by Marina Adair
Avery slid Dale a glance. For all the singing and camaraderie, he didn’t seem to be having much fun. Guilt did that to a person. “You know you’re going to have to tell Irene.”
She heard him sigh. “Maybe.”
“Okay, let me clarify. If you don’t tell Irene, I will have to.”
“Actually, this falls under work business, and since I’m your boss . . .” He gave a big smile, and Avery could see that once upon a time he had been a charmer just like his son.
“And Irene is my friend.”
“I thought I was your friend.”
“You are.” Avery reached out to touch his arm. “Which is why I’m giving you a chance to talk to Irene. You guys have to get serious about what’s happening.”
He sighed and thunked his head back on the headrest. “I don’t know what’s happening—that’s the problem.”
“That’s why you need to see someone,” Avery said. “A specialist. And I think you need to let Ty in on what’s going on.”
“Boy’s too busy to bother,” Dale said.
“That’s not a nice thing to say about someone who has done nothing but help you these past few weeks.”
Dale turned toward her, his shoulders sunken and his face lined with tension. “You and I both know that there’s more help needed than passing some inspection. And Ty’s made a life for himself, a good life that’s too far away from here.”
Avery got the distinct impression that he wasn’t saying it as if Ty was too busy to care. It sounded more like he didn’t want to disrupt Ty’s life.
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe if you stopped pretending you wanted him gone, Ty might find a reason to stay?” Avery asked gently.
“And give up what he’s made for himself to come live on a mountain covered in memories and pain?” Dale shook his head wearily. “I don’t want that for him.”
Avery had a hard time speaking through the sadness. “Have you ever asked him what he wants?”
Dale’s expression said that no, he hadn’t stopped to ask what Ty wanted. He’d come to an assumption based on the actions of a hurt and angry kid, never taking the time to see Ty for the amazing man he’d become.
Then there was Ty, so gracious he took the time to make a little girl’s dream of becoming a princess come true, yet when it came to his dad he purposely held back. As if withholding that same generosity with his love and affection out of anger—and fear.
“Stop!” Dale shouted.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to—”
“No. Stop the car.” Dale craned his neck out the side window. “I think I saw brake lights flashing at the bottom of the ravine, in the river.”
Avery jerked the van over to the shoulder. She barely had it in park before Dale’s feet hit the ground and he started heading back down the mountain road.
“Fitz,” Dale hollered over his shoulder. “Grab the flares out of the back. Captain, try to find me a flashlight and some rope.”
That van went from hibernation mode to hyperalert, and in a matter of seconds, hands were grabbing, feet were pounding the pavement, and the entire team had deployed before Avery even realized what was happening. She grabbed a cell phone plugged into the lighter and hustled behind them.
By the time she arrived, Fitz had the rope anchored to the base of a hundred-foot pine, and Dale was finishing up a harness made from rope.
“Whoa, we are not going down there,” Avery said, stepping in front of the team and the steep incline below.
“We aren’t going down there,” Dale clarified. “I am.”
And wasn’t this exactly what Ty had warned them all about? An emergency situation where the old Dale would have been helpful and in his element, but the new Dale was such a wild card, he could quickly become a danger to himself and everyone else there.
“Let me call Harris,” Avery offered. “He can be here in fifteen minutes.”
“If that car is as deep in the water as it looks to be, then we don’t have fifteen minutes,” Dale said, and she could see the panic in his gaze. “I’m going down.”
“You and what army, Dale?” Avery asked.
Dale glanced at his backup, which consisted of a handful of wiry old men with hip replacements and bursitis. Dale might be losing his memory, but he was still a big man. The only one strong enough to help from up top.
“You get down there, then what?” she added. “Who will lift out the passengers? Me? Fitz?”
Helplessness took over, and she watched Dale struggle between doing what was right in this moment and fighting the past. His sense of duty beat out the memories, and he nodded. “You’re right. My going down is not smart.” He handed her the rope.
“What’s this?”
“A harness. Step in, honey, I’m going to lower you down.”
“What?” Avery squeaked. “I’m going down?” She smacked her chest so hard it took her a moment to catch her breath. Or maybe that was the panic at work. “I’ve never been in a harness. Well, okay, I’ve been in one twice. Once at the Moose Lodge.”
“And you wore it well,” Mr. Fitz chimed in.
“Then again on Cedar Rim, but my feet never left the ground.”
“If we do this right, your feet will be on solid rock the whole time.” When Avery looked over the edge and then closed her eyes, Dale stepped close and put his hands on Avery’s shoulders. “If you’re too scared, no one will think any less of you.”
Avery looked at the forty-five-degree incline, the wet clay and jagged rocks. The river rushing at the bottom of the ravine. Then she saw the taillights cut through the trees and knew someone was down there—counting on them.
Someone had to go, and somehow Avery was the most qualified one there. She wasn’t going to let fear get in the way of making a difference.
“Captain, call Harris, tell him where we are and to bring help,” Avery said, handing over the phone, and then she stepped into the makeshift seat.
