Chapter 13
If there was a budding friendship with Nate, it’s short-lived.
Five minutes into the walk toward our next excursion, Nate is already getting on my nerves.
While the crew captures b-roll of the rainforest as we walk, Nate “playfully” shoves me toward the edge of the trail twice.
Once, he pushed me straight into a spiderweb that likely contained a mammoth creature I’d discover when showering later.
“Relax,” he says, as if that’s relaxing. “It’s a walk. Outdoors. In nature. People usually like nature. It’s good for you, and there are worse things to look at.”
“You can say that again.” I shoot him a pointed look.
Nate lowers his voice even though we aren’t miked, and the crew is too far back to hear us. “We’ve been over this, Gingersnap. You can insult my looks all you want, but you’re insulting Brody, too. What’s that say about you?”
I groan, and my next words come out louder than intended. “It says you are driving me crazy.”
“Ooh, say that again for the cameras!” Dave says from right behind us.
It’s a vivid reminder we need to be careful to maintain our charade.
“Sorry to startle,” he continues, not sounding the least bit sorry, “but I thought we could talk through some of the zipline specifics before we get to the first one.”
“Zipline?” Nate asks.
With a gulp, I add, “First one?”
Dave smiles impatiently. Maybe Brody doesn’t question things as much? I elbow Nate to get back into character.
“Yes, zipline course,” Dave explains. “There are sixteen in total. Should take around three hours to complete them all. Possibly longer, depending on what footage we get.”
My fingers wrap around my locket, warming the gold circle between them.
The thudding of my heart racing drowns out Dave’s voice as he continues to talk logistics.
Sixteen ziplines? Three hours? Please let this be a joke because there is no way I can do that.
How could I? Not that I’d have to do the entire course.
Brody said so himself, and Nate and I agreed we’d make our own decisions about participating.
Still, attempting one zipline sounds awful, though I’d never tried one to know if it’s something I’d enjoy.
There are some things I know without having to learn the hard way first.
Then again, Sarah wouldn’t hesitate to do something like this.
Now, she couldn’t. It’s too late, and that’s at least partially my fault.
I tried holding her back—keeping her in Phoenix with me, being enough for her—but she only drifted further away.
I’d do anything to hold on to her for a little longer, like moving to Vegas to start my career because that’s where Sarah had gone to school.
She loved the University of Nevada, Las Vegas almost as much as she loved the vibrant, bustling city around it.
Forget Disney World; for Sarah, Vegas had always been the most magical place in the world.
When I moved there after graduating college, it never occurred to me that the magic had gone with her.
“Here we are!” Dave waves an arm toward steep green stairs winding up and into the rainforest until they reach a tall platform in the distance. A platform we will jump off.
Dave pats Corbin on the shoulder to get his attention. “Grab whatever footage we need down here. We’ll get them wired up top for intro and insights where it’ll be more scenic and we’ll have a better view of the first zipline.”
Dave turns his attention back to Nate and me, gesturing between us. “You two can start heading up. We’ll get some footage of your climb, then meet you at the top once we’ve got what we need.”
Neither of us move.
“Go on.” Dave waves to the stairs again. “We’re ready whenever you are.”
Nate takes the lead, gripping the railing as he ascends the narrow wooden stairs.
After a few steadying breaths, I follow, the planks creaking beneath my feet.
As we round the bend, it takes a moment to register how high we’ve climbed between the car ride, walk, and first batch of stairs.
The view is mostly trees, though we’re closer to their tops rather than trunks.
My stomach flips, but before I can process my panic, Nate comes to a dead stop.
I yelp as I nearly face-plant into his back.
“Thanks for the heads-up. I could have head-butted you.” I get no reaction, and Nate doesn’t move.
“You see a bug or something? Are you wondering if you remembered to shut off your curling iron?” I’m about to land a third jab before noticing his knuckles are white as his hands grip the railings on either side of him.
Something is wrong. Very wrong. “Nate, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I don’t think I can do this.” His voice is raspy and hurried.
“The zipline?” It’s a dumb question, but Nate nods anyway. “It’s kind of the point of the show. The one you’re doing as Brody.” I skip the obvious reminder that our plan will be uncovered if he doesn’t pull it together.
