by Dylan Allen
“Yes, I know that. Obviously, since I said it. I don’t need you to remind me. I’ve changed my mind, and now I want to know.” I sit up straight. We turn off the road at a sign that reads Wild Canyon.
“What is this place?” I ask, reaching for my phone so I can google it.
“I was going to stop here on our way back, but I thought it would be the perfect way to kick off this adventure. I’m about to show you how easy it is to let go.”
Transformed
Regan
“Your guts turned to water yet?” Stone squeezes my hand and I glance over at him to find him grinning wildly. I grip the metal side of the small basket that’s currently transporting us several hundred feet above a canyon in the middle of the desert. I have never been more scared in my life. I’m nearly paralyzed by fear. But Stone’s grin and the delight in his eyes snaps me out of it.
“Don’t fuck with me Stone. I’m really scared. If I shit my pants up here, I’ll never speak to you again.” I warn him.
“If you shit your pants, I’m not sure I’d mind a little distance.”
I slap at his arm and then scream when my movement sends the basket swinging.
“You’re safe, I swear,” he says. I just stare straight ahead at the gondola that’s perched on wire over the yawning mouth of the seemingly bottomless valley and suddenly I feel sick. To my stomach.
“This is a mistake. This thing is a death trap, Stone. And so is that.” I point at the gondola parked on the cable ahead of us. The one we’re supposed to bungee from. It looks like a perfectly sturdy gondola but, this high up, there’s no such thing as safe. There’s only lucky, or dead. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap my arms around myself as tightly as I can. My breaths come fast, but I can’t seem to get enough air. “Did I actually agree to this? I would never do anything so reckless. I must have been in a trance.?”
He laughs but puts his hands on my shoulders and massages them. “Take a deep breath, Goddess. And then look at me.”
“I’m afraid,” I whisper, my eyes still closed tight.
“Look at me,” he repeats and squeezes my shoulders. I turn my head to the left before I open them. He’s looking at me with a tenderness, so fierce and vast that it makes me want to cry.
“This is your biggest fear, right? Dying young? It used to be mine, too. Until I met a giver who watered me, so I grew into a person who was more afraid of not living than I was of dying.”
“Who was that dumbass?” I grumble. He chuckles and shakes his head at me, but his smile is like a break in the clouds and takes the edge off my anxiety. “You said you wanted an adventure. Well, here it is. Or was that just talk?”
“No, I just didn’t realize I’d be jumping to my death today. I mean,”
“And just imagine what it’s going to feel like to do it, and not die. What could you possibly be afraid after that?”
That resonates. I want that back – that fearlessness that was innate to me once.
As if he read my mind, Stone hugs me and presses his lips to the top of my head. I look up to ask him This time when my stomach lurches, it’s not fear that it’s reacting to. I forget that I’m about to throw myself out of this gondola with nothing but a rope tied to my ankle.
Because even surrounded by all of this beauty and all of this danger, none of it is as compelling as him. His adventurous spirit is contagious and he’s so damn gorgeous.
But he’s also really annoyingly relaxed.
“Aren’t you scared?” I ask him.
“Hell yeah,” he answers with a nervous smile. “But I also know my fear is unfounded. I have more to fear getting on the plane back to Colombia than I do bungee jumping. Besides, I’ve done it before and it’s the closest I’ve ever come to flying, the closest I’ve ever been to the sky. It’s transformative.”
His smile radiates excitement and confidence and I find myself smiling back.
“Okay, I’ll follow you.”
“Good girl, one step at a time,” he says and then turns toward the gondola. I give an apologetic smile to the guide who brought us out, “Sorry for the hysterics.”
He waves it off and gives me a thumbs up. “You did good, I’ve had people start speaking in tongues and shit.” I laugh at the visual and use that moment of levity to force myself to step onto the gondola.
