Where The Blue Thorns Grow

by Maya Riley

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Glossary

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Where the Blue Thorns Grow © 2019 by Maya Riley

  This is a work of fiction and is for mature audiences only. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any mechanical, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Edited by Jess Rousseau at Elemental Editing & Proofreading

  Cover Design by AnnaJo Brereton with AnnaJo Designs

  Formatting by Kaila Duff with Duffette Literary Services

  For everyone who helped me experience the world from a different view.

  “You are not in the mountains. The mountains are in you.”

  -John Muir

  **18+ Contemporary Standalone Reverse Harem Romance**

  Anchor—A point of attachment for a climbing rope, usually made with slings, runners or the rope itself. May be top-rope anchors, belay anchors or a protection piece mid-climb.

  Belay—To keep a climber from falling too far by using friction on the rope. The system that stops a climber's fall. It includes the rope, anchors, belay device and the belayer.

  Belayer—The person who manages the rope so as to catch the climber on the other end in case of a fall.

  Bouldering—Climbing close to the ground without the use of a rope. Typically used for practicing traverses, weight transfers, and foot and hand placements. Can be done on boulders or at the base of a rock face.

  Cam—Spring-loaded protection device that, when a trigger is pulled, the cams retract and can be inserted into cracks. When the trigger is released, the cams expand and lock into the crack. When properly placed in solid rock, a cam offers easily removable protection.

  Camming—The act of rotating into place until wedged or tight.

  Carabiner—Metal loop (usually aluminum) with a spring-loaded gate on one side used for connecting various parts of a climbing system.

  Chalk—Carbonate of magnesium, or gymnasts' chalk, used to keep a climber's hands dry for better grip.

  Chalk bag—Small pouch, usually with a drawstring closure, worn on the harness to hold climbers' chalk.

  Clean—To remove protection as you second, or follow, a lead climber. Removing all climbing devices from the rock face.

  Climber—The person climbing up the rock wall.

  Crag—A small cliff, or the term for a climbing area.

  Crux—The toughest move or sequence of moves on a climb.

  Figure 8—Climbing knot woven in the shape of the number 8, typically used for tying the climbing rope to the climber's harness.

  Grigri—The first popular belay device with an auto-locking mechanism to catch a climber's fall.

  Harness—A webbing belt and leg-loop system that attaches a climber to a rope. Usually a seat harness for rock climbing.

  Jam—To wedge a body part into a crack on a rock climb in order to put weight on it and move upward. Includes fingers, hands and feet.

  Jug—Large, easily gripped hold. Also, to climb up a fixed rope using an ascender.

  Lead—To be the first person on a climb, either clipping the rope into bolts or placing protection as you go.

  Lower—The way in which a belayer brings a climber down from a climb by slowly letting rope out through the belay device.

  Multi-pitch—A climb longer than one rope length.

  Pitch—The length of a climb that can be protected by 1 rope length. A pitch is led by the lead climber and cleaned by the last climber.

  Pumped—To be weakened or in pain (usually in the forearms) from a strenuous move or climb.

  Rack—The selection of gear used for a climb. Also refers to a sling full of this gear.

  Rappel—To descend a cliff or other height by lowering oneself on a fixed rope, with feet against the wall. Friction is placed on the rope, usually with a belay device, to keep the descent slow and controlled.

  Route—The path or moves up a specific climb.

  Smear—Climbing technique in which the sole of the shoe, plus proper weight over the feet, provides traction for moving upward.

  Sport climbing—Rock climbing using pre-placed protection such as bolts or a top rope. Opposite of traditional climbing.

  Top rope—A rope that is passed through a fixed anchor at the top of a climbing wall or cliff, with each end tied to the climber and the belayer at the bottom. A top rope (with a watchful belayer) ensures that the climber is always protected from falling too far, and is thus a good way to learn to climb. "Top-roping" is the term for this type of climbing.

  Traditional or "trad"—Rock climbing using protection placed by the lead climber and removed by the second, as opposed to sport climbing, in which protection (bolts) is pre-placed.

  Whipper—A long fall.

  Blood dripped down my arm as I reached for the next hold. Once my fingers latched on to a spot high above my head, I gripped the rough rock tightly, and used my legs to push myself up. Only a few more movements and I’d be close to the top.

  This was the last pitch on Haute Peak, a special climb for Clif’s and my eighteenth birthday. It was the end of the afternoon and we’d been climbing all day—a gloriously long and exhausting day.

