Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
RHYS
Dark clouds gather overhead, thick and swirling. I have to work fast because I can’t go back into that cabin knowing I’ve failed her completely.
I can’t tell her what she wants to hear. Can’t tell her the truth either.
It would kill what’s left of Phoenix. Maybe he deserves it. Sloane doesn’t.
I grab rope from the shed, searching for other things I might need. A shovel, tools for cutting branches. I bring them all, stacking them along the edge.
I find a large pine standing next to an even sturdier one. That’s going to matter later. Then, I secure the rope with a bowline knot to belay down the washout. I don’t have everything I need for this. The gear a rock climber would use.
But fuck it. I have to work quickly. Would rather fight a losing battle with Mother Nature than show up empty-handed to Sloane again.
Thunder booms distant, clouds building overhead. The wind picks up a notch, making my decision for me. Should’ve done this yesterday. So she hadn’t stayed.
Because what she wants and what I need are two different things.
I descend over the edge without hesitation, using my gloved hands to work the rope, dropping in short bursts that look as controlled as they feel, feet sliding, traction gone, mud sucking at my boots with every step.
My boots grind against shale and clay, still slick from yesterday’s cloudburst.
I brace my feet on a boulder, sneaking a glance down.
There it is. Not much farther.
The Jeep’s tires stuck in a good two feet of mud. The sludge brought the vehicle to a halt before it began the drop into the ravine below.
I continue the descent until I reach the Wrangler. A boulder punctured the driver’s side door on the way down, an angry gash of sharp metal flashing. It gives a low groan, slipping another foot down when I rest a palm against it. Not even half my weight.
The rope lurches and drops down with another sickening jerk. My feet fight for purchase, stomach churning. Keep this up and I’ll be winching the Jeep and me up together.
“Rhys!” I hear Sloane’s voice up top, distant but carried by the wind.
Dammit.
Don’t need her to see me like this. In this precarious position.
“Rhys!”
I don’t speak, just hang on to the rope, feet digging deeper into the ruddy muck, hoping she’ll go away. Instead, I hear a gasp that turns into a scream.
“You’ll kill yourself.”
I look up, wincing at how close she is to the edge. “Go back inside. I’ve got this.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“I can help. Tell me what to do.”
My foot slips, and the rope tugs again.
Sloane covers her mouth, eyes widening. “You should climb back up. Stop worrying about the Jeep.”
“Nope, I’m down here. This is getting done.”
That’s when the first raindrop hits my face. Wet and cold.
Shit.
“Got to run this line uphill,” I call. Got to get this right.
Her forehead knits, lips pressed tightly together. “Hold that thought.”
She disappears.
Thank God. One less thing to worry about.
I find the free-spool lever buried beneath mud and start pulling line. I steady myself with the rope using my other hand. My boots work against me, losing traction. I shove my toes into the mud, beginning to scale back up.
Then, I hear it plain as day. “Okay, I’m coming down.”
“No, you aren’t.”
Too late, she’s already over the edge.
“Stop.”
My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “One wrong step and you’re not walking back up.”
I watch her footing give along the steep slope, hands reaching for the line I hold. One rope between us. A shared lifeline.
“Go back!” I bark.
She’s too busy balancing to answer. She clings to it, one hand gripping tight, the other clawing into red clay, grabbing at brush and saplings to slow her descent. Soon, both hands work the side of the hill, more a controlled fall than a climb down.
She lands against me hard, knocking the wind out of my chest. The rope pulls tight, then groans.
“God,” she gasps, trying to straighten, nearly falling past me. But I wrap my arm around her waist, pressing her tight against me.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I growl against her ear. Her body melts into me, her breath coming faster.
“That wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” she gasps, glancing over her shoulder at me. Our mouths are so close, we’re breathing the same air. Her cheeks flush, eyes wild.
“What in the hell were you thinking?” I grunt, steadying her against me.
Drops pitter-patter around us, wetting our cheeks and hair. Clouds darken overhead, an angry swirl.
“Keys,” she says on another pant, reaching into her pocket and holding them up before replacing them. “Engine has to be on for the winch to work.”
“Yeah, once we start winching. That’s step four,” I say. “We’re still on one through three.”
She arches an eyebrow.
“Unspooling, running, and attaching the line.”
“Oh,” she says, cheeks burning.
I lean in too close—close enough to feel the heat of her skin—and catch myself before it goes any further.
She settles against me. My chest tightens.
“So, how do we get back up?” she asks, face pelted with rain.
“Very carefully,” I manage right as the Jeep settles again with another groan. Sloane’s foot slips, and I brace my forearm against the vehicle to steady her. That’s when it shifts again, and the raw metal snags my forearm, slicing deep.
I grunt hard, pulling it free. But it’s too late. Blood sheets down my forearm almost instantly.
Sloane’s eyes drop to my arm, mouth falling open.
“It’s nothing,” I grumble, eyes still searching the Jeep, figuring out how to hold on to her and run the line.
Thick curtains of rain slam into us. The mud and rocks give way beneath our feet.
“We have to go back,” Sloane says.
“You have to.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she counters, blinking against the rain.
“Not until I get that line.”
I won’t let her down twice.
“Rhys.”
“You head back up. I’ll be right—”
“Rhys, I’m not leaving you.”
That breaks something loose in my chest. I grimace, swallowing hard. “But you should.”
“No.”
And that’s when it comes tumbling out. The thing I was never supposed to say. “I didn’t leave him either, Sloane. He left us.”
Her chin trembles, eyes locked on my face. Thunder claps overhead. Lightning follows, closer now, the ground giving way inch by inch beneath us.
“Move,” I order, pushing her forward. Because she won’t leave well enough alone. And I won’t let anything happen to her.
The Jeep slides lower, past us now, almost taking me with it. I drop the line, the time for hesitating done.
We fight for every step, hands and feet working. I tie off the rope every few feet so we don’t lose our progress. My arm burns, the cool rain stinging the jagged gash. But my mind’s still on the Jeep, stealing another glance, stomach churning. We’re about to lose it. Can’t let that happen.
We grip the rope, branches, the mountain sliding and collapsing all around us until I push her ass up over the ledge, and she crawls to her feet.
I’m behind her, still tethered to the tree, blood running dark and fast. Sloane reaches for me, grabs my hand with both of hers, and falls backward, pulling me to safety.
I land on top of her, our bodies slick with mud, breaths racing, just lying there drenched in rainwater for another moment. The sky breaks free with another earth-shattering crash and a flash so bright it feels like we’re inside it.
We scramble to our feet, stumbling, dripping, gripping each other for balance all the way to the cabin.
The hinges squeak, and we push inside, boots caked with slippery mud that drops us to the floor.
I’m half on top of her. Sloane’s hand curls into my shirt, holding me tight.
A great boom sounds above us, then another burst of light. She gasps, pulling me even closer. I crawl up her body until we’re face to face, staring at each other, breaths mingling.
Our eyes lock, and that’s when I realize the storm outside has nothing on this.
“Your arm,” she gasps, lips inches from mine. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then the cut. “You’re bleeding on me.”
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“We have to clean it up. Bandage it. Then get out of these wet clothes.”
I don’t move. Neither does she.
Too close.
Close enough to forget why that’s a problem.