Chapter 20
Alec
I kneel in front of Clementine, the straps of the harness clutched in my hands. She’s practiced for this all week, but first rappels are when people freeze or, worse, panic. There cannot be another bear or kayak incident.
Not with a crowd this size.
“Leg straps.” I attempt to focus, tapping her calf. “Spread.”
“Buy a girl dinner first,” she shoots back, laughter threading through her words as she obeys.
“Technically,” I grunt, hauling the strap into place, “I already did.”
Her eyes glint. “So, this is my repayment?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“You really have a habit of hearing things I don’t say.”
“I know.” She leans forward like she’s sharing a secret. “I just like getting under your skin.”
She has no idea how far she’s embedded herself into me. Or maybe she does, and that’s worse.
I drag the harness up her legs. She’s wearing what she calls biker shorts.
I call them hell. Black nylon clings to bare skin, my knuckles grazing her thigh as I thread the strap.
Her skin smells of sunscreen, sweat, and grapefruit, and it finds its way back into my chest, lodges under my ribs, and stays there.
“You enjoying yourself down there?”
“Checking for safety hazards.”
Her smile says she noticed exactly where my eyes lingered. “Remind me again why you’re not rappelling too?”
“Because I do this for a living.”
“Which is exactly why you should get on that mountain with me and do something incredible. A flip, a spin. Scare the competition.”
“We don’t need to scare anyone.” I tug another strap through to cinch the waist buckle. My knuckles graze her stomach under her thin shirt, and she takes a step back.
“Quit moving,” I scold. “I don’t want you sliding out halfway up.” The harness squeaks as I tighten the buckle. “That tight?”
“Very.”
I yank the strap one last time, harder than necessary. She lurches forward. Her hands fly up, bracing the back of my head. The front of her shorts presses into my face.
Every muscle in me locks. My brain says move, but my body? My body doesn’t.
“Oh, I see you’re enjoying Clem’s muffin again,” a voice cuts in.
“Hi, Gran,” Clementine sighs.
Margaret tips her sunglasses down. “Ever heard of BDSM?”
“Stop,” Clementine groans. “Please. Please say nothing else.”
“I’m just pointing out,” Margaret adds, grinning, “that’s a fine-looking harness you’ve got on there.”
Clementine elbows her grandmother, but the affection’s there. Margaret’s barely five feet tall, hair cropped silver, puffer vest blueberry-blue over flannel. Cheeks flushed from the wind, moving like she’s got twice the energy of the rest of us put together.
“Gran, I know you’ve already met, but let me officially introduce you again.” Clementine tugs on Margaret’s sleeve like she’s corralling a toddler. “This is Alec. Alec, Margaret.” Then, lower, she mutters into her ear, “Be normal.”
“Pshh. Normal’s for the boring.” Margaret thrusts her hand at me. “Hello, dear. You really are all man, aren’t you?”
“Uh—”
“I’m just teasing.”
“It’s great to see you again,” I say, but she wiggles her fingers until I take it. She clearly expects me to kiss her knuckles. So, I do, because what other choice is there?
“My oh my, such a gentleman.” Margaret giggles. “I remember you and your friend eating spaghetti Bolognese straight out of the pot like it was the last meal you’d ever get.”
“You threatened to use your shears on us if Bill didn’t come back in one piece.” I let out a laugh.
“Wish I could use those shears to tear up old age. That’s the real devil.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“One loss is another gain.” Margaret slings an arm over Clementine’s shoulder and plants a kiss on her cheek, leaving behind a smear of lipstick. “Now, sweetheart, give me a hug.”
Clementine folds into her, and Margaret squeezes like she’ll never let go.
“Bill still talked about you,” she says to me over Clem’s hair.
“Wished he could’ve been around to see you move in.
Said you two gave him a run for his money drinking whiskey.
We’ll have to pour a dram over the first snow in his honor. ”
“I’m not sticking around for winter.”
