Chapter 1

I was going to die.

The ground felt miles away, my fingers were slick with sweat, and my upper body strength had officially filed for bankruptcy. Any second now, I was going to splatter like a watermelon in a viral YouTube video.

Okay, fine. I was wearing a harness. And Rick, a grumbling hulk built out of beef jerky and creatine, was holding the belay line. But the harness was a contraption of nylon straps digging into my thighs with all the tenderness of a medieval torture device. Note to self: longer shorts next time.

And Rick had made it abundantly clear that he did not like me. Which was why I had the sneaking suspicion his brain was currently busy ranking protein bar flavors instead of, you know, paying attention to keeping me alive. Maybe it was intentional. He'd already made it crystal clear he didn't want me on the Search and Rescue team.

It would be a fittingly cruel ending to my cruel story. The headline was already writing itself: Local Woman, All Gas and No Brakes, Finally Hits a Wall. Literally.

You'd think there'd be some muscle mass in these fingers, but alas, ten plus hours per day of debugging code and pushing commits apparently did not translate to holding your entire body weight against the forces of gravity. I guess it must have been more like finger cardio.

The thought of coding made anger rise in my chest, giving me just enough strength to hang on a moment longer. Three years of grinding, of pouring my soul into that damn startup. Until Eric, my boss and deeply trusted mentor, summoned me into a conference room. I could still hear Eric's voice, eyes fixed anywhere but mine: "This isn't personal, Darby. It's just business."

He actually said, It's just business. To complete the package, there sat Maria from HR. Maria, who I'd hired. Face placid like a corporate executioner. The whole thing was such a cliché, so cruel in its absolute banality. And the worst part? How completely blindsided I'd been by it.

I had applied for the Crystal Lake volunteer Search and Rescue (SAR) team that same day. It sounds impulsive, and I guess it partly was, but when I got home to my shoebox apartment, the flyer was sitting there on top of a stack of unopened mail at the door. I hadn't completely processed my reasons for applying.

Maybe it was because I knew the training would be brutal and I was sick of watching my body atrophy before I even hit thirty and, after that morning, I was determined to do something about it.

Maybe it was because it was volunteer, non-profit work. You can't exactly get blindsided out of your equity if there's no equity to begin with. Amiright?

Or maybe it was because I'd always wanted to do this. Why else would I still be subscribed to the newsletters? It was something I'd put on hold while I went off to "realize my full potential," which really translated to rot behind a desk. The flyer with the photo of a small child reunited with their mother reminded me that it was possible to do something meaningful with my life.

So I told myself, Well, it's not like you're doing anything else, went online, and filled out the form—though the tears still stinging my eyes made the words blur across the screen.

It had seemed harmless enough. I didn't think they'd even call me for an interview. I definitely didn't think they'd accept me. And I certainly didn't think I'd be hanging off a wall, facing my own mortality, trying to qualify for my first strength test a couple of weeks later.

I glanced down and there was Rick looking downright bored, like I wasn't dangling dangerously off a rock climbing wall but ordering a latte too slowly.

Rick's scowl looked permanently etched into his face. No surprise there. I remembered him from my interview last week—firing off questions I'd already answered on my application. I think it just gave him the perfect excuse to show his disappointment to my face.

"Are you gonna do something?" Rick finally called up, his tone so flat it could've been mistaken for boredom.

"My fingers are slipping!" I yelled back, my voice tight with panic.

My right hand lost its grip. My body swung out, my feet scrabbled against the wall, and then I was falling.

A sharp jolt, and I was caught, swinging gently in the harness.

Rick lowered me to the ground, and the moment my feet touched the padded floor, I let my body go limp, collapsing onto my back and panting. The ground felt solid and safe behind me. I tilted my head, eyes tracing the wall, and winced when I spotted the orange handhold where I'd slipped. Not even halfway up. Fantastic.

Felix, another recruit, or as they called us, "Candidate Member"—bounded over, practically buzzing. He launched straight into gear talk.