“This harness isn’t what you’re used to,” Dale explained, working to securing it to the seat.
“I’m not used to any harness,” she admitted.
Dale paused and met her gaze, his full of the confidence she was lacking. “Good thing I am. I got you, kiddo. All you have to do is step back off the edge and trust us to do the rest.”
“Okay,” she said, then paused, the reality of the situation settling like a bag of cement. “What do I do when I reach the bottom?”
Dale smiled, confident and warm. “After you unhook from the rope, I’ll need you to tell me how many subjects are down there, assess the extent of their injuries, and report that back to me.” He handed her a radio that Mr. Fitz had grabbed from the back of the van. “Then you do what you do best, honey. You settle and make them as comfortable as possible until help arrives.”
Avery looked down once again to the bottom of the ravine and the rushing waters below, and she felt her hands tremble. Was this the best option they had? There was a lot riding on a woman who couldn’t last eight seconds on a mechanical bull without pulling something.
“Dale,” she said, meeting his steady gaze. “What do I do if making them comfortable is beyond my ability?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that.”
Avery gave a shaky nod and made her way to the cliff’s edge. Sending up a silent prayer that she didn’t take one look at the bottom and pass out, she got into position, back facing the ravine, her heels at the ravine’s ledge.
“You’re ready,” Dale said. It wasn’t worded as a question, but he still wanted an answer.
“Ready.”
“Now when you lean back and sit into it, the harness won’t feel as secure because there’s less pressing against you,” Dale explained. “But what is pressing against you is going to squeeze so tight you’ll feel the pressure.”
Avery was already feeling the pressure. Rappelling with a normal harness would be hard on her body—hanging off the side of a cliff in a
seat made of rope was going to leave a mark for sure. Being bold always left marks, she reminded herself. Some more visible than others, but it was what made up the texture of life.
“Live loud,” she whispered to herself, then placed her feet at the edge of the drop-off and took one step backward, then another.
Suddenly the mud shifted under her weight and started to give.
Nearly paralyzed with terror, she grasped the rope as gravel and debris fell, bouncing off the hillside before crashing on the rocks below. Way, way, way below.
Whatever happened to rocks being stable, she thought. Then she remembered she liked the unexpected because it had brought her here, to Sequoia Lake. And it had brought her Ty.
Pulling on her big-girl panties, she fought for balance and won. Mentally flipping through the pages of the handbook, she recalled the right term for this kind of descent and called out, “Down on main.”
“Down on main,” Dale repeated, and there was a small give followed by the terrifying realization that it was all up to her. All she had to do was step off the cliff.
There was no net, no contingency plan. Four retired fishermen and a ten-millimeter rope were the only things standing between Avery and the jagged rocks below.
“Help,” a panicked voice called from below. “Please help me.”
Avery knew better than to look down, just like she knew all she had to do was say no and she’d be back on solid ground. The easy decision was to wait for the professionals to arrive. But then Avery thought of Ty, how he’d chosen to stay with Garrett, and she realized that sometimes there wasn’t an easy or hard choice. In situations like this, one could act or react.
Avery had an entire journal made from moments like this where someone chose to react to the situation instead of owning the situation. She didn’t want to add another page to the book.
“I’m coming,” Avery hollered, and, ignoring the burn in her arms brought on from holding her own weight, she sat back and let herself lean into the seat until it felt as if she were sitting on air.
Exhilaration met pain as she dropped over the side. The rope tightened, cutting into her skin and tightening around her organs like a vise, and Avery stopped to absorb the pain. Only the longer she remained still, the worse it got until it became paralyzing.
Rain made the rocks slick, her descent difficult, but her healing body made the journey slow. Her lungs constricted with each inch gained, and her blood raced through her body at an accelerated rate until her hands shook and her body cried out. Partly for release from the agonizing pressure, but mostly because she was actually descending the side of the ravine. Pushing her body past its limits and not crumbling.
Avery wasn’t asking permission, wasn’t letting fear hold her back. She was in the most life-threatening position since her surgery, and instead of waiting for someone else to save her, she was taking a step into the unknown. Looking past the obstacles and toward the future.
But the lower she went, the more alone she became, and the more isolated she felt, until all she could hear was the roar of the river rushing below and the erratic pounding in her chest. She thought about Ty and how he must have felt that day, alone and scared, wanting to run for help but knowing he needed to stay with his brother.
Then she thought about how this would be different, and how when it was all over she was going to make a page in her journal for herself.
And it was going to include kissing Ty again.
Ty was contemplating hitting the snooze button again when his room phone rang. Hoping it was Avery calling to see if he wanted to meet for a little breakfast in bed before work, he answered.
“Please tell me you’re bringing something that requires whipped cream,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.
“A car went over the ravine on Highway 79 at the Fern Falls cutoff. Car’s in the river, search and rescue is en route, but we could use your help.”
“Fern Falls?” Ty bolted up. “Is it my dad? Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. I jumped in the chopper the second I heard,” Harris shouted into his headset. “I’m headed there now.”
Ty was on his feet and looking out the window for the van.
