Chapter 25 Sadie
Focus on what you know is true.
Knowing too much can be a curse: knowing how gravity works, and exactly how far of a fall it would be, and that common sense and self-preservation instincts all scream people don’t make a habit out of walking off the edge of a cliff for a reason—
All of it feels true to me.
But I get what Thorn means, I think: he wants me to focus on what’s most likely to happen, based on fact and not fear.
“Ready to do this?” Thorn asks when it’s finally my turn.
I’ve watched Parker, and Zoe, and now Silas, all get to the bottom without issue; Emma’s having the same second thoughts that are plaguing me and has decided to wait a bit longer.
I take a deep breath. No, no, no, fear screams in my head.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m good.”
Not ready, necessarily. But good enough.
“You’ve got this,” he says, his lips barely moving, as he double-checks my harness and the rope and clips me in. “You can do this, Sadie. You can.”
I nod. Swallow. My heart is in my throat.
I was feeling so, so good after this morning. Kissing Thorn in the cave, the way it felt like magic to see that kaleidoscope of sunlight distorted and dancing through the waterfall, even Angry Yoga 2.0—all of it left me feeling calm and centered and confident.
Reality hit the second we got to the top of this cliff. The vertigo was unexpected, and so was my near–panic attack. After all I’ve experienced so far on this trek, I figured I’d desensitized myself to discomfort and this would just be one more challenge—
But my body says otherwise.
My heart is racing, my mouth is dry. My mind keeps spiraling toward fear, not fact. I keep steering it back.
I want to do this, though. I need to do it. I’ve come so far and done so much—surely I can do this, too.
Thorn holds out his hand.
I take it, and he gives the smallest squeeze.
You can do this, Sadie. You can.
My nerves settle a little, calmed by the belief he has in me, that in just a few minutes I will get to the bottom in one whole, uninjured piece.
I grasp the climbing rope with both hands. What did Matteo say earlier—that taking that first step over the edge is the hardest part?
I can now confirm: it’s true.
Be brave, I tell myself. You are brave.
I step out over the edge, fumble with the toe of my shoe until it feels steady against the rock. I let out just enough slack on the rope to get me fully over the edge—and before I know it, I’m leaning all the way back, standing on the side of the cliff and facing the intense blue sky.
I haven’t fallen. I’m not a splat…not yet.
Have fun and don’t die! Caden’s voice echoes in my head, and I grit my teeth.
“You don’t have to grip it quite that tightly,” I hear Thorn say, but it doesn’t register that he’s talking to me until he says my name. “Sadie? Take a deep breath, okay?”
I find his eyes, do what he says.
The deep breath helps. I take another.
The sooner I get moving, the sooner this will be over. The worst part is over, I remind myself, and it actually helps—I did the hard part. I took the step of faith. Now I just have to finish.
I step backward, one small movement at a time, focusing on only the things I can control: how I handle the rope, how I handle my fear.
It’s all good until about halfway down, when the rope suddenly gives a small but sudden downward jerk.
My pulse picks up; my hands cling so tightly they might just go numb soon. I look around wildly for Thorn, see his face peering over from the top.
“What was that?!” I try to call out—but the words get stuck, and I can’t swallow them down because my throat suddenly feels too dry and too tight, and I can’t get a deep breath, and it’s all starting to spiral.
Stepping over the edge was not the hardest part. Not by far. Panic attack halfway down the side of a cliff while your life feels like it’s hanging on by a climbing rope–sized thread? This is way, way worse.
I might throw up.
“You’re fine, Sadie, everything’s fine!” Thorn is yelling from far above me. “Hunter tripped over the cord, but it’s still totally stable. You’re good. Take a deep breath and keep going, okay?”
I practice my panic-attack breathing: slow inhale through the nose, long exhale back out again. I try to ground myself in the moment, thinking of things I can see—blue sky, stupid flimsy rope, the face of a guy I’d really love to kiss again if I make it to the bottom in one piece.
When I make it to the bottom, I correct myself.
