Page 90 of Camp Bliss
I’m just not capable of letting her go until I’ve made sure she’s safe.
“All good,” I mutter, stepping back and taking the slack out of the belay rope.
Greta’s staring at me, the hint of a frown almost covered by the helmet. “This isn’t my first climb, Rousseau,” she says, sounding more puzzled than annoyed. Even though she probably should be annoyed.
Even offended.
I nod. “I know that.” I lift and drop a shoulder, scrambling to cover my compulsion. “I just can’t afford to lose another partner.”
She snorts, but she doesn’t look amused.
I shake my head. “I—I just—” I look up at the H-frame, and I let some of the truth out. “You’re the first one to test this out. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
Yeah. That’s all true.
Her gaze softens. She tilts her head to the side. “Nothing's going to happen, Zach. You’ve built this thing with every consideration to safety and failsafes. I’ve never been less nervous about any course in my life.”
I know what she’s saying, but the unintended double meaning her words could carry is a cruel tease.I’ve never been less nervous about any course in my life.As if she’s talking about the course of her life with me. Or what could be. I don’t let myself indulge in it.
Instead, I just nod, words evading me.
“On belay,” she says again.
“Belay on.”
She moves to the pole on the right side of the H and sets her foot on the bottom cleat. Her bent leg does disorienting things to the seat of her blue sport leggings, stretching the fabric against the flawless globe of her ass and threatening to choke me. “Climbing.”
“C-Climb on,” I rasp.
Get a hold of yourself, man.
She ascends, but not rapidly, like she’s consciously testing each climbing cleat. She lifts a foot from one to another not far above it.
“Your spacing is perfect. I mean, little and big climbers have plenty of options,” she observes, midway up the pole. “Nothing too far for someone with short legs or even bad knees.”
I nod, the statement temporarily yanking my head out of my ass. “Yeah, I kept little kids in mind. And if we want to challenge some of our bigger teens, we can mark cleats with different colored tape and urge them to stretch themselves.”
“I was thinking—” Greta hikes a foot higher, skipping a couple of cleats and powering her way up with a grunt.“Ooph—the same thing.”
Her head has reached the standing platform at the height of the cross beam, but the ascent forces the climber to lean away before mounting it, making that a challenge in itself.
“Wow,” she pants. “This is kinda scary.”
I’ve been steadily taking up the slack on her rope, keeping her line taut enough that if she slips, she won’t drop but a few inches.
“I’ve got you.”
Greta looks at me over her shoulder, smiling. “I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not scary.”
My heart pounds, some random part of my brain going haywire because she trusts me.
“Besides,” she says, scrambling up onto the platform, “it’s supposed to be a challenge.”
She stands to her full height and takes a look around.
“How’s it look?” I’ve seen the view, of course, every step of the way as it came together, but I want to know what she sees from up there.
I’m gazing up at her profile when a wondrous smile breaks over her. “It’s beautiful.”
