent tug. My fingers ache and tremble as I search out that next hold, that next lifeline to propel me higher. Just a few more body lengths...
Then, with an explosive burst of effort, my fingers lock into a solid two-finger pocket, and I launch up in one final dynamic sequence, hauling myself up and over the final bulging lip to a narrow ledge.
For a few heartbeats, I simply cling there, chest heaving as the world slowly bleeds back into focus around me. Holy shit... I actually did it. I just led one of the most exposed pitches on the entire Fang without flinching.
A sudden burst of giddy laughter bubbles up from deep in my chest as the reality of my achievement sets in. I tilt my head back, letting the sound tear free in an unbridled outpouring of pure exhilaration.
”You about done up there, Delgado?” Wyatt”s gruff call drifts up, immediately smothering my elation like a wet blanket.
Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention to rigging the next anchor, making quick work of clipping carabiners and threading the line. Once I”ve finished the systems check, I glance over the edge to find Wyatt already sizing up the final summit pitch. ”Ready when you are, Croft!”
Those dark eyes cut up to me, narrowing slightly against the sun”s glare. Then, the barest hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
”Nice work up there,” he rumbles, giving the faintest of nods. ”Now quit slacking and pull up the damn rope so I can finish this thing.”
Unable to contain my triumphant grin, I haul up the slack line and brace myself, body thrumming with renewed energy. We”re so close to the summit now, I can practically taste it.
As Wyatt launches into the final lead, I can”t tear my eyes away, utterly transfixed. Up and up he goes, that chiseled form flowing across the unforgiving stone like vapor across a lake. I hold my breath as he commits to each sequence, every fiber of my being silently urging him onward.
Then, with one final heave of those broad shoulders, Wyatt crests the summit ridge and hauls himself up onto the exposed perch. For a beat, he clings there motionless, body silhouetted against the dazzling late afternoon sunlight now bathing the entire massif in a warm, fiery glow.
Wyatt”s head swivels toward me, features inscrutable behind the stark backlighting. Then he lifts one hand, extending it toward me in an unmistakable gesture.
It takes me a beat to process what”s happening. Then, with a steadying breath, I clip into the line and begin making my way up those final pitches.
The stone is unforgiving, and every handhold and foot placement is an act of sheer will. But I find myself feeding off Wyatt”s energy, drawing from that same reservoir of strength and commitment that seems to radiate off him in waves.
One precarious move at a time, I close that distance between us. My calves scream in protest, arms quivering as each reach grows more desperate. But I refuse to let fatigue or doubt cloud my mind.
Then, with one final burst of adrenaline-fueled power, my fingers lock around Wyatt”s waiting grip. Our eyes meet as he hauls me up onto that precarious perch, chests heaving in unison.
For a few heartbeats, neither of us moves or speaks. The world seems to fall away until it”s just the two of us balanced here on the top of the world. I drink in the sight before me, scarcely able to catch my breath. Jagged, towering peaks stretch out in every direction, their craggy ridgelines bathed in a warm, fiery glow from the slowly setting sun.
”Holy shit...” The words slip out in a breathless murmur. ”This is insane.”
Fumbling for my pack, I yank out my camera, hands trembling with adrenaline and giddiness. I have to capture this—every heart-stopping vista, every impossible angle.
”Delgado...” Wyatt”s deep rumble cuts through my single-minded focus. I glance over to find him watching me, one eyebrow arched high. ”You just gonna stay lost behind that lens all evening?”
My mouth opens, ready with a snarky comeback, before snapping shut again. As much as it pains me to admit, the man has a point.
With a resigned sigh, I lower the camera and simply take it all in. The way that fiery sunlight dances across the craggy silhouette of distant peaks. The rich, earthy scent of sun-baked granite mingling with crisp alpine air. The profound silence surrounding us, broken only by the occasional cry of a lone hawk riding the thermals far below.
Wyatt doesn”t say anything for a few heartbeats, simply standing there in stoic silence. When he finally speaks again, his deep baritone seems to reverberate through the very rock itself.