It’s even worse than I thought it would be. Windowless and glass bottomed with a six-inch-wide opening that divides into two separate compartments, it offers no refuge from the view of the surrounding expanse. My fear takes a backseat to my awe at the wild blue yonder above and the craggy faced valley that surrounds us. It’s like being at the top of the world. I can see all the way to the Sea of Cortez and the horizon has never been so far away; it really does look like the edge of the world.
I peer over the side just as Stone says, “Don’t look down.”
It’s too late and I get a glimpse of the 300-foot drop. I yelp and slam my eyes shut and try to catch my breath but all I see behind my closed lids is the seemingly bottomless drop to the river below. There’s absolutely nothing between me and the canyon floor.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, and turn away and head back to the cable car. My trajectory is stalled by a pair of warm hands cuffing my forearms in a comforting but firm grip.
“Hey,” his voice is deep and melodious, but my nerves are skittish, and I just want to get off.
“It’s dangerous,” I offer my feeble explanation to the dark grey cotton stretched across his chest. I can’t meet his eyes. I’m afraid of the disappointment I might see there. It’s clear that he’s a born adventurer who only needed a small push to discover that. And here I am, having another meltdown.
Stone leans down and presses his lips to my ear. “You do not have to jump if you don’t want to. I won’t give you shit if you change your mind. You aren’t a coward if you don’t. If I had any doubt that this wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t have brought you. And this is your chance to rewrite your own history. Prove that the story you’ve been telling yourself about what you’re capable of, is incomplete. Fear doesn’t rule you, Regan.” I lift my gaze to his.
His eyes are a calming swirl of molten dark earthy brown, flecked with gold that have a look of such certainty in them that even before he starts speaking, my anxiety slows down. I’m safe.
“If I die, I’ll haunt you.”
He laughs. “I’ll hold you to it.” He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around to face the door again.
I’m actually going to do this. Buoyed by the first real flare of exhilaration I’ve felt since we got in the Gondola to ride up, I walk over and get strapped up.
The patient instructor makes quick work of putting me in my harnesses and binding my ankles. He shows me all of the safety protocols and explains each of the ropes, and clasps as he fastens them. “No one will push you and you can’t just fall out; you have to jump.”
“Leap of faith, Goddess,” Stone calls, clapping like a sports fan getting worked up as his team takes the field.
I turn around, press my fingers to my lips and raise them in the air in a salute of solidarity and a wish for good luck. Stone lifts his hand, palm open. “I’m pretending you blew me a kiss.” He mimes catching it and pressing the closed fist to his chest.
I burst out laughing. The door creaks open and I know it’s time. But when I turn to face them, it’s giddiness, not fear, causing a riot in my heart.
“You’re all set. Don’t close your eyes on the way down. The view is part of the experience,” the instructor says as I line my toes up to the edge of the door.
I’ve been so afraid of dying, of failing, of being alone that I haven’t taken a risk in ten years. While I was busy being careful, the whole world has passed me by. This feels like making up for it all at once.
The countdown begins, and I clear my mind. When they get to 1, I launch myself off the gondola, and the whole world rushes up to embrace me. Is this what it’s like for newborn babies taking their first breaths?<
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The thumping pulse of my steadily increasing heart rate becomes one with the wild symphony of rushing water, bird calls, and the roaring wind. I fall and fall; it’s a smooth weightless plummet. And yet, I could swear I’m flying.
And then, it’s over. I bounce a few times as the cord loses velocity. I stretch my arms wide, letting the breeze rush through my splayed fingers, as I take in the swaying palm trees, the lazy lapping river, and the seemingly endless stretch of stone that I’ll remember as the place of my rebirth.
I close my eyes on the way up and savor the exhilarating fullness of triumph. I’ve only had a glimpse of the glory waiting for me on the other side of my fear, and I’m already ravenous for more. The rush of pure adrenaline is instantly addicting. I want to do this all day so I can hold onto the euphoria and pride, I’m feeling. Stone was right. If I can do this, I can do anything. Including divorcing my terrible husband.
