Chapter 23 Mile Twenty-Three #3
“Yeah, but there’s a steep uphill climb and a path along a cliffside before it declines back and meets up with the start.” Releasing me, he steps back and studies the map again. Maybe we should turn back—”
“Absolutely not! I repeat—we’re over halfway through.” My laugh-filled protest is resolute. “I didn’t come all this way to turn around. Even if the path forward may be harder, there’s not a piece of me that wants to turn around.”
“The intensity level is higher than the trail we thought we were on.” He gestures to the trail.
“We can do this.”
“It might be too difficult…”
For me are the words he’s not saying. Each time he looks between the map and me, his concern slaps into me. He worries about my ability to traverse the rest of this. He doesn’t need to say it, I know it. Certainty swirls in my gut like an acrid stew.
“I can do this.” I stand tall, hoping something in my posture communicates to him that I’m able do this.
It’s not that much further. We climbed over rocks, boulders, and up steep inclines already without me dragging us down.
True, he’s probably slower with me, but we’re doing this.
I’m doing this. Garrett and I need to trust in each other’s abilities to know ourselves.
Whether on the track, on a hike, or in other parts of our relationship.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I nod.
I try not to fixate on his lack of acknowledgment of my declaration that I can do this. He’s just checking in. I need to settle into that, and not in the hiss inside me that he thinks I can’t keep up.
“Okay, pretty girl.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek. “Let’s do this.”
“Okay.” I force a grin, hoping it hides the complicated feelings knotting inside me.
Putting the map and water back into his bag, we move down the path. A series of up and down mini hills leads to a steep incline. My calves burn with each step. Despite my internal mantra quoting Dori from Finding Nemo, the ache radiating along my limbs begs for me to just drop.
“Almost to the top?” I ask, my breath ragged.
“Yeah,” he pants.
Thank god! From what Garrett explained—now that we know which trail we’re actually on—this is the last upward climb.
Once we’re to the top, the trail tucks itself up against the hillside or mountain—I still have no clue what these formations are—before a steady decline to a flatter trail until the path’s end.
That and the ping on my fitness app calling out eight miles tugs me along.
He stops. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Head tilted, I wrinkle my brow.
“The trail…”
“What’s wrong with the trail?” I say, my already thudding pulse ticking up. Please, gentle hiking gods, don’t make me have to go back!
“It’s a cliff and narrower than I thought.”
“We knew that.”
“Not like this. The trail is about three to four feet wide. There’s no edge on the right side. It’s just a drop-off to the bottom.”
“How deep?” I poke my head around him, trying to see.
Depth perception isn’t in my wheelhouse. Big and small drop-offs appear the same to me—if at all.
“About fifteen or twenty feet,” he says.
I feel to our left, my hand coming into contact with dirt and rock. “Does whatever this is run all the way down on our left side?”
“Yeah.”
“Single file. We go slow.” I squeeze his bicep.
We’re so close. The last thing I want to do—besides plummet to my death—is go back.
It’s not just about tripling what was only supposed to be a five-mile hike, but it’s embarrassing.
We had to turn around because Jensen couldn’t do it.
Even if he never says those exact words, it’s implied.
If it wasn’t for me, he’d just keep going. Hikes like this aren’t new to him.
“Jensen—”
I squeeze his arm. “We’ve got this. We’ll stay tucked up against the wall and go slow. Even if this is more cliffy than we thought, people do this every day.”
He lets out a loud sigh. “Fine… We go slow. Remain quiet, so we can stay focused. Hug the left,” he says, his steady voice laced with a hard edge.
“Yes, sir!” Nodding, I position myself single file behind him, my hand wrapped tight on his wrist.
“If you feel like you’re going to fall, fall left.”
“Hopefully I don’t need that advice,” I say cheekily, attempting to smooth the tension crackling between us.
“Jensen.”
“Sorry…” I clamp my mouth shut.
The stiff posture. The gruff timbre. The hard edge in his cadence. Anxiety drifts from Garrett.
Of course this is nerve-racking. We’re on the side of a cliff with a fifteen to twenty-foot drop to a rocky floor that, if it doesn’t kill us, would do so much damage. If I didn’t make a joke, the emotions twisting inside me with the force of a hurricane may cause me to cry.
Slowly, we slide down the narrow path. The unexpected smoothness in the terrain settles the anxiety buzzing beneath my skin.
