by Sasha Burke
But now, ironically, they’re all doing so well, I’m too busy to be able to make use of them.
A soft knock at my door pulls me away from the window and back to my responsibilities. When I turn, however, I’m surprised to find Nicole in the doorway.
Puzzled, I motion for her to sit. “Everything okay? You haven’t been waiting for me all this time, have you?”
“Logan, your daughter got bullied at school,” she bursts out, continuing our earlier conversation right where we left off. “So, I am going to make a big deal out of it. Because it is a big deal.”
Holy shit, the woman knows how to push my buttons.
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap. “You think I haven’t been thinking about this nonstop? You think I don’t want to go out and find the little punks and kick all their dads’ asses?”
She pauses and then smiles encouragingly. “That’s good.”
Just when I think she can’t get any more perplexing. “Rage-filled violence is good?”
“Not the violence part, but the rest of it, yes. The last part says a lot about your own positive self-image,” she answers in her token brainy fashion, which, combined with her throaty, lilting counseling voice, is starting to sound a little 1-900 to me.
I really shouldn’t engage in all this psychological mumbo jumbo with her. Not with the way it’s bizarrely starting to turn me on. But, I’m curious about her last assertion. “Explain.”
“Fathers who value taking responsibility for their own children usually have the same high expectation of other fathers. Ergo, you’re a good dad. I know that I for one most certainly think you are based on all the conclusive evidence I’ve seen of your parenting over the years.”
I think that’s the first time she’s given me a compliment of that magnitude. The fact that the simple statement is making me feel ten-friggin-feet tall is a little disconcerting.
“Do you not want her to get counseled at all, or just not by me?” she presses on.
I may as well be honest, since she asked and all. “Your therapy methods are a little...” I tread lightly, not wanting to insult her. Even odd birds deserve a gentle touch. “Unorthodox.”
“This is true,” she agrees. “But they’re also highly effective.”
Okay, I’ll give her that.
“Do you want to walk around and argue?” she asks. “It’ll make for a more focused argument.”
Seriously, she’s so strange.
Stranger still is the fact that I’m getting up and following her.
We fall into step in silence and I try not to notice that I can practically see down her damn shirt. Hell. I’ve seen perfect breasts before. Why are hers screwing with my head this much?
“You’ve witnessed firsthand how many kids I’ve helped through my counseling techniques,” she reasons as we pass through the sitting area with the panoramic view of the north wing of the gym, both of us waving hi to the regulars. “What exactly are your concerns?”
“You work mostly with teens and college kids. Hannah’s only nine.”
“So, you think I’m not qualified to help her?”
That’d be a lie and we both know it. Nicole is nothing if not impressively qualified as a therapist. She’s gotten to be a good climber, too. Ever since she’s started using my gym regularly for some of her therapy sessions, I’ve been getting to see her in action a lot. And from what I can tell, she gets results.
Which is all well and good…for someone else’s kid. Not mine.
“Look, I just don’t want Hannah climbing, okay?” There, I said it. The CEO of one of the fastest-growing indoor climbing franchises in the U.S. doesn’t want his daughter climbing. So, sue me. Even with all the proper harness gear, injuries can still happen, especially for younger, inexperienced climbers.
“I don’t care how many precautions you take, or how safe my walls are, I don’t want her up there. And I for damn sure don’t want her going out on one of your outdoor climbs.”
“I know,” she replies softly.
Way to take the boom out of my bomb. “Then why are you hassling me about all this?”
“Because I also know you’re quite possibly the most loving and doting father I’ve ever encountered. You’d do anything for that little girl. You know full well that climbing is only one of my methods, and yet you don’t want me to work with her at all. So, I repeat, what exactly are your concerns?”
“I thought you had an early client this morning,” I say, changing the subject.
“Nope. I actually don’t have an appointment for another hour and a half. I just wanted to come in before you got too busy so we could chat about Hannah.”
