His mom’s voice filled his head.When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.But they were doing just that.Lord, a little help.
Hand over hand up the rope. Had to climb. Had to?—
Not working.
The pack was killing him. He spent precious energy unclipping the chest strap. He shrugged one arm out, then the other. His lifeline—food, water, shelter—disappeared into the brown torrent.
Gone.
But he could move faster now. Muscles burned against the current’s relentless pull as he clawed upward.
A branch pummeled him square in the face. His grip loosened, rope sliding through his hands?—
No.
He twisted his wrist, wrapped the hemp around his hand like a tourniquet. Came to a bone-jarring halt that nearly dislocated his shoulder.
Close. Too close.
Lose the rope and he’d be a quarter mile downstream in minutes. Fish food in the Colorado River.
His chest burned, lungs begging for air as he fought toward the surface. His hand broke free first. Then his head.
He gasped, choking on water and grit, blinded in the torrent.
He was going back under?—
Hands clamped onto his—strong, desperate, hauling him toward safety. More hands grabbed his arms, his jacket, dragging him onto the slick bank like some half-drowned animal.
He collapsed. Coughed up half the river. His world spun as oxygen rushed back into his system.
Nimue’s face hovered above him, those deep-brown eyes wide with fear that punched him in the gut. Her fingers traced the scratch on his cheek where a branch had tried to take his eye out.
“Are you hurt?”
He forced a grin despite his heaving chest. “I think I need mouth-to-mouth.”
“You jerk.” Her laugh came out shaky, relief cracking through panic as she swatted his arm. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I thought—” Her voice broke even as she collapsed beside him.
He’d thought the same thing. For one terrifying moment, he’d been certain he’d never see her face again. But that fragile smile, that spark of hope in her eyes—worth every second of nearly drowning. “Remember my mom’s verse for the family—‘When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you’? I swear, if there is a fire next?—”
“Stop joking around. I really thought I lost you.”
He sat up, pulled her into his arms. Her warmth chased away the cold that had settled in his bones. “You’re not losing me.”
“Promise?”
Her eyes locked on his, and for a heartbeat, the canyon faded—the teens, the Bratva, the danger. This was about staying. About fighting through whatever came next. Together.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to be someone’s anchor instead of drifting from one adventure to the next. Wanted to wrestle through life’s problems with this woman beside him.
He pressed his forehead against hers. “I promise.”
The tension around her eyes melted. He brushed wet hair from her face, giving in to the pull between them despite the chaos around them.
Someone cleared their throat. Loud. Awkward.
Right.They had an audience.