Chapter 6
Six
For a man who’d once given paragliding tours off the Swiss Alps—multiple runs a day—jumping off this bridge should be child’s play. Bungee jumping had always delivered the rush he needed. But that was before.
Then again, if this didn’t snap him out of his funk, nothing would.
Liam’s knuckles turned white against the Navajo Bridge railing.
Noah balanced at the edge of the four-hundred-sixty-seven-foot plunge into Marble Canyon, casual as someone checking his mailbox.
The green thread of the Colorado River snaked far below, deceptively peaceful.
This stretch eventually fed the Grand Canyon, but while the canyon Liam had been seeing every day was up to eighteen miles wide at some points, here limestone walls squeezed the space to under a thousand feet.
Vertical walls plunged straight down, smooth as glass, daring him to leap.
Funny, despite Noah’s wild appearance, Liam hadn’t pegged his boss for the adrenaline-junkie kind. Everything in Noah’s day was too exact, too controlled, too scheduled. Even if he couldn’t seem to find time to get a haircut.
But life was full of surprises. Like yesterday, the sudden—and painful—rush of feelings when he’d sort of, a little, saved Nimue from taking a header off the cliff during their run. Instinct, and yes, for a second, he had been back on the mountain, listening to Christiana scream.
And then he wasn’t. Then he was looking into Nimue’s beautiful—oh boy—deep-brown eyes with golden flecks, and the scream had simply died inside his head.
She’d looked at him with a sort of concern. You okay?
Not even a little. Still wasn’t, really.
He blew out a breath. Yeah, he needed this jump like a man needed a cold shower.
Eleven a.m. sun simmered on his shoulders, brutal against the cool breeze sweeping across the span.
Sweat plastered his T-shirt to his back despite the fact they were barely in June.
The real heat wouldn’t show up for a month.
But here he was with sweat trickling down his neck.
Desert sage and limestone dust filled his nostrils, anchoring him to the moment.
Noah stood motionless at the precipice, six foot four of unshakable calm. From the expression on his face, this drop ranked somewhere between stepping off a curb and brushing his teeth. The man kept his history locked in a vault, but nothing seemed to rattle him.
“You got this, boss!” Teague gave their boss a thumbs-up, his ruddy face all grins.
Noah didn’t even look at him.
The countdown hit zero. Noah nose-dived off the bridge, his body slicing through the air. The group—rangers and adrenaline junkies from the North Rim village—pressed against the rail, tracking his descent. Five seconds of freefall before the bungee cord caught, stretching taut.
Liam squeezed his eyes shut, willing his pulse to slow. He shouldn’t have watched. Heights used to fuel him, pump liquid fire through his veins. He’d lived for the rush of soaring over alpine peaks, the wind roaring in his ears. But now, watching Noah’s dive, Liam had simply gone cold.
Frankly, he didn’t recognize this…this, well, fear. Yeah, that’s what he’d call it.
Shoot, but he was afraid.
Breathe. Liam adjusted the leg strap, harness leather biting his thigh. Far below, Noah swayed at rope’s end like a human pendulum.
Silent. The man hadn’t released so much as a grunt during his plunge—just dropped like a stone, classic stoic Noah. In the months working together, the guy had been rock steady, fearless in ways that reminded Liam of his twin, Logan.
Teague was on deck to bounce next, literally vibrating with anticipation.
The guy fed on danger, had even tried BASE jumping once—a stunt that defied logic.
One in roughly two thousand BASE jumps ended in death.
That wasn’t thrill seeking. That was suicide.
Even in his wildest days, Liam had drawn lines.
The crew hauled Noah topside. Teague stepped to the platform, waiting for the all clear.
Thumbs-up. He launched, releasing a war cry that ricocheted off canyon walls.
The sound was pure, infectious joy and dragged laughter from the group.
Even Liam’s mouth twitched, though the response felt rusty.
He’d been that guy once. Somehow, someway, he’d find his way back.
He leaned back against the rail, not bothering to watch as they pulled Teague up.
Closing his eyes, he pictured the North Rim trails at dawn, the quiet—canyon walls bathed in honey light, condors riding thermals overhead.
The image unknotted his shoulders, easing as he rested his head back, the metal railing cool against his scalp.
“You ready, man?” Teague’s voice rang with leftover adrenaline, his eyes still wide.
