Chapter Seventy-One
“You’re a shit driver, you know that?” Rafael asks through gritted teeth, one hand braced against the dashboard with the other white-knuckling the “Oh shit handle.”
I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him like the massive child that I am. “I don’t have a car, in case you’d forgotten. I’m not a bad driver, I’m just a little rusty. Besides, there’s no one on the road here anyway.”
“With the way you talk about drunk drivers, I’m surprised you don’t also consider this reckless.”
“Listen here, big man. I’m not driving recklessly .
I’m going the speed limit; I’m making turns at a reasonable speed and using my turn signals too.
There is nothing reckless about the way I’m driving— you just have a control problem,” I blurt out, not even a little afraid to call him on his bullshit.
“I’ll give you that,” he huffs out, “but in no world are you a good driver. Can we at least agree on that?”
“Well, duh, is anyone really a good driver? I think that’s subjective,” I say, nodding my head so he knows this conversation is over.
“Whatever, mi vida. At least if we die in this car, we’ll die together,” he says, his tone taking on a flirtatious quality that is more likely to get us in a wreck than anything else that’s happened in this car the last half hour.
“Yeah, remember that sentiment later, okay?”
Rafael lets out a little growling sound that has me practically cackling from the absurdity. “Stop growling, you whiny baby. We’re almost there.”
And luckily, we are almost there. According to the GPS, I’ve got one more turn to make and then we’ll be at the place that could either end our entire relationship and the fragile trust we’ve developed these last few months or make us even stronger.
For Rafael’s benefit, I’m willing to take the chance.
It’s hard to tell whether he’s upset or not because his body language has been on edge this entire drive, and I’m not sure that much has changed as we pull down the muddy trail, parking out front of the wooden treehouse.
I put the car in park, turn off the engine, and lean back in my seat, waiting for the big reveal of his emotions as bees swarm my stomach, climbing up my oesophagus and stinging their way up.
He releases his hold on the handle, but I can’t say that “relaxing” into his seat is the right word for what he’s doing. “Resigning” might be more accurate.
He turns to face me, his skin a touch pale, forehead already beading with a light sheen of sweat, and his lips are pulled taught in a straight line.
“Elise, no,” he says adamantly, shaking his head.
“We are not going up there. Absolutely not. How could you think this was a good idea?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion.
I let him sit without saying another word for a solid two minutes as he has his moment to freak out.
He slumps against the seat, and I unbuckle myself, climbing over the centre console to straddle his hips.
I press my warm palms over his cheeks, drawing his attention to my face before speaking. “ Mon amour , do you remember when you asked me to help you deal with the guilt? To finally recognise that what happened to Carlos was never your fault?”
His silent nod is his only answer.
“Good, because that’s what we’re doing today. We can turn around at any point, just use your safe word,” I tell him with a wink, doing my best to break through some of the tension thick in the air around us.
“Elise,” he groans out. “I’m not saying cum dumpster in public,” he whines. “Let’s just go back home to my family where we’ll be safe. ”
“You’ll be safe here, Rafa. That’s what I’m trying to show you.”
He clenches his eyes shut, blowing a breath out through his nose, and rests his forehead on my shoulder as he winds his arms around my back. “Please, mi vida .”
I run my fingers through his thick, dark waves, to his neck, and down the length of his spine a few times, waiting for the sounds of his heavy sigh. It’s a sound I’ve learned to wait for, knowing that once it’s left his lips, he’ll be okay.
When that sound comes, I say, “Just let me show you something, and if you want to leave before we actually get started, we can. Deal?”
I feel his nod against my shoulder, and if this were sex, I’d require a verbal confirmation, but right now, I think this is all he’s capable of giving me, so I accept it for the answer that it is.
I unlock the door, pushing it open before climbing off of his lap and holding out my hand for him to take it as he gets out.
He takes his sweet ass time walking up the wide pine staircase to the top of the round, canopied treehouse.
I recognise the thirty-something-year-old man leaning against the desk at the check-in counter from his picture on the website.
“ Che . Santiago?” I ask.
“ Sí , it’s nice to meet you, Elise. And you must be Rafael?” he asks, extending his hand for him to shake.