I frown. “You could’ve just called. You’ve got my number.”
“I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t hang up on me when I started pushing too hard.”
Yeah, that does sound like something I would do.
“Is it…” she begins, but then stops, a little blush creeping over her cheeks.
Hell, I really want to know what was supposed to come at the end of that. “Is it…what?”
She straightens her shoulders. “Is it because you overheard my conversation with my students who were commenting on your...err...looks the other day?” she asks looking about as comfortable as a cat in a bath.
When I grin in remembrance of the day in question, she lifts her chin and injects a little more steel in her spine as she says simply, “Because the girls asked me outright if I thought you were handsome. And it would’ve been unethical of me to lie to them. I’m someone they trust, and that trust means I can’t—”
“So, just to recap,” I interrupt, unable to resist teasing her. “You think I’m both hot and handsome?”
Her blush deepens. “We’re getting terribly off track here.” She turns away from me to peer over the railed balcony, down at the climbers gearing up below. “I only brought that up to ask if my comment is perhaps making you feel uncomfortable with me,” she explains.
Uncomfortable? No. Unbelievably tempted? Hell yes.
I come up behind her—close, but not quite touching—amazed to find that even as little as she is, her body still lines up with mine pretty goddamn perfectly.
This is information I really don’t need to know.
Before I can make any further mind-messing discoveries about Nicole’s body, however, a terrified shout from somewhere in the gym has us both shoving away from the railing and racing down to the main floor.
3
* * *
| LOGAN |
A full minute passes and we still can’t pinpoint where the sound of distress came from.
I’ve got a couple dozen workers stationed around the 50,000 square-foot space, but per protocol, they each stay to monitor the climbers in their zones. So far, none of them can offer me any insight as to which section to head to. And with every passing second, I feel the atmosphere in the gym changing. The rumbling murmurs are growing louder, and climbers on every wall are starting to stop mid-climb to find out what’s going on.
Shit, we need this contained now. The last thing we want is panic to set in and begin spreading like wildfire.
It takes another minute of searching, but finally, I spot him.
About four stories up on one of the inverted overhangs. His death grip on the wall is way too tight, and his entire frame is completely seized up in terror.
He’s one of Nicole’s college kids; I’d recognize the big bruiser anywhere.
What the hell is he doing on that advanced wall? Sure, a couple of her students have been cleared to do lead-climbing in here, but most of them rely on the walls with the auto-belay systems I have for beginner and intermediate climbers, not just because they feel more secure knowing the device is keeping them tethered from the top as they climb, but also because I cap those climbs at fifty feet. In the few cases I’ve seen where her students have opted not to use the auto-belay and instead, clip-in enroute as they lead-climb up, she’s always there with them to belay their r
ope from the ground to talk them through the route they take and basically mama bear them from start to finish. I know for a fact that she’d never ever let any of them on this tough a wall.
“Oh God, that’s Kenny,” she confirms, running past to me to get closer. “He isn’t supposed to go on any advanced walls without me. I don’t even know who that is belaying for him.”
Halfway up the wall, I see one of my workers, Becca, working her way over to the frightened kid, talking to him the entire time. But, the closer she gets, the more agitated he seems to get. Soon, she’s close enough that he can see her and for some reason, that causes him to lose his shit.
Instantly, he loses his bearings. One of his feet slips off the foothold a moment later, leaving him frantically searching in vain for something else to secure his dangling foot onto.
I whistle up at Becca and she immediately halts, holding her position on my command to keep from rattling him even more.
“Kenny,” calls up Nicole then in the now silent gym. “I’m right here. Just focus on my voice. You need to regain control of your situation. Just like always. I know it’s hard, but you can do this. I know you can.”
Her voice is almost shockingly soothing. I’ve been through this dozens of times and I’ve never once been able to fake it that well.
Kenny manages to get his foot back in place, but even from down here, I can tell that’s not going to be enough. The way he’s holding himself, he’s clearly starting to have the shakes.