“I know,” Nate snaps. He takes a deep breath and glances at me over his shoulder. His voice softer but still raw and desperate when he speaks again. “I just can’t. I thought I could talk myself into it, but…”
Nate swallows loudly before turning back around. He’s really afraid, and I’m saying all the wrong things because I’m so used to being the scared one. I don’t know how to be brave, or at least braver, so I settle for what I can be. Understanding.
“That’s why you’ve been quiet since Dave mentioned the zipline course.” Nate hadn’t been enjoying silence as I tried talking myself into the activity. He’s scared, but we can’t both be afraid! “You’ve done the other excursions,” I try. “What’s so different about this one?”
“The height,” Nate says, clenching the platform’s railing even tighter, “and the trees.”
“I don’t get it.” I want to, but I just don’t. Water is scary. Trees provide the air we breathe. What’s terrifying about that? I don’t want to speed through them on a zipline either, but we’re not at that point yet.
Nate inhales deeply before letting out a long breath.
“When I was younger, B—my brother,” he amends as if worried about being overheard even though the crew is still filming below and we aren’t miked, “and I had a tree house. There was a ladder we used to get up, but going down was different. He’d jump, grabbing onto branches like a freaking monkey and swinging his way to the ground. ”
“Okay…” I’m struggling to connect the pieces and unsure how much time we have before the crew catches both of us cowering. Who’d believe Nate is Brody then?
“One day, my brother dared me to jump down the same way. Until then, I’d been pretty chicken about it.”
“I don’t even need to see the tree to say that sounds reckless.”
Nate lets out a sharp laugh. “It was, but I was a kid with a dare determined to prove I could do it too.”
I gasp. “You didn’t.”
Nate winces. “I jumped out of the tree house aiming for the branch he always used, but I missed. Fell. If it hadn’t been for a branch catching my shirt on the way down, I would’ve hit the ground hard enough to be paralyzed.
Or worse. Instead, I lucked out with two broken arms, a shattered wrist, and a fractured rib. ”
“Oh, that’s all?”
Nate cracks a smile. “Worst pain of my life. Spent the rest of the summer laid up in bed like a freaking prince and have this sweet scar to show for it.” He holds out his left wrist, where a faint white line about an inch long runs up it. “Minor surgery,” he explains. “Healed up nicely, though.”
“Bet your brother didn’t let you live any of that down.”
Nate shakes his head with a laugh, as if this is a fond memory rather than something still haunting him. “He hurried out of the tree to check on me. Once he confirmed I hadn’t died or whatever, he declared I won the race down. As if that had ever been the challenge.”
The story is unexpected. Brody has a kind side, but it’s rare to see. What’s rarer is hearing he set his competitive nature aside and labeled Nate a winner to lessen the blow of an injury. “Did you ever go back up in the treehouse?”
“Eventually, but it took longer than I’d like to admit.
I was at an age where it’d typically be embarrassing to be caught in a treehouse, but it had gotten to a point where I had to try.
It didn’t quite shake the fear, though. I wasn’t in there five minutes before I was soaked in sweat despite it being mid-winter in Denver, but I proved I could do it.
And it was enough to remind me I no longer wanted to. ”
This is a part of Nate I can understand. I may not have been able to coach myself fully through yesterday’s excursion, but my wound is fresher than Nate’s. He faced that fear head-on, so he could face this. He just needs a little help.
“Well, I can’t pretend there aren’t trees here, or that we’re not going super high up because we are.” I swallow hard and force a steadying breath. I need to stay strong for Nate, not talk us both out of participating. “However, I can promise you won’t get hurt.”
“How can you promise that?” Nate’s question comes out in a rush.
“Because you aren’t allowed to. One Bannam brother injured is already one too many.”
A laugh escapes Nate. “I don’t think your logic tracks.”
I shrug. “I’m trying to make you feel better. Did it work?” Because it had the opposite effect on me.
“A little.”
“Great! You seize the moment or whatever, and I’ll head back. Best of luck out there.”
It isn’t until I take a couple of steps backward that Nate processes my meaning. “You’re not ziplining?”
His panic slices right through me. Yet instead of making me more alarmed, I feel something like empathy for Nate. The feeling weasels its way in and blooms into obligation to the show, if not Nate.
“I suppose I could do one?” My mouth dries at the offer, but I don’t retract it. Hadn’t I already wanted to do this for Sarah? Now I owe it to Sarah, Nate, and Brody to at least try. Maybe even myself.