The sample-sized bites of happiness I’ve survived on won’t satisfy this new hunger.
I want everything.
Now.
Starting with Stone.
The instructors pull me back on to the gondola and give me a round of high fives as I crest the opening. Two of the crew members help me climb back on and for a minute, I just sit, catching my breath.
“Come on, let’s get that off,” Stone’s big hand cup my elbows and he helps me to my feet. As soon as my legs touch the glass bottom gondola surface, they tremble and send me swaying. Stone’s grip tightens on my arm and holds me steady. “Woah, got you,” he murmurs in my ear. One of the guides drops to his knees and starts to loosen my harness and Stone and I exchange a grin.
“You made that look easy. And I know it’s not. I’ve done this twice before, and it gets easier. But my first time I almost bailed. And it wasn’t anything as badass as jumping from a gondola. You were afraid and you did it anyway.” He strokes my arms with his thumbs, his eyes telling me before he mouths. “Proud of you, Regan.”
My smile, so wide my cheeks hurt, it’s the highest praise anyone could give me. “Me, too,” is all I can manage. I’m tongue tied under the weight of his praise and don’t know what to say.
But when he asks, “How do you feel?”
I find my voice instantly. “Transformed.”
Jealous
Stone
“Come dance with me, Stone,” Regan calls from the dance floor, her smile brighter than all of the oil lamps burning around our camp.
“No, go ahead. I like watching,” I force a grin and she pouts. I hold the smile in place until one in the seemingly endless stream of geriatric men who are our fellow campers grabs her by the waist and whirls her around to her irritating shriek of delight.
I force myself to watch him, twirl and fucking dip her. It’s punishment and conditioning exercise all at once.
I thought I was doing her a favor today.
I thought it would be fun to coax her into my bed tonight. That I’d had this wild fantasy with the woman of my dreams and go back to life as I knew it.
Then, I jumped off that gondola.
As I’ve done every time I’ve bungeed, I focused on one thing I want more than anything else as I stood at the ledge. The thing that I’m going to never take for granted again if I survive. Because, no matter what I said to Regan, I know that anything could happen. Not just here, but anywhere. I’ve seen babies go from looking perfectly healthy to being dead in minutes. I don’t take anything for granted.
The first time I bungeed I thought of my brothers. I’d been slacking on calling them regularly and vowed to remedy that. The second time, it was my fellowship.
Today, I expected my thoughts to be focused on the job I’m waiting to get a confirmed start date for. This wasn’t just the culmination of years of sacrifice and hard work. This job, and the prestige attached to it, will also go a long way to proving myself worthy of my stepfather's priceless gift – the last name he gave us when he adopted Dare, Beau, and me. He also left us each a small fortune in annuitized trusts and college tuition funds.
I’ve only touched that money to pay for school and to put a roof over my head. But until I could be a credit to his name, I lived on what I earned. This job is my chance to make him proud and to show that we were worthy of his gift. That I’m nothing like my mother.
But as I stood at the open door, poised to jump, all I could think about was her. I plummeted down thinking that if I didn’t get to hold her hand all day again, kiss her in an alley again, bury myself inside her again, that I might as well die now.
I rode back up to the gondola, exhilarated by the knowledge I had her all to myself for the next few days. And when they pulled me back inside, I pounced; kissing her until we both couldn’t breathe. Any reservations she’d had before we came seemed to be gone. She kissed me as ardently as I kissed her. On the two-hour drive to Balandra, she spread her thighs so I could finger her while I drove. I leaned back when she lowered her head to my lap to suck me off. We held hands like our lives depended on it.
But, by the time we were walking down the pier to catch the boat that would take us from La Paz to the Island Isla Espiritu Santo, reality started dropping reminders.
