Who was she kidding? She was already attached.
“Liam.” She forced steadiness into her voice as she opened the door. “What’s up?”
His blue eyes met hers, shadowed and searching, like he was debating flight. Gravel crunched as he shifted his weight. His gaze skimmed the distant canyon before returning.
“Can we talk?” The words came out low, rough-edged. “I owe you an explanation. About Friday. On the trail.”
An explanation…Oh, the haunted look.
Well, she already knew, didn’t she? But she nodded.
Instead of stepping inside, he walked away, toward the canyon’s edge, stopping at a flat rock several yards away, settling as if he expected her to follow.
She secured the camper door, then followed him, sitting in the space beside him.
He stared into the vast expanse. No words.
Yes, she got that. The North Rim could steal your voice right out of your throat. Ancient limestone cliffs plunged into purple shadows while the far rim shimmered gold in the distance. Wind whispered through the ponderosa pines behind them, carrying the scent of sage and something indefinable. Something wild and vast and eternal that made her lungs expand despite herself.
The perfect place to hide. Or at least so she’d thought.
His hand raked through his hair once, twice. Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I overreacted. When you stumbled, I saw…someone else. Someone I didn’t save—couldn’t save.”
Her throat tightened. She’d seen his grief captured in grainy newsprint, but hearing it from him—raw, unfiltered—hit like a physical blow.
“You don’t have to?—”
He shook his head, cutting her off, eyes locking onto hers. “I want to. Need to.”
She nodded even as he turned back to the view.
Silence stretched. Then: “Her name was Christiana. She was…a friend. Part of a group that chased thrills together. Paragliding, rappelling, climbing. Basically adrenaline junkies from around the world who’d connected through an adventure app.”
“How many in the group?”
“Maybe fifteen, but not everyone made every trip. Nine of us that morning. We’d gotten up early to climb Mont Blanc. First stretch went perfectly—good time, perfect weather.”
His gaze fixed on something half a world away.
“We stopped for lunch. She had packed a few mini bottles of wine. Said she was celebrating the morning. I didn’t question it. My European friends seemed to have a different relationship with alcohol than I grew up with. I respected that. Then we started the next stretch and…she slipped. Three anchors gave way because she hadn’t secured them right.” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “She was next to me one second, then just…gone.”
Oh.
She sat there not sure how—but wanting terribly—to fix it. “You think it was the wine?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe she misjudged the rock where she chose to anchor. Maybe there was a hidden fissure that wasn’t obvious. But yeah…” He sighed, swallowed. “Maybe she missed it because she wasn’t as clearheaded as she needed to be.”
“It wasn’t?—”
He turned to her, his expression hard, eyes glossy. “Trust me, I’ve maybe-ed myself to death over this. All I know is I feel like I should’ve prevented it. I should’ve?—”
“Itwasn’tyour fault, Liam.”
He drew in a breath. Then, softly, “Feels like it was. I talked her into going. I was closest when she fell. Maybe I should’ve seen…”
Wind carried his words away. Her chest ached. She got it—it was only by a miracle that she wasn’t blaming herself for any deaths at King’s Inn. The Bratva had come after her, and any of Steinbeck’s family could’ve been caught in the crossfire.
Emberly’s words from back then echoed inside, and she found herself repeating them. “You can’t carry the weight of other people’s bad choices.”