“Nice to meet you,” Rafa says, and I’m thankful he’s retained his manners despite his anxiety.
“Well, let’s go ahead and get started then, yeah? I’ll start by giving you a tour of where we keep all of the equipment and go over the details with you.”
We follow Santiago around the front desk and back down a short hall with wooden beams. He unlocks the storage space, opening the door wide, revealing an air-conditioned room with shelves along the walls, each with various pieces of equipment labelled on them.
“This is our storage room where we keep all of our equipment. It’s weather-proofed because we want to make sure our equipment doesn’t rot out or form rust. We keep the doors locked when one of the staff isn’t in here to make absolutely certain no one could come in and tamper with the equipment.
” Rafael’s eyes widen a hair, and Santiago must notice because he adds, “We’ve never had anything like that happen, and we have cameras all over the property, but we’ve heard some stories and want to make sure we don’t wind up a part of some true crime podcast.”
I’d definitely listen to that podcast but he’s right—I’d rather not be featured on one.
“That sounds very responsible,” I emphasise, and I’m rewarded with an eyeroll from Rafa.
He takes my hand in his, squeezing it tightly as Santiago shows us each piece of equipment from the harness to the gloves, helmet, and the individual components.
He explains the weights they’ll each support, how frequently they replace them, the routine testing they perform on them, and the statistics on failures, of which there are very, very few.
“Any questions about this part of things, or can I bring you to take a look at our rig?”
Rafael scratches his neck nervously, his grip tightening on my hand. “I think we’re all set, thanks!”
Santiago nods, leading us out of the room and locking up before walking us up another set of pine steps that lead to the first platform built around a massive tree trunk.
“This here”—he waves a hand in front of a tall pulley system at the front of the platform facing the open expanse of water below—“is our zipline. One of the key features is a heavy-duty stainless-steel cable that is mounted to the platform on the other end. It can easily hold up to thirteen hundred kilos, but for safety reasons and due to the weight restrictions of our harnesses, we can accommodate up to two hundred kilos, which is about four hundred and fifty pounds.”
The more he speaks, the more I regret this idea. My stomach roils, acid burning up my throat. Heights are a big fuck no, but with nothing besides a heavy cable and harness to hold me up? Who the hell was I kidding?
I suck in a deep breath, willing the elephant seated on my chest to lift its heavy ass so I can get some goddamn air and focus on Rafael.
The entire time Santiago speaks, Rafa is rubbing at his jawline, scratching his neck, or bouncing his foot. He’s anxious, and it makes complete sense, but that’s why we’re here.
Santiago then shows us the mechanics of the system, explains all of the details and how he, his father, and brother, the owners of this company, maintain the system.
“We run a daily check each morning to make sure it’s safe to operate for the day and have routine checks with a local team that assesses the quality of the lines.
You’ll also notice that once you’re clipped into your harness, you remain clipped in until you finish the course.
This way, you’re always attached to the line and won’t risk falling over the edge of the platform in the event that something extremely strange happens like losing consciousness. ”
There are about fifteen other safety mechanisms he and his family have implemented, and by the time he’s done explaining everything, I genuinely feel like ziplining is a million times safer than driving or flying. Not that it helps my fear of heights any.
“If you’re ready to get started, I’ll walk you both down to the desk, and we can get you fitted for your equipment and get your safety waivers signed.”
After we’ve signed away our lives to this very nice man, who makes it seem as though having your feet firmly planted on the ground is not as necessary as I believe it to be, Santiago heads to the supply closet to grab our equipment, which leaves Rafael and me some time to talk.
I pull on Rafa’s hand, dragging him alongside me to the wrap-around porch overlooking the lush green trees and a colourful mountainside striated with clay.
I run my hands up his arms, shoulders, and to his neck, staring into the warm depths of his brown eyes, even as they threaten to break me from the worry etched into the edges.
“Why are we here?” he asks, his voice so small it forcibly pierces through my heart.
“Because, mon amour , I needed you to see this. I needed you to see that what these people do every day isn’t just to protect their livelihood, but it’s to keep the people who come here safe.”