We were halfway to the boat when we heard a woman’s panicked voice calling out “Regan!” over and over from the dock. She dropped my hand like it was on fire. And we turned toward the shout. It was coming from a woman standing by the food stalls on the dock. Regan watched her, eyes wide with fear, until a little girl broke through the throng of people and ran into her anxious mother’s arms.
We laughed in relief, but we didn’t hold hands while we walked the rest of the way. She sat on my lap for the short ride over. With the wind whipping our faces as we flew through the water, and her warm body burrowing into mine, I started to relax and think about all the ways I’d have her tonight.
Then our boat captain started singing a song I’d never heard before, and she said, “That’s Marcel’s favorite song.”
That brought reality back into focus in a way that I didn’t like.
A lot has changed in the time since we last saw each other. But one thing is as true as it was when I was ten - no matter how much I want her; Regan Wilde isn’t mine to have.
By the time we got to our tent, all I could think about was the way she’d looked on her knees the night I stabbed that asshole.
It’s not that I don’t know if she wants me. She’s been giving me come-hither looks all night. But I think she’s still buzzing on the adrenaline from her jump and those looks aren’t enough to convince me that she wants me as much as I want her. It’s self-preservation more than pride. It’s going to make me crazy if I walk away from this wondering if she wasn’t just rolling with it. I don’t just need her to say it. I need her to initiate it.
“Excuse me, sir,” A soft hand lands on my bare shoulder. I turn and look up into the smiling, but anxious face of a young woman. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but my sister and I are having some trouble with our tent flaps.” She trails off, biting her lip and watching me with expectant eyes
“Okay, did you ask the Jorgens for help?” I ask in as patient of a voice as I can manage when she doesn’t say anything else. The camp is staffed with a husband and wife team who are supposed to be available twenty-four seven.
“We can’t find them. And... you’re the only other person not dancing,” she grimaces in apology. I glance around and give a groan of self-loathing when I realize she’s right.
“You look so upset, I hated to bother you—” she begins again. I stand up, shake off my self-pity and smile in apology.
“You’re not bothering me and I’m happy to help.” I stand, relieved to have a reason to end my self-flagellation. “Give me a second,” I say and jog out to where Regan is holding court on the dance floor.
I tap one of her shimmying shoulders and she turns around, a wide grin already on her face. Delighted surprise brightens her eyes when she sees me, and she flings her arms around my neck. “You came,�
�� she croons. Her soft body is warm and slightly damp from sweat.
“This is so much fun, I’ve made all these new friends and I’m so happy.” She squeals and tries to draw me into a dance. If I hadn’t been beside her at dinner, I’d swear she was drunk.
I pull her hands loose and hate myself a little when her smile dims. I glance back in the direction I came from. The young woman’s watching us with a fretful expression. I hold up a finger to signal that I’d be right there.
“Who’s that?” Regan’s voice has lost all of its glee and her eyes are narrowed in suspicion and trained over my shoulder.
“I don’t know her name. She needs help with her tent.”
One of her dark arched brows lifts in question and she turns her gaze back to me. “Isn’t that what that couple’s for?” She crosses her arms and taps her foot.
“She can’t find them. I’m going to help.”
“Well, that’s nice of you I’ll see you back at the tent, then?”
I frown at the tight smile she gives me. “It won’t take that long. I’ll be back.”
“Why?” She is still smiling but her eyes broadcast her irritation.
“For you,” I say, biting Captain Obvious on the tip of my tongue back.
“Don’t bother, you’re not interested in dancing and that’s all I want to do. I’ll see you at the tent.”
She dismisses me with a shout of “Muevolo!” before she twirls away from me. A loud cheer erupts from the gaggle of men she’s got in her thrall and the sound grates on my nerves like sandpaper. I don’t give a shit if they’re all old enough to be her father, I want to break every single one of their jaws.
I debate throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to the tent, and using my mouth on her until she’s begging me to fuck her
But I’m not going to make a fool of myself for her again. Each step costs me a sliver of sanity, but I leave walk away without looking back.
