Chapter 46
Clementine
I wake with a kind of happiness I’ve never known before.
Wild Trails is tomorrow.
Weeks of training have carried me here. Hauling bricks up hills until my lungs were on fire, paddling across the lake until my arms felt like they might fall off, squatting seventy pounds while sweat burned my eyes.
The old me, the one who used to sit in front of a mirror the night before a cast list went up, tallying every flaw, wouldn’t recognize this girl.
But I do.
And I’m proud of her.
My hair’s longer. My thighs are solid. My biceps curve strong beneath my skin. I look at myself and think not of what’s missing but of what’s been built.
I am strong.
I tug on a pair of leggings Alec likes and the sweater he left at my place, grab a muffin, and settle on the porch steps. The morning air is cold enough to bite, but I’m sparkling with warmth. Today we’ll take one last walk around Misthaven Lake, keeping our muscles loose for tomorrow.
I watch the path between our houses, already picturing Mozart bounding ahead with Alec laughing behind him.
Any second now, they’ll both be here.
But no one comes.
By the time I’ve eaten a second muffin, the first flicker of unease skims across my chest. In two months of training, Alec has never once been late. I’m not even sure he knows what being late actually means.
I pull out my phone. Dial his number. Straight to voicemail.
Maybe he doesn’t have service. Maybe he stopped in town for supplies. Maybe he’s planning some last-minute surprise before the race. I keep stacking reasons in my head, but none of them settle the knot in my stomach. Then it lands, sharp and sickening.
The glacier.
Rob had said something about a weather window, about a possible climb that wasn’t meant to happen until after Wild Trails. What if a window opened, and Alec—being Alec—went? What if he’s up there right now, ice axe in hand, alone against the wall?
The thought freezes me. My chest goes hollow. Would he really risk it now, right before Wild Trails? Even if he decided to go, he would’ve sent a text, or called, or something. Right?
He’s a mountaineer. The mountain calls to him the way the barre calls to me. How angry can I be at the truth of who he is? I know this about him. I’ve always known it. Loving him was never going to mean keeping him on the ground.
Still, the ache is there. Because love doesn’t cancel out fear, and understanding doesn’t erase hurt.
The fear is alive and gnawing, and I can’t shake it.
So, I lace up my shoes and head out. Routine is better than waiting.
The trail around Misthaven Lake is familiar now, every turn woven with memories of him.
I catch myself noticing details he would have pointed out.
The way a scatter of leaves makes a crooked tulip, the flat stones perfect for skipping, the flash of deer disappearing into the trees.
With every step, the thought stalks me. Please, God, don’t let him be on that ice.
I keep walking, pretending it’s just another training day, even though the silence presses in heavier without him beside me.
When I get back, there’s still no sign of him.
I help Gran weed the garden, stretch on the living room floor, even put on music and dance in place to burn off nerves. My body follows the checklist of the day, but my eyes keep darting to my phone.
By the time the sky fades to indigo, the bright stories I’ve been telling myself all day collapse under their own weight.
My screen stays blank. The longer I stare, the heavier my chest feels, like I’ve swallowed a stone.
I call Yura. She answers on the third ring, her voice crisp above the noise of muffled announcements and footsteps. “Hey, we’re at the clinic. Finn’s getting looked at. What’s up?”
“Have you heard from Alec?” My voice comes out tight. “Or Mozart? Did he have him with him today?”
A pause, then a quick inhale. “No, Mozart’s here with us. He’s fine. Why? Did something happen?”
I hear someone call her name in the background. She lowers her voice. “I have to go. Text me, okay?”
The line clicks dead.
The silence in my ear feels worse than the silence on my screen.
I grab a jacket and step onto the path between our houses, the one worn smooth from two months of footsteps. The night air is cool, but sweat prickles at my neck. When I reach the driveway, the empty patch where his truck should be stops me cold.
I don’t even have to crouch by the steps to fish out the spare key from under the stone planter anymore. I keep it on my key ring, like it was always supposed to be there. My hand shakes as I slide the key into the lock.
I move fast. Up the stairs two at a time. The room I made for him is too neat, untouched. His pack, always by the door, gone. The boots that lived in his closet, gone.
My stomach twists. It’s like he was never here.
My chest burns as I claw my phone from my pocket, scrolling through our thread. His last message was days ago, my unanswered texts stacked below.
I hit call. Ring, then voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
I drop onto the edge of his bed, gripping the frame so tight my knuckles scream. Anger spikes through me, hot and clean, but it only half covers the hollow underneath.
He left.
He knew what this race meant. What we’d built together. He promised me we’d stand at that starting line side by side, and I believed him. Not just believed—I counted on it. I let myself think it wasn’t just training anymore, but a vow. And now it feels broken.
The memory hits like a punch: Paris, music swelling, my mouth betraying me. I think I’m in love with you. I laughed it off, kissed him too fast, convinced he hadn’t heard. Relieved he hadn’t.
What if he isn’t climbing? What if he left Alaska?
The embarrassment burns, and I hate it. Two months. That’s all it’s been. Two months of dizzying closeness, of pretending tomorrow was implied, of never actually saying it out loud. Maybe my heart sprinted ahead while his stayed cautious.
But the part that guts me isn’t the possibility that I scared him. It’s that he didn’t tell me. That he just…went. Let me sit here inventing reasons.
I press my palms to my thighs and force myself to breathe. If he comes back, he’s going to hear me. All of it. The fear. The hurt. The love. Because I can’t do this halfway. If he wants me in his life, he doesn’t just get the easy pieces. He gets the truth.
The silence presses heavier.
Hot tears streak down my cheeks. I swipe them away, but my chest keeps tightening, memories collapsing onto me. The subway in New York, the panic clawing through me as I bolted, leaving everything behind. That same dizzy, gasping fear swells now, like I might unravel if I let it take over.
But I’ve grown since then. I’m not her anymore.
I push myself to my feet and leave the lodge. The air outside is harsh. By the time I step back into my own apartment, resolve steadies me. I pull my backpack from the closet, setting it open on the bed.
I pack with steady hands. Trail shoes, rain jacket, granola bars, wool socks.
Because tomorrow, I’m doing Wild Trails.
Even if I have to do it without him.
Even if it means I won’t win the twenty-thousand-dollar prize.
I put in the work. I earned my place.
I can carry myself.
I smooth the zipper shut, the sound like a period at the end of a sentence. My chest still aches, but the ache no longer decides for me.
Tomorrow, I’ll walk to that starting line, not as the girl waiting for someone to choose her. As the woman who has already chosen herself.
When I glance at the window, I imagine headlights sweeping into his drive, a truck door slamming, his boots on the path. My chest clenches before I can stop it.
For one reckless second, I almost believe he’ll come back.