His dark brows pinch further together, and I can’t stand the sight of it. I run my thumb over the skin, smoothing it out as I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what I’m about to say.
“What happened to Carlos wasn’t just an accident, it was a tragedy. But it was never your fault. That’s not your burden to bear, Rafa.”
His tense shoulders start to loosen, so I trudge on, hoping like hell I say the right things and don’t fuck this up.
“Do you see everything Santiago and his family do each day to maintain their equipment, to make sure this activity they love and the business they’ve built remain safe for anyone who wants to come and enjoy it?”
He nods, but the movement is jerky and doesn’t settle the swarm of bees still stinging away inside me.
“I need you to hear me when I say this, and then I need you to repeat it back to me. Say these words ‘What happened to Carlos was not my fault.’”
His head rears back, and the muscles in his neck tighten. I feel his strong pulse beneath my fingertips as it speeds up.
“No, Elise. This isn’t going to work.” He grunts, looking anywhere but at me.
Time to try a new approach.
“If we get on that zipline and something happens to you today, would you blame me for it?”
His eyes widen with shock, as if the very idea of the words I’ve just spoken is so ridiculous he can’t even believe I asked them. “What the hell? No, of course not. How would that be your fault?”
“Well, I brought you here,” I answer.
“That doesn’t matter, Elise. That guy just told us about a million reasons why that thing is saf—” And then the word dies on his tongue, as do the bees in my gut, each one having lost their stinger in the fight to be free before finding their demise as I watch understanding spread across his features.
“It-it wasn’t my fault,” he whispers, and his eyes fill with tears that never fall.
I reach up on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck, and squeeze him against my chest. “What happened wasn’t your fault,” I whisper, reassuring him.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he chokes out. We continue just like this until he no longer feels the need to say it, until his trembling limbs have settled and the wet tears he’s left on my shoulder have dried up.
When I loosen my hold on him, he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against mine.
“Thank you, mi vida. ”
I don’t bother answering in words because the gift he thinks I’ve just given him is truly nothing compared to the relief he’s given me. Knowing that he’s been carrying that guilt around for the last fifteen years has weighed on me in a way I hadn’t even realised until this moment.
The boulder I’ve unknowingly been holstering has lifted, and I can feel my chest expanding with every full breath I’m able to take.
Santiago opens the door, sticking his head out. He hollers over to us, “You both ready to get started?”
“Yeah, thank you,” Rafael answers without a moment of hesitation, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose before pulling me inside.
Santiago helps us into the equipment, explaining how we should feel once everything is secured, making adjustments as we go, and once ready, I stagger outside, my knees wobbling with each step.
My palms are sweating as we near the platform, this time harnessed and clipped in, except that now I don’t have the distraction of Rafael’s anxieties to keep my mind off of the distance between solid ground and my feet.
Rafael slings an arm around my shoulder, kissing my temple before tickling under my arm. “Stop it!” I screech, swatting at his hand, my eyes wide. “I’m not about to fall off of this thing because you thought tickling me was a good idea, you idiot!”
The colour has officially returned to his face as he tries to suppress his laughter.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “You know, we really don’t have to do this.
” My eyes cut to his, narrowing. He puts his hands up in surrender.
“I’ve already got your message, okay? We don’t have to do it if you’re afraid,” he amends.
I put on my version of a brave face, lifting my chin as I say, “I made you face your fears today, now I’m going to face mine.”
He playfully shakes his head, lowering his mouth just above my ear to whisper, “That’s my girl.” His words have goosebumps forming on my skin, and I have to shake off the sudden chill.
I suck a breath through my nose and turn to Santiago. “I think we’re ready,” I confirm, not missing the smirk he tries to hide. “If you two are done laughing at me, I’d like to get this over with.”
“Yikes,” Rafa says, but his deep-bellied laugh distracts me just enough that I don’t exactly remember why I’d wanted to stomp on his foot just a second ago.
Unfortunately, the moment is fleeting as I step onto the edge of the platform on shaky limbs, wishing I were on flat ground, at his parents’ home making medialuna that would be entirely inedible if not for Catalina’s skill in the kitchen, or swimming by the waterfall like yesterday.