Liam managed a nod. Stepped forward. The crew transferred carabiners from Teague’s harness to his.
The next few minutes blurred—instructions, words he’d heard a dozen times, the crew strapping his feet together, the weight of the harness grounding him.
Straps. Buckles. Safety checks. He’d done this before, in training and for kicks. Muscle memory. Simple.
But the moment he stepped onto the mini platform, the world tilted.
The voices of the crew faded to underwater murmurs.
Christiana’s scream sliced through his mind, piercing, deafening.
Over four hundred feet of nothing yawned below.
The Colorado River glinted green and deadly, ready to swallow him whole if nylon and rubber failed. His vision tunneled.
Noah’s palm landed on his shoulder. “You sure about this, dude?”
The question hung in the tepid air.
No. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. The nightmares refused to quit. Last night had been worse—Christiana’s scream had morphed into something else. Nimue’s—falling into darkness. Nimue slipping through his fingers before he could react.
Nimue holding onto him.
He should have accepted her offer to back out of running together, but something primal wouldn’t let him. She needed protection, whether she admitted it or not.
Waiting for his old self to resurface wasn’t working. Time to force the issue. Leap into the void and claw back the man who’d laughed at heights, who’d lived for the rush.
He met Noah’s eyes. “I’m good.”
“Three.” The crew chief’s voice cut through the wind.
“Two.”
Liam tipped forward.
“One.”
He plunged headfirst into the canyon. Air screamed past his ears.
Adrenaline blazed through his veins like wildfire.
For one perfect heartbeat, he was back—free, alive, the Liam who’d conquered mountains and mocked gravity.
Canyon walls blurred to streaks of color.
The river rushed up to claim him. His heart hammered with something that might have been joy.
The cord stretched to its limit before yanking him skyward. His body whiplashed upward.
Then he was falling again.
The bungee snapped taut, jerked him back, and the ride continued.
And as it did, his stomach dropped—not from the bounce, but from cold realization.
The weight crushing his chest hadn’t budged. Not a fraction. As the bouncing stopped, the thrill evaporated, replaced by brutal clarity.
He really was broken. And the old Liam was gone.
Forever.
Bungee jumping at thirty-five.
He’d clearly lost his mind.
Noah Wilde climbed out of his Jeep, gravel grinding under his boots, and immediately regretted every life choice that had led to Saturday’s brilliant idea. His spine screamed protests as he stretched overhead. Two days later and his vertebrae still felt rearranged.
Dawn air bit as an acute pinch shot up his spine.
The early morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of dust and sage, but did nothing to ease the knots welding his muscles into concrete.
His 4:30 alarm had triggered fantasies of Advil and staying horizontal.
Only his promise to meet Meg for coffee had dragged him vertical.
Coffee. Not a date. Noah had zero interest in dating Meg—or anyone else.
That door had slammed shut three years ago, welded tight after Mary’s funeral.
But somehow, after two summers, their morning ritual had become the one constant in the North Rim’s seasonal chaos.
Skip it, and Meg’s laser-focused blue eyes would start dissecting him.
The last thing he needed was a clinic visit for what amounted to bruised pride and strained, well, everything.
That’s what he got for letting Teague, a guy ten years his junior, talk him into dangling from elastic over Marble Canyon.
Brilliant. For two summers, Noah had perfected the art of being invisible—guiding hikers, mapping trails, consulting on wildlife migrations.
No attachments meant no losses. Simple math.
But Teague and Liam bulldozed through his defenses like they owned the place, even though he was the boss, thank you.
A strong twinge rattled up his spine as he pushed open the Grand Canyon Lodge’s heavy wooden door.
He strangled the wince before it reached his face.
Five a.m. transformed the lobby into a cathedral—polished pine floors mirroring sunrise through massive windows, orange light gentling rough-hewn beams and the stone fireplace.
He preferred this hour for the silence, but six a.m. would have sufficed.
However, Meg arrived at five, so five it was.
“You’re late.” Her voice greeted him the second he cleared the dining-room doors.
“Sore from your death-defying leap?” She stood at the coffee bar, considering her morning pastry, and her sideways smile lifted on one side, sly and knowing.
Her dark hair was pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail, and today’s scrubs featured R2-D2 in vivid detail.
Meg collected medical uniforms like some women collected shoes—each set more outrageous than the last. The Millennium Falcon pair still held his vote, but this one was climbing the charts.