“Smart. Not many can survive the cold.” Margaret tips her head. “Well then, we’ll just have a glass when you and my granddaughter win this thing.”
“Absolutely.”
Margaret’s gaze fixes on me. “I still have those shears, you know. One hair out of place on her head—”
“Gran,” Clementine scolds.
“She’ll be okay,” I cut in.
No. Not okay. Better. She has to be. I’ll make sure of it.
Margaret glances back toward the crowd. “Oh, Cody just got here. I’ll save you both a blueberry donut for when you get down.”
“Can’t wait!” Clementine forces a smile and watches her grandmother head off.
The horn blows, echoing off the rock face and through the spruce-lined ridge. It’s our signal.
“Here, take this.” I shove a walkie-talkie into her hand. “I won’t be able to hear you up there, so keep it clipped in. If anything looks off, I’ll call it.”
She clicks the button, and static cracks through the line. “This is so camp buddy coded.”
“Never say that again.” My hand lands on her shoulder. “You got this.”
“We got this,” she repeats.
Clem starts the hike up while I stay below, the rope coiled at my feet. I already checked her anchor station at the top—twice—but watching her disappear between the trees, I still feel my stomach knot.
In a matter of minutes, the walkie crackles to life.
“Roger, roger. We are officially making our way up the hill. Way easier without the brick pack.”
“Focus, Clementine.”
“We need code names. That’s how this works. You’ve got to give me one too.”
“Clementine—”
“Alec.” Her voice sharpens through the line, breath ragged from the climb. I don’t like how thin it sounds. I need her focused.
I hesitate, then give her something simple. “Fox.”
“Fox!” She laughs, delighted. “Oh, I love it. Fits me, doesn’t it? Quick, clever, impossible to catch.”
“Sly.”
“Perfect.” A pause. “So what’s yours? Satie?” She’s laughing, but she doesn’t realize how many nights I’ve sat in the dark with Satie bleeding through the speakers, holding myself together by a single note.
“Pay attention,” I growl.
She hums a bar of the melody through the comms. “Satie and Fox. Has a ring to it.”
The ridge crests ahead, wind biting harder. The cliff isn’t huge, only sixty feet of granite that is streaked with green lichen. Controlled wall. Safe wall. I repeat it until the words sound empty.
The walkie crackles again. “Okay, Jessie’s got me all strapped in.”
“Jessie, did you double-check redundancies?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Check them again.”
Clem’s voice cuts through, edged with impatience. “We both checked them, Alec.”
“Hand the radio to Jessie.”
“What? No—”
“Now.” My tone leaves no room.
A pause, then Jessie says, “Redundancies checked, Hastings. Twice. Anchor’s good. Device loaded.”
I exhale through my nose. “Alright.”
“There. Satisfied?”
I press the button, but nothing comes out. Because the truth tastes like rust in my mouth. Because if I told her the real answer, that I’m not going to ever be happy when she’s dangling from a rope, it would pin me down in ways I can’t allow.
“Yes,” I manage, finally.
I plant myself at the base, boots dug in, rope tight in my grip. My job as a backup belay is simple. If she slips, if she freezes, if her brake hand lets go, I haul down and lock her in the air.
That’s the theory. The reality is that I’m one bad second away from losing my mind.
My hands shouldn’t be sweating. I’ve belayed kids, rookies, clients who couldn’t tell a carabiner from a keychain. I’ve held strangers on walls twice this size. Never flinched. Never once doubted the system.
But this is Clementine, and my body hasn’t gotten the memo that she’s just another climber on a rope. My throat is sandpaper.
What if her brake hand slips?
What if her knot’s wrong?
What if she drops into the void and I’m too slow, too late?
It’s not rational. It’s not professional. It’s not me.
She edges backward over the lip.
Focus, Hastings. Fucking focus.
Her eyes flick down to me between the sixty feet of rope stretched between us, and she steps off.