Little by little, the tension evaporates, enough that I feel brave enough to get moving again. A moment later, though, a bit of the cliff crumbles under my foot—it’s just dirt and rock, I think, sediment knocked loose. The surprise of it catches me off guard, wrecking my balance—I’m flailing—
I reach out a hand, try to stabilize, but my palm finds something sharp. A rock, or maybe a branch? It hurts like fire—and I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding.
Deep breaths, deep breaths.
I can’t believe people do this sort of thing for fun.
“You’re almost here,” Matteo calls out from down below. “You never have to do this again—but you’re doing great, okay?”
Matteo has hardly said a thing to me in the last few days—awkwardness by association, I guess.
Still, his encouragement is just what I need to kick it into high gear and finally get to the bottom.
Descending with only one good hand is uncomfortable, but at least it’s a distraction to keep my mind from spiraling.
I rip the harness off as soon as my feet are back on solid ground.
“You did it!” Matteo says, reaching up for a high five, his smile so contagious I almost forget the gash in my hand, and the blood, and the way I truly feel like all the coffee and lunch I had earlier might be on the verge of coming back up.
I’m still reeling from the adrenaline when Thorn appears at my side.
“Are you okay?” he says, breathless from sprinting down the cliff’s rocky staircase.
I hold up my hand and watch as his eyes go wide at the sight of all the blood.
He mutters a curse under his breath. “That looks like hell,” he says, brow furrowed and intense. “I’ll get you cleaned up, okay? Wait here.”
A few minutes later, Thorn finds his way back to me.
“Matty, you got this?” he says. “Trey’s going to help out from the top while I take care of Sadie back at the campsite.”
“Yeah, man,” Matteo replies. “Whatever.”
His mood has done a total reversal from the guy who high-fived me at the bottom of my descent, and the same is true of Thorn. The tension between them is especially high today.
“What was that all about?” I ask when we’re out of earshot.
Thorn shakes his head. “We had another talk this morning.”
“Didn’t go too well, I guess?”
“To say the least.”
He’s quiet after that. It’s only a short walk back over to my tent—we stowed both of our packs inside it this morning after yoga.
“I brought a first-aid kit,” I offer.
He grins. “Of course you did.”
It turns out his first-aid kit is more than sufficiently stocked, though. He’s got iodine tablets and antiseptic—liquid and wipes—and all sorts of ointments and gauze and bandages.
Once we’re settled inside my tent, Thorn takes my hand in both of his, gently, and inspects it with a grimace.
“I’m sorry for this,” he says as he reaches into his kit, then holds up a small pair of tweezers. “It will probably hurt a lot worse before it feels better.”
“Your bedside manner could use some work, Thorn.”
“Hey, I’m a hiking guide, not a surgeon.”
“And that inspires so much confidence,” I say, laughing.
My laughter turns into a gasp of pain as his tweezers find the first splinter. It feels like a fireplace poker, searing and sudden, like fire straight down to my bones.
“It’s okay,” Thorn says, his voice soft and soothing as he plucks another splinter out. “You’re okay. You’re doing great.”
“That”—I gasp—“was better bedside manner.”
He runs his thumb over the back of my hand. Focusing on how good that feels helps to distract from how terrible the rest of it is.
I’ve engineered my life to feel as little pain as possible. Who doesn’t? I don’t usually do things that could result in splinters and open wounds. I do things that involve tasty beverages and comfortable seating locations and pleasant aromas—things that make my senses tingle in a good way.
My senses, right now, are screaming.
“Done with splinters,” he tells me. “There were only a couple.”
I’m just about to say how relieved I am to be past the worst part when—aaaugghhhhh—a white-hot flood of pain eclipses the previous sting, knocking the wind out of me.
“That was the antiseptic,” I hear him say. “It’ll get better from here, I promise.”
He spreads a layer of ointment on. Next comes the gauze, wrapped just tightly enough to protect my hand while it heals.
“I feel like a mummy,” I say when he’s done, admiring his neat work.
