Chapter 29 #2
But I bloody made it without collapsing in a heap or requiring helicopter evacuation.
I stare up at the massive stone pinnacle that gives this place its name, wheezing quietly, thinking maybe I should consider exercise when I get back to London. Start small. Perhaps walk to the printer instead of wheeling my chair. Baby steps.
“It’s beautiful,” I pant, folding in half with my hands braced on my knees in what I hope looks like a contemplative pose rather than someone trying not to expel their breakfast all over Skye.
He’s been deliberately slowing down this whole time, stopping to “admire views” that I suspect were just excuses to let me catch my breath. I lied every single time with enthusiastic flair. “Oh absolutely, this pace is perfect!” I chirped.
“It sure is,” Patrick says, hands jammed in his jogger pockets. “The best views are up there though.” His chin tips upward. “Photographer’s Knoll.”
I follow his gaze and feel my soul leave my body.
Up.
He’s pointing up. To what looks like a goat path designed by Satan himself, vanishing into actual clouds.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“That’s where you get the proper panoramic shots. Views over Raasay and Rona, the mainland mountains.”
You have got to be shitting me.
“I thought we were finished,” I say, attempting a light laugh that comes out slightly strangled. “I thought this was the top.”
“This is where the main trail ends, yeah. But for the full experience...” He gestures at Satan’s staircase. “We’d go up there. It’s your call.”
I stare at the rocky path winding higher into the clouds. Story of my life. I think I’ve made it, that I can finally breathe, and then someone points higher and tells me I haven’t done enough yet.
“I mean, I could probably make it, but...” I trail off, studying the path with what I hope looks like casual assessment rather than terror.
“You’ve been going at quarter-speed this whole time, haven’t you?
It must be like taking a toddler for a walk.
Why don’t you go on? I’ll wait here and take photos of the main pinnacle. You can get your proper views.”
Embarrassment burns my cheeks. He’s used to hiking with people like Maren or Jake.
The last time I attempted hiking was with Steve, and that experience left me with several anxiety complexes. I can’t let Patrick see that, can’t be the pathetic one who needs constant reassurance.
I brace for irritation. The impatient “Fine”, and a man who vanishes up the path. That’s what Steve would’ve done.
“I’m not abandoning you on a mountain.” His tone makes the idea sound absurd. “You already did the hard part. You made it up here. That’s enough.”
“There are loads of other people around. I won’t exactly be stranded.”
“I don’t care.” He crosses his arms, looking genuinely annoyed at the suggestion. “I brought you up here. I’m staying with you. What kind of bastard do you think I am?”
Something catches in my throat. His refusal to leave—that small, stubborn courtesy—lands harder than I expected.
“You say that now, but—” I mutter then falter. Old wounds creak open. “Not everyone thinks like that.”
One of his brows lifts.
I shrug, hugging my camera strap. “My ex fell out with me when we climbed Snowdon and I sprained my ankle. He hated that we had to cut it short. I guess I just… associate hiking with letting people down.”
He stares at me. “He punished you for getting injured?”
“Steve was big on silent treatments.” I try for a casual shrug, but it comes out wobbly. “It was his thing.”
Patrick’s frown hardens. “How long were you with this prick?”
I hadn’t expected the visceral reaction from him. I’m not sure I should have mentioned it now. “Two years.”
“Two years?” His jaw tightens. “That’s two years too long.”
“It wasn’t all bad. At the start he was charming, funny, everyone loved him. Then we moved in together and… well.” I look up at the trail again, anywhere but his face. “It wasn’t… so good.”
I shrug, not wanting to say too much.
He’s quiet for a beat. Then his voice drops. “If I ever treated a woman like that, I couldn’t look my nan—god rest her soul—or my mum in the eye again. Makes me want to track this Steve down and give him a lecture on basic decency.”
The sharpness in his tone makes me flinch. I rush to smooth it over, words tumbling out. “It’s fine. It was years ago.”
His head jerks toward me, brow furrowed.
He takes a slow breath, broad chest rising and falling like he’s trying to rein something in.
“Georgie, you just told me your boyfriend of two years stopped speaking to you because you sprained your ankle on a mountain. Instead of making sure you weren’t in pain.
” He shifts his weight, boots scraping rock.
“No man should ever treat you like that.”
The heat rushes up my neck, prickling my cheeks. Men have told me I’m cute. Funny. Easy to be around. No one has ever said I deserve better with that much conviction backing the words.