  The sun was high in the sky and I could feel every bit of its rays beating down upon me. The metal locket burned against my chest in the heat, stuck in the sweat that trapped it against my collarbone. It was a reminder of why I was pushing myself so hard. Six years ago, my twin brother Clif and I read about this mountain range in the Rockies. At the top were these flowers with blue thorns, and it was said to be the only place on Earth where they grew. We couldn’t articulate the actual name for them at the time, and argued over the pronunciation of the mountain range, so we decided to refer to it as the place where the blue thorns grow. We each got a necklace and wore them on every climbing trip—mine, a locket on a corded choker, with each side engraved as a reminder of why we’d never stop climbing. Not only was it a fun way to exhaust ourselves, but it was also the only way to achieve the one dream we’d ever really had.

  Climbing was our only obsession. While classmates played basketball, ran track, and partied on the weekends, we climbed every free moment we could.

  Sweat fell from my forehead, the blue bandana not enough to hold it all. My mouth opened as I grunted, and I pulled myself up with another rough move. I almost wanted to cringe at the salty taste of the sweat as it fell into my open mouth, but the slightest wrong movement could cause me to fall. Sure, I was climbing on toprope, but when it came to achieving our goals out on the rock, falling was never an option. I’d force myself to push through at any cost.

  A large, black spider crawled across the rock in front of my face. Rather than screaming and seizing up, I simply brushed it away with my elbow, since my forearm was too tight to work right. The muscles in my forearms were tightening, and
my fingers were beginning to move with less ease.

  I didn’t even feel the sting of pain, and wouldn’t have known anything had happened if it weren’t for the small droplets of blood forming around my elbow. I had brushed my elbow across the rock wall a little too hard. I’d deal with it later, since there were more pressing matters to tend to first. At least the spider was gone.

  The only time I wasn’t afraid of spiders was when I was on the wall. I’d touch and eat as many spiders as necessary in order to keep going up.

  Luckily, eating them was never necessary.

  My legs shook and my forearms were so pumped that I thought I’d surely lose my grip at any moment. The toes of my climbing shoes were barely perched on a tiny crevice in the rock wall—a little pebble tasked with holding my entire weight in the air.

  Reaching a spot with a large crack, I wrapped one hand around the edge of the fissure and leaned back, shaking out the other arm. Relief skittered through me as the numbness began to leave my forearm, the cool sensation flowing through me like ice water on a hot summer’s day.

  I switched hands and repeated the motion with the other arm, back and forth until I felt as though my body had a chance at making it up the last several feet.

  My mother’s voice carried down to me as she called out my name, cheering me on. Her soft tone comforted me, knowing she was there, waiting for me and supporting me, was a balm on my weary soul.

  My parents have always been our biggest supporters. Because of them, Clif and I were bouldering before we could even walk. Literally. One day, when Mom and Dad were climbing in the garage that had been converted into a small and private home gym, they sat us in a small playpen in the middle. We’d somehow climbed out, and by the time they saw us, we were both a few holds up the boulder. Ever since then, nothing could, or ever would, stop us from climbing.

  Tightening my left hand around the edge of the crack, I leaned to the right, lifted my left leg in the air, braced the toe of my climbing shoe into the break, and used every muscle I had to lift myself up. I pushed myself up fast and used my right hand to grab the next indentation in the wall.

  I was now one move away from the top. You can do this, Cam, I thought, giving myself a little internal pep talk as I reached my shaking hand upward.

  My heart pounded as my fingers grasped around the top of the rock. Heaving myself up, my toes dug into the rock face as I climbed, pressing my forearm on top of the ledge to give myself some extra leverage. I hauled my body over the rim, and my face met the dirt as I lifted my left leg and swung it over. Using my knee to brace myself, I quickly rolled onto my side and felt the hot dirt on my scorching skin, not even bothering to care about the jagged rocks protruding against uncomfortable areas.

  My tired body panted as I tried to regain my breath. I did it. I’d climbed Haute Peak. I twisted my tired lips into a euphoric smile, and I no longer cared about the sun continuing to bake my skin.

  I made it. One more thing to cross off mine and Clif’s bucket list before we’d someday set out to tackle the place that drove our dreams.

  A hand gripped my upper arm and I looked up to see my mother’s smiling face filled with pride. This was another big training climb for the Carbolitas, and we were going to finish it together, just like all the other ones. In a short matter of time, we’d be one step closer to our goal.

  The four of us were to all climb the Carbolitas together some day. We’d continue this life of adventure the same way we started it—as a family. We’d grown up in the climbing world. The long drives on the road to the outdoor climbing gorges, rainy nights camping in tents on the cold and wet ground, the blisters, cuts and other injuries that all accompanied this life, and we loved every moment of it.

  Lifting my elbow to check it out, I saw a thin stream of blood trailing down my arm, mingling with the sweat there. I peeled the bottom half of my shirt away from my stomach and used that to wipe up as much as I could. I’d need to ask my mom for a Band-Aid, she always insisted on carrying a small first aid kit just for this reason.