“Hottest mummy I’ve ever seen,” he replies, grinning. “You’ve got something—there—”
I glance down at my lavender tank top, which is now marred with a small but noticeable splatter of blood.
“I should probably—” I start, at the same time he says, “I can close my eyes while you change, if you want?”
“Or,” I say, suddenly all too aware of how intimate this moment feels, just the two of us in here while everyone else is out climbing near the waterfall, “you could leave them open?”
He bites his lip, and now that’s all I can see. “If that’s what you want,” he says slowly, “who am I to say no?”
It is what I want. It’s what I’ve wanted since the very first morning we found ourselves tangled together after he took refuge from the rain.
Using my good hand—my dominant hand, thankfully—I try to peel my shirt off. It’s a struggle. I never realized how much I took for granted having both hands to do this sort of thing.
Thorn notices, his gaze flicking down to the bare strip of skin where my tank top is partially hiked up.
“Need help?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say playfully. “Last time you helped, it involved tweezers and antiseptic and almost made me black out.”
He laughs. “My surgeon days are over,” he says as his fingers find the hem, leaving a trail of chills behind as they graze my abdomen.
“It’s a good thing,” I tease.
“I take a lot of pride in my work,” he says, glancing down to my mummy hand. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
His fingertips slide up under my shirt—the anticipation is killer. I can’t get this tank top off fast enough.
“Thank you,” I say, my words lost in lavender fabric as he helps me slip the shirt over my head. “For everything.”
His eyes dart downward—this sports bra does great things for me—then back up to my lips.
“We probably only have a few minutes…” His voice is raspy and quiet; his hands linger at the crisscrossing straps between my shoulder blades before skimming down to my lower back.
I grin, inching closer. “Then we should probably take advantage while we can, yeah?”
Never in my life have I fallen for someone so fast, but then again, I’ve never met anyone like Thorn. He makes it easy to be vulnerable: to let him see my entire self, my fears and my tears and the stubble that’s growing in on my legs, without worrying that I’m too much.
He’s never made me feel like too much. Never made me feel out of place here, even though I’ve possibly had the hardest time adjusting out of everyone.
He swallows, palms flexing over my bare back to pull me toward him.
I ease my way onto his lap, wrap my legs around his hips.
We pick up right where we left off this morning, minus the cave and the waterfall, but still very much in secret, his kiss so warm and soft and tender it almost makes me forget my pain.
I taste chocolate and coffee on his tongue, bittersweet. He’s days past a five o’clock shadow, and it’ll probably leave me red and raw after this, but right now I don’t care—I want it all.
His fingers press tighter as he works his way up my rib cage, then teases the band of my bra. He plants a hungry kiss on the tender part of my neck, just beneath the curve of my jaw. My pulse picks up, so strong I’m aware of every racing heartbeat.
My good hand finds its way to his hair, tightening too hard on instinct, and he makes a little noise.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Did that hurt?”
He smirks. “Yeah,” he says. “In a good way.”
He leans in for another kiss—but the sound of footsteps on the rocky ground outside makes us both freeze.
“Thorn?” a voice calls out. “Sadie—are you in there?”
Parker, Thorn mouths, eyes wide.
I back off him, accidentally knocking into the flimsy tent wall in the process. I need a shirt. I need a shirt now.
“Yeah!” Thorn replies, his voice cracked with thirst. He clears his throat. “Almost done in here.”
Now that my pack doesn’t have as much in it, it’s easy to find the fresh tank top I’m looking for. I whip it over my head as fast as I can, even though my left hand hurts.
I wish I had a mirror, maybe also some concealer—that make-out session is most definitely written all over my face, and I have no way to hide it.
Thorn unzips the tent and climbs out.
Why did we zip it in the first place? That’s not suspicious at all.
“What’s going on?” I hear Thorn ask.
I tighten my ponytail and straighten my shirt, making doubly sure it isn’t inside out, and then I follow his lead.
Parker looks panicked, frantic.
“Um…we’ve got a problem?”