Page 30 of Falling Again

“Do you think you’ll get another roommate?” Crap. I didn’t consider the rent situation. I don’t think I can afford this place on my own. I suppose I could find a roommate, but that doesn’t sound ideal. Some person I don’t know living with me seems terrible. It’s like what Tyler said about renting out his cottage and having strangers on his property.

Tyler’s cottage is empty. I wonder…

“I think I have an idea,” I say and tell Anni about my day with Tyler and about the cottage as we make our way to Martin’s house to celebrate Tyler’s mom. We decide to hatch our plan tomorrow at pub night and hope Tyler can be convinced to take a new roommate after all.

TWELVE

TYLER

THEN

“Let’s get it, Ty. Go further,” Miles calls from the mat floor as I dangle from the tips of my fingers on a V9 course at Rocks & Co., a local rock climbing gym near our college campus.

We’ve been taking turns at this light-pink bouldering course for the past hour now - Miles, Griff, and me. None of us has made it to the top yet, at least not today. Griff supposedly climbed this last weekend, but the gym was nearly empty, so no one was there to vouch for him. So we said he had to do it in front of us as proof. Only he has fallen three times so far. To be fair, so have Miles and I. I’m at the highest point any of us has reached so far today.

The simulation rocks that are bolted into the walls slice my fingertips like razor blades, but I keep holding on. I summon all the strength in my fingertips to hold on as I swing my legs and crunch up so that my toes scoop the next groove up. I push myself while my fingers pull the rocks. Every muscle in my arms and legs is screaming at me to let go, fall, and succumb to the mat on the floor.

“Push! Keep going!” I hear Griff’s gravelly voice call. It’s almost startling, but I feel it in the back of my head as if my negative thoughts are cowering.

I exhale and pull myself farther up, securing my fingers on a vertical rock, then swing my body so my footing catches a corner of the wall. I tremble as my hands struggle to keep hold, my body nearly horizontal as I pant to catch my breath. Rock climbing is a different kind of exercise. Some guys fly up these walls, but that’s only because they’ve been doing this for years, like Griff. As a newbie, there are moments when I feel completely winded. I try to push through, using my thumb and index finger to pinch a rock and hoist myself up higher. I can feel it before it happens, the feeling of falling. My foot slips off, and before I can hook my right hand up higher, it misses by just a millimeter, and I’m free-falling, then feel a thud of the thick mat beneath me. My chest feels hollow for a moment as silence falls around me, then a couple of slaps on the face from Griff, and my lungs are on fire again. I’m huffing as Miles hands me a water bottle.

“Well, you got the farthest of us all so far,” Miles says, kneeling where I’m lying.

“I ran into the same problem with that corner when I climbed it the other day,” Griff says, towering over me, then extending his arm to hoist me up. I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. Griff is a beast, and I’m convinced he could lift all six feet, four inches of me over his head without breaking a sweat.

“Yeah, I still don’t believe you,” I say, wiping the remnants of chalk from my palms on my cargo shorts. “You’re up next—prove it.”

Griff scoffs and dunks his hands in his chalk bag, clapping and rubbing his palms together. He huffs and does a few arm stretches before taking position at the lowest point. No matter how high you get when you climb, you start back at the bottom if you fall. That’s just how it is with the sport. Unless you are doing a long climb with several pitches, you always start back from the start and have to climb the route in one continuous motion. At first, the repetitions were killer, but eventually, they motivated me to keep going.

Despite the criticism we give him, Griffin, or Griff as he’s known at the gym, is a stellar climber. He’s the only one of the three of us who has climbed outside of a rock gym. He keeps trying to get us to climb cliffs along the coast, but Miles and I always chicken out. Describing Griff as a beast is honestly an understatement. He’s six foot eight and is built like he was carved out of marble. Miles and I met Griff at this exact gym a year ago. I turned a corner one day, ran into his side, and nearly dislocated my shoulder. Miles and I were beginner climbers and couldn’t wrap our heads around hand and foot positions. We kept falling over and over. Griff, who’s been climbing since he was an adolescent, was climbing a pitch next to us. Miles and I were in awe when he made it look so easy. We asked him if he could give us some tips. Soon, we were meeting at the gym to climb together. Griff offered not only climbing guidance but also encouragement. I realized he was a bunny inside a bear. Dark, intense eyes, wavy brown hair tied up in a bun, and barely fitting through door frames on the outside—and a soft, sweet friend who enjoys watching reality TV shows while crocheting hats for his niece on the inside.

We thought Griff was older than us, but we soon found out he was actually a year younger. He’s studying at the same college but majoring in economics. Griffin never ceases to surprise me.

In the blink of an eye, he’s already surpassed the point I was at. His height is an advantage in climbing. He’s able to reach farther than someone just a few inches shorter than him, though he’s at a section where the wall curves, requiring maneuvering. Once you navigate that, you’re about two footings away from the highest point. Griff unleashes a deep growl that resonates through the gym as he stretches his wingspan around the corner. He swings his leg up and, in a matter of seconds, uses the momentum to propel himself to the top. He slaps his hand at the highest point and lets out a roar. Everyone in the gym turns to look at him as he pumps his fist, then glances down at us with a smug expression.

Miles and I start to clap slowly. Griff climbs up and over to a ladder on the other side of the wall and saunters over to us.

“And that, gentlemen, is how it’s done,” Griff says, panting, his hands on his waist. He then wipes them on his loose muscle tee, leaving chalk dust on the fabric. Miles and I exchange an unamused look. “All right, Miles, you’re up. Then I say we get some lunch.”

I look at my watch and exhale. “Actually, can we head out now?”

They both turn to me, eyebrows raised.

“You got somewhere to be?” Miles says, crossing his arms. I know he’ll never let me live this down. “You just don’t want me to surpass you.”

I laugh. “No, I have a date later, and I want to shower. I can’t show up with chalk in my cuticles.”

“I do all the time—ladies love it when I leave chalk handprints on them,” Griff says, letting down his bun and looking around the gym.

“We can’t all be Griffin Gallagher,” I say.

“So, who is she? Where did you meet?” Miles asks as we make our way to the locker room.

“She’s in our Biomechanics class on Thursdays—Alyssa.”

Miles gives me a side glance. “Is she the one sitting in the front of the class and answering every question? I missed a class once, and she let me look at her notes.”

“Yep, she asked me out after class one day.”