  Turning over, I propped myself up on my other elbow with my chin in my hand, and watched as my dad belayed my brother on the last leg of this multi-pitch route. He fed the rope through the carabiner and threw the slack off to the side, letting it pool on the ground near his feet. He was harnessed to the tree near the edge, so he could safely belay from a more comfortable position without falling.

  I jumped up to my feet to watch my brother, still attached to my own rope as it trailed behind me. A grin spread wide across my face as I neared and saw the messy patch of wild brown hair pop up over the edge of the cliff and into view. Clif’s head glanced up and his deep brown eyes met mine. He threw his head back and a grin lit up his face.

  Attaching my harness to the same tree as my dad, I returned Clif’s victory smile. This was the greatest thing we could have ever done for our eighteenth birthday. It was a day to remember.

  I looked over at my mom, who was harnessed to the other tree a few feet away, grinning. The feeling of euphoria at having completed such a feat was filling us all and we were seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses.

  The view from here was astounding. So many people lived their lives in cubicles and rush hour traffic. I had no intention of living such a static life. I was born to fly.

  The climb up here was life changing, and the rappel down was going to be thrilling.

  “Wait,” my brother called. He reached for his harness and unhooked the sling carabiners. He attached them to the trad anchor and leaned back to test the weight. Once satisfied it would hold, he let go and hung in the air while dad sighed.

  “Take me off belay,” Clif said. “I want to rappel from here without having to detach from the rock.”

  His unwillingness to set foot on the top of any great ascent until we’d done the Carbolitas was the one thing that drove Dad crazy. It was quite funny to see Dad get all flustered every time, even though we all knew to expect it by now.

  “Let me get a picture.” Clif reached behind him to his chalk bag and pulled out his phone. He twisted around slightly, just enough to be able to get all of us in the picture, all the cams and cowbells attached to his harness clanking against each other. He’d cleaned the route on the way up so he could have a smooth rappel without stopping to clear on the way down.

  Pulling it up to his face, he turned it to selfie mode and smiled. “Son,” Dad warned. “Be careful.”

  “Say Carbolitas!” Clif said.

  “Carbolitas!” we all repeated through our smiling, clenched teeth.

  Once the camera clicked, indicating the picture had been taken, the sound of scraping rock echoed through the air and my body stilled. The sound of dread. The sound that no climber ever wanted to hear on a climb. Clif spun back around to face us. I caught my brother’s eyes once again, as the world beneath him fell away. It was the last moment our eyes would ever meet.

  The world stopped in that moment, and we were suspended in a bubble of terror as our worst fears came true. Our worst nightmare come to life.

  His hands gripped the top of the ledge, but the gravelly rock crumbled in his hands. His body jerked as his feet tried in vain to find purchase, but it was a lost cause.

  Everything happened so fast, and it took a few precious seconds for our bodies to catch up to our brains.

  My mother screamed, and my dad rushed forward as Clif began to fall back. I rushed forward too and reached out, just slow enough not to be able to grab anything but the locket that hung from his neck as it flew up in the air while he was falling back.

  Dad grasped his fingers, but they continued to slide through, still slippery from the sweat and chalk he accumulated during the climb. The trad device was fully out of the rock face now, falling down with the rope trailing after it. He grabbed the rope, but that was no help.

  The chain attached to the locket broke from around his neck, and I watched in utter terror as he fell with no piece of climbing gear left to catch his fall.
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  I collapsed on the ground and reached over the ledge as far as the sling attached to my harness would allow. I threw my hand out, trying to grab him, but it was too late. He was too far down, and gravity was going to win this last fight once and for all.

  I watched the light leave his eyes until he was too far down to see. All our memories over the years, our time spent together, all the moments we’ve shared, now existing nowhere but in my own memories.

  My screams echoed in my ears, and my ability to push to my feet crumbled, as did my mind. My mom’s wails carried an anguished dissonance, her chest caving in as all tension left her body. My dad, losing his own fight with gravity, collapsed in the dirt beside me. We were helpless to do anything but break.

  7 years later

  Buzzing crackled over the loudspeaker as the announcement came through. “Good afternoon, Rayel shoppers. Today we are having a surprise flash sale! Get your hands on our big four-for-two special in the soap aisle. Pick any two soaps and get two more free. Available while supplies last.”

  Yup, that was my life now. Herding the mob of customers—or, I’m sorry, guests—as they rushed to get their soaps. It was at least better than the nine-to-five desk job I’d gotten out of over two and a half years ago. This one allowed far more schedule flexibility.

  “Cameron,” a voice called through the walkie-talkie on my hip. Sam was pretty much the only one around here who insisted on calling me by my full name. I hated it. “Please come to the front desk to work on returns before your shift ends.”