”So why are you so desperate to capture all this, anyway?”
I tear my gaze away from the breathtaking vista, meeting Wyatt”s piercing stare. ”I”m trying to raise money for a scholarship fund—to send underprivileged kids to Camp Silverpine. Give them a chance to experience the outdoors, you know?”
Surprise flickers across Wyatt”s chiseled features. ”Why would you do that?”
I shrug one shoulder, my lips quirking into a wry smile. ”I know firsthand what it means to be a city kid trapped in a concrete cage. The outdoors saved my life when I finally escaped that world.”
Wyatt holds my stare for a long beat, those rugged features inscrutable. Just when I think he”s going to brush off my explanation, he lets out a slow exhale, squaring those broad shoulders.
”I get it, you know.” His deep rumble cuts through the silence. ”As a foster kid, I was bounced around the system my whole childhood. Camp Silverpine was the first place that felt like home. The mountains, the trails...” His voice grows thicker, rougher. ”They saved my life, same as you.”
”So that”s why you”re so against cashing in on internet fame,” I murmur, the pieces finally clicking into place. ”It”s not about the money. It”s about protecting something sacred.”
Wyatt gives a slow nod, gaze locked with mine in that piercing way. ”The great outdoors gave me a purpose when I didn”t have anything else.”
For once, I feel like I”m finally seeing the man behind the rugged, stoic exterior—the one who found salvation and purpose out here, just as I did.
My mind churns, struggling to process this unexpected common ground between us. All this time, I”ve been so hellbent on getting that exclusive story, on proving myself to him. Yet here he is, laying bare the very vulnerability that”s driven his resistance all along.
I open my mouth to respond, but Wyatt cuts me off with a dismissive shake of his head. ”Look, I”m not saying I”m on board with whatever harebrained scheme you”ve cooked up.” His tone is gruff, but there”s a softness behind his eyes now—an openness I”ve yet to see from him.
”But...” He lets out a low sigh, raking one hand through those tousled chestnut locks. ”Maybe there”s a way we can work together on this. Do it right, without compromising what”s sacred.”
My heart stutters in my chest as the implication of his words sinks in. He”s willing to consider partnering up, to help make my dream a reality. For the first time since meeting him, I feel a glimmer of hope kindling.
Biting back a giddy grin, I give a slight nod. ”I”d like that.”
The barest hint of a smile ghosts across Wyatt”s lips. ”We”ll figure something out... as long as I don”t have to live in a van.”
I shoot him a sly grin. ”What, you don”t think you could handle getting a little cozy with me?”
Wyatt chuckles, shaking his head. ”I didn”t say that. Just might need a bit more space after all this.” He gestures to the mountains around us.
In that moment, the late afternoon sunlight seems to blaze with renewed intensity, bathing us in a warm, fiery glow. I can”t resist tipping my head back, letting the radiant warmth wash over me as my eyes slip shut.
”God, I could get used to views like this,” I murmur, the ghost of a smile playing across my lips.
“Me too, Delgado.”
Then, before I can process what”s happening, a calloused hand grasps my face, angling me toward him as his mouth crashes against mine. I melt against Wyatt’s solid frame, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. His lips move against mine with an urgency bordering on desperation, like a man finally allowing himself to surrender to long-denied cravings.
I return the embrace with equal fervor, teeth grazing his lower lip. A low, guttural growl reverberates from deep in Wyatt”s chest as he angles his head, deepening the kiss. His powerful hands span my waist, pulling me flush against him as the world seems to fall away around us.
I never want this moment to end.
But eventually, oxygen becomes a necessity. Wyatt”s the first to pull away, dragging in a ragged breath as his forehead leans against mine. His eyes are dark, glazed with naked longing when our stares lock again.
”What are you doing to me?” he rasps, the words laced with frustration.
I let out a breathless laugh. ”Nothing you”re not doing to me, mountain man.”
Wyatt huffs out a rueful chuckle. Then his mouth is on mine again, swallowing my laughter in another heated kiss.