Unlike the rest of the trail, there aren’t as many ruts or rocks to deal with.
Besides the death drop about two feet to my right, this is the easiest portion of the trail thus far.
It’s surprisingly peaceful. Sunshine mixes with the gentle breeze, caressing my skin.
Outside of our footsteps and breaths, it’s quiet.
There’s something lovely and serene up here.
“What does it look like?” I ask, twisting my head to the right to try to take in the view—but the glare stings my eyes, causing me to close them.
“It’s…ah… Jensen, I need to focus,” he says, his tenor curt.
Fine, I mouth, but immediately cringe at myself.
He’s not being unreasonable. I’m being bratty, and I know it.
Garrett will not relax until this is over.
It’s who he is. If he didn’t need to worry about me, he could relax.
If I could see, he wouldn’t need to do any of this.
He wouldn’t need to describe the view, because I could see it.
He could just walk without me dragging him down.
“Don’t,” I mutter in a self-chide.
There’s no reason for me to submerge myself in those waters right now. Just like Garrett, I should focus on the task at hand—not being a disruption, so he can guide us safely down the path.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing… Sorry…” I take another step, my ankle coming into contact with a rogue rock, causing me to lurch forward. “Oh!”
Before I register what’s happening, my body is slammed against a small rock to the left. Garrett’s body presses me tight against the cliff’s side.
“Are you okay?” he says, his breath coming in heavy gulps. With his chest pressed against mine, keeping me secure against the cliffside, I feel every breath.
“I’m okay, I’m okay…” Blinking, I pant. “There was a rock. I tripped.”
I’m not sure how that happened. The path had been so clean. What had been there, Garrett verbally indicated or telegraphed in his steps. I’m not sure how we missed it.
Because of you, a voice hisses inside me.
“Sit.” He guides me to rest against a flat stone jutting out from the cliffside. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes… You?”
“I’m not physically hurt, but I’m not fine,” he grumbles. “That was too close—"
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure how this happened. I’m sorry.” I chew on the corner of my mouth, guilt swirling inside me.
“It happened because I was distracted and missed the rock.” He releases a snarled breath. “I told you to stay quiet, so I could focus.”
“I know, I’m—”
“But still you talked. Damn it, Jensen, one wrong move and you could have—”
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing against the hard lump in my throat.
Quiet. That’s all he asked for. I know that. I pushed us to do this, because I thought we—I—could do this. All he asked was for me to be quiet, so he could guide us safely to the end, and I couldn’t do that.
The one thing within my power, and I couldn’t fucking do it. I can’t read the map. I can’t guide us. I can’t watch out for rocks. All I can do is be led or be a liability.
“I need to focus on keeping us safe, not chatting.” He straightens, his body casting a shadow over me.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I repeat, my voice is a small tremor compared to the roar of emotions inside me. “I should have listened. We should have gone back like you suggested.”
He crouches beside me. “We can still turn around if this is too much for you.”
“It’s not me this is too much for.” Blinking back the sting of tears, I avert my gaze.
This isn’t the typical alertness he has when we run. Yes, he’s focused on my safety when we run together, but it isn’t like this. There, we’re a team, and I don’t feel like a team right now. I feel like dead weight that he’s tethered to.
“Baby.” He tucks his fingers beneath my chin and gently lifts. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you—”
“No,” I sniffle, shaking my head. “Please don’t apologize. You’re right. You need to focus on guiding us. I need to listen… This shouldn’t be on you, and I’m sorry for that.”
“That’s not your fault—”
“But it is.” I swipe at my eyes.
Stupid fucking tears! Just another thing I can’t control.
“With other women, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to worry about them tripping on a rock and falling off a cliff.”
“That could happen to anyone. Look at Anker and the corgis.”
“It’s not the same. That was a freak accident. You don’t have to guide Anker. You can just walk. Just like you could walk with other women.”
“I don’t want other women,” he hisses.
“It would be easier if I could…” I don’t let myself finish that sentence. Just forming that single word stabs pain within me.
As much as I’ve accepted this is how it is, there are times I wish I could see like everyone else. I don’t always feel this way, but there are moments. Like now, as I sit back pressed against a cliffside, where I wish I were different.
He cradles my face. “And if you could, I’d find something else to worry about. This has nothing to do with that.”
“It’s okay if it does.” I motion to myself. “I’m a lot to deal with at times.”