The system holds. The harness, anchor, and rope are all solid. She lowers herself slowly. Halfway down, her brake hand drifts too high. My pulse spikes, gripping iron on the line. Her descent quickens. Not dangerous—not yet—but the margin shrinks.
“Brake hand low,” I bark up at her.
She doesn’t correct. My heart claws against my ribs.
“Clemetine,” I yell up at her again. “Brake hand.”
“I got it,” she calls back.
The rope twists near the anchor, and when she pushes off the wall for the last drop, her angle’s just a hair off. The entire rappel is less than thirty seconds.
She swings straight into me, hard enough to skid my boots on gravel. I yank the line and lock the belay, arms snapping around her waist. She collides against me with a bright smile.
“Good catch,” she beams.
I can’t let go. My hands still clamp her waist, holding her there like she might vanish.
“You dropped faster than you should’ve.”
“I’m fine!”
“You twisted the line. Brake hand stays low next time.”
“I heard you.” She rolls her eyes, and her lips tug between her teeth. “God forbid I ruin your perfect safety record.”
The crowd behind us cheers as someone else preps for their rappel, but it’s muffled in my ears. The world’s narrowed to her heartbeat pressed into me.
“You’re not supposed to give me a heart attack,” I bite out, still wired, still holding the ghost of her weight against me.
“Guess you’ll just have to hold on tighter, then.”
So, I do. A moment too long. Until she eases back, hands sliding off my shoulders like it costs her to let go. My pulse hasn’t slowed when a slap lands between my shoulder blades.
“Your turn, Hastings?”
Zak Kwan. Green hair brighter than it was at our CPR class, grin cocky enough to split his face in two.
“He’s not climbing today,” Clementine says, still catching her breath. Her braid slips over her chest.
“And you are?” His voice dips into something meant to be smooth, his eyes dragging over her.
“Clementine.”
“Didn’t know Alec traded in Finn,” he says with a laugh. “Partner upgrade. Lucky guy.”
The heat that hits my neck is not from the sun. I take a step closer, my voice flat enough to cut glass. “Get lost, Zak.”
Zak flicks his gaze back at me. “Be good to see you on a wall again. What’s it been, months?” He smirks and pushes his neon hair back like he’s in a shampoo ad. “Scared you won’t be able to take on all us younger guys?”
“I could out climb you in my sleep,” I grit out.
“Sure you could. And you, Fox?” Zak asks, angling toward Clementine. “First rappel? Looked like fresh meat out there.”
Bile burns my throat. That’s my name for her.
Her face contorts in disgust. “Don’t call me that. I don’t know you. And weren’t you the one whimpering when you went over the edge?”
Zak stumbles, smirk slipping.
I snicker. “Careful, Zak. She’ll gut you with a smile if you keep pressing.”
He brushes it off. “Competition’s fierce this year.”
A clipboard appears in my face before I can say anything else.
“Alec Hastings, perfect. We need you in the tent—pictures, quick promo. Short speech before the mayor comes on.”
Zak vanishes into the crowd, and a man thrusts a script at me, already walking away like I’m a piece of gear instead of a person. Right. Patagonia. The deal.
Clementine’s laugh drifts up from my side. “Look at you. Such an influencer.”
My eyes stay on her. “You gonna be okay?”
“Are you suggesting I can’t handle myself while you’re off posing for cameras? Please.” She smacks my chest. “Go play model. I’ll be fine. Gran owes me a donut anyway.”
I don’t want to leave her. But the clipboard guy is already waving me over impatiently.
“You did good today, Clem,” I call out to her.
“I like ‘Fox,’ especially when it’s coming from you.”
“Noted.”
Her lips curve, sharp and sweet. “Go strike a pose, Satie.”
I let her have the last word, even as the nickname cuts deeper than she knows.
August 24th
From Rope Team to Rift: Alec Hastings Dumps Finn for a New Climbing Partner
August 24th
Betrayal on the Wall? Alec Hastings Climbs Again While Finn Fights to Walk
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Did @TwoMenOnTop Officially Split?