I force a shrug, trying to make it sound like an old story. “Yeah, well. Lesson learned.”
His jaw goes hard, mouth flattening into a grim line. “A bastard like that doesn’t deserve a second chance. If a man treats you like that, it’s reason enough to be done. Should’ve kicked him off the mountain.”
I swallow hard. I can’t tell him the truth—that it wasn’t enough for me, not then. That I stayed through a dozen more silent treatments.
I don’t want him to think of me as a weak idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of her.
“I know it wasn’t healthy. I mean, I know there are decent men out there. Obviously.”
“Course there are. You’re young. You’ll meet someone who’ll treat you right.”
The words should land as comfort, but they sting. Because they’re casual. Because he says someone like it couldn’t possibly be him.
I force a bright smile. “I guess I should try to have fun while I’m here. That’s what Riri wanted me to do. Live a little. Date loads.”
Something flashes across his face. Gone before I can pin it down. He drags a hand through his hair. “Riri was a smart woman.”
I’m the little girl who cried wolf, daring him to say he doesn’t want me seeing other men, only to be met with calm agreement.
He turns abruptly toward the cliff. “Look there. See how the light hits the Old Man? Locals say it’s his hand pointing north, showing sailors the way home.”
Okay, so he wants to change the subject. Safer to talk about the landscape.
I follow his gaze. The rock face does look almost human in this light.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
His eyes find mine. “Do you want to see the view from up there? If you could.”
“I’d love to, but—”
“Right then.” He crouches down with his back to me. “Climb on.”
I blink at him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Piggyback. Unless you’d prefer a fireman’s carry, but that might be less dignified.”
I stare at his broad shoulders in complete shock. “Patrick, you cannot carry me up a mountain.”
“You’re not missing the best view in Scotland because of tired legs.”
The matter-of-fact way he says it, like carrying a full-grown woman up a rocky incline is just a normal activity, makes my chest go tight and warm.
“But I’m heavy—”
“You weigh about as much as my rucksack. Maybe less.”
“People will stare—”
“Let them.” His voice roughens. “Get on my back, Georgie, or I’m throwing you over my shoulder. Your choice.”
The man who just told me I’ll “find someone” is now offering to carry me up a cliff like some sort of mule. Make of that what you will.
I’m still buzzing, while Patrick drives us back to Portree. One hand is on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear stick, forearm flexing every time he shifts. The nerve of him, looking this calm and gorgeous after carrying me up a mountain.
“I still can’t believe you gave me a piggyback,” I say, the laugh bubbling up again. “That German couple looked ready to call mountain rescue. They probably have photos of us that’ll end up in some tourist safety brochure about what not to do on Scottish mountains.”
He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road, but I catch the slight quirk of his mouth.
My phone erupts into the Doctor Who theme tune—a ringtone choice I immediately regret as Jake’s name flashes across the screen.
“It’s Jake.”
The elephant in the room that we’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.
Patrick glances over. “You answering?”
“No.” I jab decline so fast I nearly drop the thing. “I’ll call him later.”
The noise dies. Relief lasts three seconds before Patrick’s phone lights up and buzzes on the dash.
I groan. “We can’t both not answer him.”
Patrick slows the Land Rover and taps the screen. Jake’s voice booms cheerful and loud enough to fill the whole car. “Hey, mate!”
Patrick’s jaw tightens. “Jake. How’s the expedition going?”
I sink lower in my seat, irrationally convinced that if I stay very still, Jake won’t somehow sense my presence through the phone connection.
“Wrapped up early. The weather turned, so we’re heading back ahead of schedule.” There’s a pause. “Listen, I know Georgie’s still in Skye, so I thought I’d swing by for a quick visit.”
My head jerks toward Patrick. His face doesn’t move, but his grip on the wheel tightens. That tiny shift is enough to make my stomach flutter in the worst possible way.
I should be thrilled that Jake’s coming, but instead of excitement, all I feel is dread curling low in my gut. How the hell is this going to work?
What happens to this… whatever-this-is… once Jake turns up? Maybe it only exists here, in the shadows of Skye, where no one’s watching.
“Sounds good. When exactly?” Patrick asks, voice neutral.
“Next week or so? I tried calling Georgie but couldn’t get through. Don’t tell her though; I want to surprise her.”
My stomach flips more violently.
“What are you up to today?” Jake continues conversationally.
Patrick’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Not much. Just busy with work.”
“How’s the prep going to get Skye on the Forbes list?”
Patrick answers him but I barely hear him.