Chapter 36
Alec
Subject: Iceland
From: Jillian@
To: alec@
Alec,
I need a response about the Iceland climb. ASAP!
—J
Finn’s been home for four days, and I’ve managed to dodge him like a coward.
I blame the remodel upstairs or tell myself I need to train.
Slip out before he wakes, come back after he’s down for the night.
It’s pathetic. I know it. But every time I think about sitting across from him, the words knot up in my throat.
I kept hoping a six-mile run would shake them loose, or the hours I spent laying flooring upstairs for the last two days.
Busy hands, empty head. That was the plan.
Except my head’s never quiet where he’s concerned.
And now, with Jillian breathing down my neck about Iceland, I’m running out of excuses. Finn and I need to talk. Soon.
I’ve dreaded this double date all damn day.
Downstairs, Clementine and Yura turned the kitchen into something warm and alive—Mozart barking for scraps, venison sizzling in the cast iron, potatoes roasting until the whole lodge smelled like salt and rosemary.
I hid upstairs until the last possible second, listening to their laughter and music filter up through the floorboards, pretending I had one more thing to sand, one more nail to set.
But here I am, at the table. The food’s steaming in front of me, and all I can think about is how my clothes feel too small.
Clementine sits beside me, her oversized pink sweater swallowing her frame, her cheeks flushed from cooking and wine.
I want to be anywhere else with her—back at the lake, where it was just us.
Across the table, Yura traded her scrubs for a navy dress that makes Finn stare like he’s seeing the moon for the first time in months.
He gushed for ten minutes about the oak table I built in the yard, every board hand-planed until my arms ached.
I grunted something that passed for thanks, and now he’s holding court, all grin and hand gestures.
“It really happened by mistake,” Finn continues, puffing up with that look he gets when he’s about to cast himself as Bear Grylls with better hair. “The usual route was closed from an avalanche, but we’d already quit our jobs. No way was I about to cancel our first international climb.”
I keep my jaw tight while he spins the story. He always did love being the mouthpiece.
“We extended the trip,” he says, running his hand through his beard. “And Alec, being Alec, went full Beautiful Mind with alternate routes. He’s got these notebooks—one for each mountain—covered in topographies and equations that only he understands.”
Clem perks up, polishing off her venison. She doesn’t even notice the half slice of cornbread she shoves in with it, crumbs scattering. She’s listening—really listening.
That tug in my chest tightens.
“I reached out to sponsors,” Finn goes on. “Told them we were gonna climb a new ice face, some sidewall that hadn’t been summited. They said if we could document it, they’d consider funding the next one.”
“Wait, this was Patagonia, right?” Clem straightens in her chair. “What was the route called?”
Her eyes are on Finn, but then they flick to me. Like I’m the one who really holds the answer.
“The locals called that side ‘Chucao Tapaculo,’” I say. “It’s a bird with a red chest. When the sun hits, the ice catches the color. Whole wall looks like it’s bleeding.”
“Jesus,” she breathes. “That’s badass.”
I’ve missed this—Finn sharing stories, captivating everyone’s attention the way he used to at base camps. But the hit of happiness curdles fast, shadowed by the fact that maybe he’ll never have a new story of ours to share. I knock back a swallow of whiskey, forcing myself to stay in the moment.
“So, we set out. Hooks in, ropes set,” Finn continues. “Then a block of ice the size of a damn bus comes loose and takes out all our anchors. Could’ve bailed, should’ve bailed. But we were eighteen and dumb, and we looked at each other and said, ‘Guess we’re going up.’”
“And you did it?” Clem’s eyes are wide, her voice threaded with awe and disbelief.
“Fifteen-hour climb,” Finn says. “Sun started melting the ice. But then—” He pulls out his phone and shoves it toward her. “This is the shot that got us our sponsorship.”
She gasps. “No way. Look at you. Baby Finn. And Alec—your hair!”
I groan.
“It’s practically to your ass!”
“When we got back, his brother Dante sat him down and hacked it off immediately,” Finn crows.
“Said he looked like a deranged surf monk.” He leans back, red hoodie bunched to his elbows, the same one he’s worn since our Tahoe ski-instructor days—sleeves chewed with holes, logo faded to nothing.
I used to think he’d outgrow it, but he never did.
Clem laughs, eyes still on the photo. “You look so happy here.”