“Shit.” It was gone. Ty couldn’t breathe past the possibilities. “Avery was supposed to be taking my dad and a group up to Fern Falls. They would have had a full van of seniors. And she was driving.”
“Good to know. I’m four minutes out. I can call you when I’m on the ground.” Ty heard the blades of the chopper cutting through the high wind in the background. Almost as clearly as he heard the underlying message in Harris’s voice when he said, “You know how these things work.”
Ty did know how these things worked. And Harris wouldn’t be calling in an out-of-area guy unless he knew it was bad. He shouldn’t have let them go.
Ty grabbed some jeans and a thermal shirt from the closet, yanked on his boots, and was out the door when he said, “I’m on my way.”
Ty made the twenty-minute drive in ten, which was more than enough time to go over every possible scenario in his head—twice. Being part of some of the gnarliest rescues in the area made for some pretty detailed images. So when he reached the scene and saw a complete force of first-responder trucks and ambulances, his heart took a nosedive.
Slamming his truck into park, he leaped out and immediately surveyed the situation with assessing eyes. He saw the Day Adventure van, a few of the old-timers, and his dad, but no matter how many times he scanned the scene he couldn’t find Avery.
He walked up to Harris, who was in deep conversation with what appeared to be the incident commander on the scene. “Where is she?”
Harris apologized to the IC, but Ty didn’t give a fuck if he was interrupting—he needed to know. Every ounce of cool that he relied on to do his job was gone. All he could think about was Avery.
He had become a pro at separating himself from the emotion, but right then he felt as helpless as he had on the riverbank with Garrett. Like all of the training and skills were useless, and there was nothing he could do to ever make this right.
“She’s over there.” Harris pointed to a tiny woman in rappelling gear, sitting on the back of one of the rigs.
Avery.
Ty’s pulse came to a complete stop. She was soaked to the bone, covered in mud, and hugging what appeared to be a crying teen girl.
Jesus, she was okay. Looked like she’d slid down the side of a mountain, but she was okay—and comforting someone else. She’d probably just had the scare of her life and still had the frame of mind to comfort another person.
Ty released a breath he’d been holding since Harris called, and then he started over. He needed to hold her, make sure for himself that she was okay. Then he’d strangle her.
And don’t even get him started on Dale. Avery wasn’t alone in her actions. This had his dad written all over it.
“You have sixty seconds with your girl. Then I need you focused,” Harris said. “There were three passengers, all teens, all drinking. One was airlifted out, the other is over with Avery, but one we think got dragged downriver.”
Which meant this would most likely be a recovery, not a rescue. And in order to bring closure to the kid’s family, they would need someone equipped to handle those kinds of currents—and that kind of heartache.
“How far could the kid have gone?” Ty asked.
Harris went quiet—too quiet for Ty’s chest to do anything but seize up. And that was when he realized just where he was.
About half a mile upriver from where he’d found Garrett. The sun was fighting to cut through the early-morning fog, the ground was saturated, the river raged below with runoff, and Ty felt like he was that seventeen-year-old kid again. About to walk into a situation that was hopeless—no matter how hard he’d trained or how prepared he was.
“I thought the same thing,” Harris admitted. “So we’d all understand if—”
Ty held up a silencing hand.
“I’m good,” h
e said because that was what Harris needed to hear. And what Ty needed to get in his head. Guys who did what they did for a living didn’t ask for help or a way out. They ran against the flow. Headed into the river when everyone was running out.
“Sixty seconds. Have somebody bring me my gear,” he said to Harris.
Harris gripped Ty’s shoulder, halting him. “Before you go nuclear, know that if it hadn’t been for your dad’s fast thinking, two teens would most likely be dead.”
If it hadn’t been for his dad, Avery wouldn’t be shivering like she’d taken the polar bear plunge from fifty feet up.
He turned and met Avery’s gaze. Bam, everything else disappeared. The panic, the guilt, the paralyzing fear, the need to vent—none of it overrode his need to see Avery.
“You’re here,” she cried, getting to her feet and meeting him midway. “You’re here.”
He wanted to say, “You’re alive,” but Avery wrapped her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth to his.
He could taste her fear, her adrenaline, and the morning chill on her lips. Could feel her body shake as she burrowed closer into him as if she needed him as much as she needed her next breath. Which worked for him since all he needed right then was her. Like this. In his arms.
Forever.
“Are you okay?” he asked, pulling back just enough to run his hands down her sides, probing for sprains or injury. She winced as his hand passed over her scar. “Angel,” he whispered, lifting up her shirt enough to see the angry mark the harness had gouged into her side.
“I’m okay.” When he kept inspecting her scar, lightly tracing over the bruising, she cupped his face and brought it back to hers. “I’m okay. A little bruised, a lot cold, but not hurt.”
“Donovan, right?” the IC said, coming up behind them. “Charlie Decker. Glad you’re here. Harris says you’re the guy we need.”
It took everything he had to pry his gaze off Avery and to the man in charge. Decker was carrying a dry suit and a harness.