"…and did you notice the smoothness of the ride on the way down? That's because this new carabiner has a frictionless…"

At twenty-three, Felix was the youngest of the candidates. He'd applied to SAR as soon as he'd landed a fully remote web design job that gave him the flexibility to accommodate the intense and unpredictable schedule. In that way, he and I had a lot in common: hours hunched over a screen, building things out of nothing but code and caffeine. His enthusiasm for all the gear was sweet. Adorable, even. But I didn't care. I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

"It's okay," Alicia said, kneeling beside me. She'd been on the crew for a year, a full Rescue Member, and was tasked with wrangling us newbies. "It's always hard the first time."

So far she was the only other woman I had seen in the SAR and I was beginning to worry that, while I'd escaped the tech bro culture of a startup, maybe I'd just traded it for a wilderness flex-fest.

"Did you fail your first try, too?" I asked, my voice raspy with hope.

"No," she admitted with a wince. I groaned.

Of course she hadn't. Alicia was a stunning force of muscle and perfect skin—every inch of her carved, toned.

"If you can't do it, you better step aside," Rick's voice cut in, sharp and unforgiving. "There are plenty of other applicants who actually want to be here."

Rude. I was still searching for the lung capacity to fire back a quip when a pair of heavy-duty hiking boots planted themselves in my field of vision.

Worn, scuffed, the kind of boots that promised the wearer could carry me ten miles out of the wilderness without even breaking a sweat.

My gaze crept upward: cargo pants, solid thighs, a wide, confident stance. His waist tapered strong and steady, the hem of a tight Henley pulling just enough to accentuate the sharp cut of his hip muscles.

His arms were crossed across pec muscles defined under the Henley. And then I saw his hands. Familiar hands, only stronger now. I knew these hands. Oh no.

"Alright, guys, give her some space."

I knew that voice.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no.

Rick and Alicia backed away, allowing me to see his face. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that when I opened them, the universe would play a different card.

Nope. Definitely him. He wasn't the reason I had left this town but he was easily in the top three reasons why I had never returned. The last time I'd seen him, I was eighteen, mascara streaking down my face, standing in a prom dress asking "But why?" over and over again. God, what was it with men abandoning me when my hopes were highest—and always in the most cliché way possible?

And somehow, in the seven years since I'd fled this, he'd only become more attractive. The SAR uniform clung to him like it had been tailored by someone with a grudge against me, every line of muscle a reminder he'd clearly spent the years lifting heavy objects. He looked older, sure, but in the kind of way that sharpened his jawline and made the dark stubble across his cheeks and chin look earned.

Cole Harper.

"What are you doing here?" The words tumbled out of my mouth.

"Nice to see you, too." A corner of his mouth twitched. "I'm your SAR team leader."

"No, you're not," I said, as if my denial could bend reality.

He gave a small, surprised laugh. "Yes, I am."

Oh, come on, universe. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be wishing that Rick was in charge.

He offered me a hand. "Here, let me help you up."

I ignored it and scrambled to my feet on my own, every muscle in my body protesting the effort—and reminding me that I had definitely not experienced the same glow-up he had. Years of sitting in a dark office, running on too little sleep, eating too much takeout, and leaving no time for anything resembling exercise had left their mark. This was not fair.

I pulled myself up to full height, shoulders forced back, trying not to resemble the washed-up dumpling of a woman I felt like. Even then, Cole still towered over me. So I stuck out my chin—apparently my body had decided that defiance was the vibe for this moment.

Seeing him up close was like shotgunning a cocktail of emotions. First, a generous pour of humiliation—because naturally he'd find me gasping on the gym floor like a stranded fish. Add a twist of terror that he might ask what became of the girl who was supposed to conquer the world. But the main ingredient was anger: a seven-year vintage of fury for the way he'd treated me, for the silence, for how easily he'd flipped the switch from free-falling, wild, teenage love to cold acquaintance.

For a second, he said nothing, his eyes scanning my face like he was cataloging every change. He looked surprised. Then it was gone, replaced by the crisp snap of professionalism.

"You don't have to climb it today," he said, voice flat and unfriendly. "But you do have to climb it." He paused, eyes flicking toward the top of the wall. "And the Witch's Face is even harder." He was referring to the sheer rock face down by Stone Creek—the next phase of the test.

His eyes came back to me, looked me up and down, assessing. "You'd better get training."

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I read this book in a day. I was absolutely hooked by this beautiful story. The tension is sooo good, the slow burn is agonizing, but the love is so beautiful.”