Chapter 30 Sierra
Thirty
Sierra
In theory, Sedona is beautiful. Towering red mountains rise over a lush landscape. There are plenty of hikes and places to climb.
Trinity is so excited to see me. When I arrive, she hugs me and takes me out to get burgers at this alien-themed joint. Flying saucers circle lazily above us while a particularly smug green alien stares at me from over her shoulder.
“Tell me all about it! I’ve heard good things about Sagebrush. The place really seems to have turned things around over the past few years.”
“Yeah,” I agree. How does everyone else seem to know that but me? I’ve been too good at dodging all mentions of Sagebrush, even the positive ones. “It’s quaint.” The burger feels dry in my mouth, and I struggle to chew and swallow it.
“Do any climbing while you were there?”
Just the mention of climbing transports me back to Isolation Canyon. Oh, great, another reminder of him. It feels like I can’t even go five seconds without thinking of him.
“A little,” I manage.
Trinity tilts her head. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly. “Your vibe is off.”
“I’m tired,” I say. It’s true. I’m weary down to my bones. I can barely lift my head to make eye contact with her. “I’m excited to do some climbing here, though.”
I look out the large window at the awe-inspiring landscape before us. Logan would like that bell-shaped climb. He’s so good at vertical pitches, so strong. It would be a beautiful thing to see.
I’ll never see Logan again.
The realization is like falling on a climb—a sickening free fall, then the jolting catch of the rope. Of realizing that I’m not going to die, but still feeling the fear nonetheless. I press my hand to my stomach, willing myself to breathe.
“Sierra?”
I push my plate away. “Sorry. Bad breakup.”
“Oh, girl.” Trinity’s face softens. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.”
“It was just for a few weeks.” That feels a little dishonest for how intense our short-lived second round was.
He knows my soul better than I do. And now I’m back to anonymity.
“You up for a climbing session this afternoon?” Trinity asks.
“Yes! Let’s go.”
I give it my best effort on the wall we choose, but I scale only a portion of the route before giving up. Any successful move I accomplish tastes like ash in my mouth.
I belay for Trinity until her partner Chase arrives, then disappear on a hike, trying to get my bearings. I walk aimlessly. The scenery is beautiful, but to what purpose? It feels pointless without him to share it with.
Logan was so good at supporting me—on and off the ropes. Will I ever find a partner like that again? Do I even want to when he’s so thoroughly commandeered my memories of climbing? Even my fucking climbing equipment isn’t mine anymore.
A real partner was something I never let myself hope for.
I always imagined I’d die young. Living on the streets of Tucson with a pack of runaway teenagers on 4th Street for the first couple of months after my escape, I saw a few of them disappear without a trace.
There was no point in looking too far into the future—I was on borrowed time, living in the moment day to day.
I was on borrowed time in Sagebrush too. Nothing changes.
But oh, how I wish it had. Because I can’t escape the truth: how my life was more fulfilling back in Sagebrush with Logan.
Nothing feels as good as lying in Logan’s arms, quietly celebrating the hard work we put in that day and enjoying each other’s company. He has such vision, and for a moment, I let myself get swept up in it. Meeting up with his family and being part of their community. Being loved by him.
I taste the loss so keenly. No amount of adrenaline can hold down the despair that climbs up my throat and chokes me.
It feels like I’ve finally met my own disaster. I tell myself over and over that it’s not. I can pick myself back up again—go somewhere new. Find a new path.
But it doesn’t work. It still feels like a disaster. Even though every time I count the strikes, I come up short.
I know it’s because there’s only one strike that matters: that I loved him and lost him. And there’s no surviving that.