“We were,” I admit. My throat’s tight. I want to get back to that guy—to who I was before pain rewrote everything. “Surprised you didn’t see that pic when you were stalking me.”
“I didn’t stalk. I was researching.” Her smirk dares me to argue, and I want to kiss it clean off her face.
Mozart whines, pawing at her thigh until she drops him a cube of venison. He scarfs it down, licking her palm like she’s the only person in the world. “You’re perfect.”
“Don’t feed him from the table,” I tell her, but of course she ignores me, kicking me under the table with a smug grin.
“Thanks for letting Mozart sleep in my room,” Finn says, scratching his ears. “I like the company.”
“I told you a service dog would be helpful for your PT,” Yura says, leaning into Finn.
The two of them fit together like they’ve been practicing this for years.
They seem so comfortable after barely a week.
Sometimes I wish I were more like Finn. I watch the three of them click into their own orbit and feel, not for the first time, the pull of a gravity I didn’t know I wanted.
“Our little community dog,” Finn says, raking a hand through his hair, some of the gauntness already gone from his face.
“See you brushed your hair.” I tip my glass toward him.
“Nah, this one did.” He pats Yura’s arm. “But I see those dark circles under your eyes are gone? Guess the overnight trip was good?”
“Alec rolled down a hill!” Clem giggles, proud of herself.
“With or without clothes on?” Finn arches one bushy eyebrow, and Clem rubs the back of her neck, already blushing. “See? I said you’d love settling down.”
The words scrape bone. Clem must feel it, because her hand brushes my arm, steadying me. She has no idea how close I am to bolting.
“Honestly, I’m relieved you’re not going to embark on any more death wishes,” Yura says, bracelets chiming as she waves her hand. “I can’t imagine how many heart attacks the partners of climbers must have. At least now his idea of risky is acting like a stubborn idiot in physical therapy.”
“Hey,” Finn protests, squeezing her hand with that soft look—the kind that says he knows he put her through hell, and he’s damn grateful she stayed. “I’m a reformed idiot.”
“Jury’s still out,” she teases, brushing her long black hair behind her back.
I press my fork into the last bite of venison, holding back a grimace and hoping someone will change the conversation.
Clem leans forward, lip caught in her teeth. “I guess I didn’t realize how dangerous things could really be. Grandpa climbed Denali almost every year, and he always came back with nothing worse than a sprained ankle.”
“Clem, have you seen their documentaries?” Yura scoffs. “They’re hanging on to walls with nothing but a flimsy rope and a screw jammed into moving ice.”
I bristle. “It’s not more dangerous than base jumpers, or MMA fighters, or F1 drivers.”
“Yes, but MMA fighters don’t deal with crevasses that can swallow half a mountain.” Finn says it as a joke, but when he rubs his leg under the table, I shudder.
The dining room shrinks, meat lodging itself in my throat. Outside, the trees edge forward under the wind. I want to get up and go—anywhere. Be anywhere but sitting at my own damn table while everyone debates which way the mountain will take you.
“I’m so glad you’re done with that,” Yura says, kissing his cheek.
It’s exactly the scene I feared: Clem’s eyes on me already, imagining all the ways I could die. I hate that she’s worried.
I feel like I’m split down the middle—half of me wanting to leave, half of me wanting to stay. I remember the fog that covered us on our hike. Just one foot in front of the other.
“Not done completely,” Finn says, staring at me. “Jillian wants me to make an appearance at Wild Trails. With Alec.”
“She does?” My voice scrapes out flat.
“I’ve been trying to tell you, but you’ve been busy.” Finn drags his tongue along his teeth, the way he always does when he’s annoyed.
“You’ve also been busy.”
“I have.” His thumb drags slowly over Yura’s knuckles. “But I haven’t been avoiding you. We really need to sit down, Alec. Catch up. Talk about contracts. Iceland. Everything.”
I’ve been through fucking avalanches, and I’m sitting here scared to talk to my best friend. Enough. I’m here for at least the next month, and I’m tired of things being strange between us.
Clementine’s hand brushes mine under the table, a small reminder that I’m not alone.
I tip back my glass, whiskey burning. “Let’s go out on the porch.”
“Now?
I shove my chair back, the legs scraping too loud on the floor. “Yes, now. Just you and me.”