It’s not muscular, it’s mental. His body’s shutting down from the fear, and if he can’t rein it in, he’ll fall. Though he’s far enough up that I’m not worried about him hitting the deck, what’s got me worried is that I can see how many bolts he’s skipped securing his line to the wall on his route up. His rope should be clipped-in to the wall at more key points, that’s why we have reminder signs every few feet. Plus, the spots he did choose to clip in along the bigger irregular traverses don’t make a whole lot of sense to me—I can already see one protruding overhang below him that he’ll likely end up slamming into if he falls. From what I hear his belayer telling Nicole, Kenny went from being annoyed at all the corrections early on in the climb, to flat out ignoring his belayer altogether, which is just crazy. Nicole would probably kick my ass for using the c-word right now for one of her students, but it’s the truth. Most sane non-advanced climbers wouldn’t ignore the safety advice of a senior climber. Not on a climb this high or this difficult.
“Nicole! I can’t do this! You have to help me!”
Damn it all to hell. Before I can stop her, Nicole shoots forward and starts charging up the wall like a fucking superhero spider.
She’s incredible. And she’s making me scared shitless the higher she goes.
No one, I mean no one is allowed to go up without gear in my gyms.
She stops just below the forty-foot mark, near enough to talk to him, but far enough away that he won’t take her down off the wall with him if he falls.
She’s good. Really good. None of us would’ve been able to calm the kid down any faster, any better, especially not while climbing without gear at the same time. Kenny’s shakes seem to be gone now, and she’s even got him attempting to lower himself down a step.
All the while, Nicole’s steady as a rock. Fierce, focused. Honestly, the one feeling the most fear at the moment is probably me. She’s been hanging up there in one spot on a fairly graduated incline route for almost five minutes now, and that’s after racing up faster than she should’ve. I know she’s got to be aching by now. Climbing without gear is all around more intense. Much more exhausting. The added mental and emotional exertion means increased muscular strain and fatigue, which can push even strong climbers to their limits.
When the kid slowly, awkwardly starts to make his way down the wall, I signal Becca to shadow him. Then I return my focus to Nicole. She hasn’t budged. All her attention is on Kenny and his descent. I want to shout at her to stop being a goddamn hero and get moving. But I know she won’t.
I start seriously fucking praying to whoever is listening when she finally begins her descent, silently whispering for her to keep her hold, to stay in her safe space mentally. Every bit of her needs to focus on this.
She’s around the thirty-foot mark still on an inverted plane when I see her fingers slipping from the handhold. I react, rushing to get under her to at least break her fall.
Barely, just barely, I manage to catch her by the waist before she hits the floor. It’s likely I bruised half her ribs in the process, but at least her legs aren’t broken.
I yank her in close, locking her tiny frame against me so tight I can feel her pounding heartbeat against my chest.
Nothing else is even registering right now. She’s safe; that’s all my brain can process.
We stay there like that for a while, long after my lungs remember to keep breathing and the absolute horror I’d felt starts dissipating.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s the fact that I finally have her soft curves in my arms. But I don’t want to just keep holding her. I want to kiss the absolute hell out of her.
I don’t though.
And the reason why is the very thing she was trying to get me to confess earlier.
It’s why I’ve always kept my distance.
“Thank you, Logan,” she whispers softly before gently disengaging from my iron grip.
She hops down and smiles at the gathered crowd. “And that’s why we never climb without gear, ladies and gentlemen!” she calls out, trying to lighten the mood.
A quiet group chuckle ripples across the onlookers, more nervous than humorous, but thankfully, the heavy fog of apprehension starts to lift, and people begin climbing again.
I watch as Nicole flexes her cramped fingers and surveys her now broken, bleeding nails—just like I’m doing—before she sticks her hands in her pocket and bee-lines straight for Kenny to check on him.
“Man, she’s amazing,” I hear Derick say from behind me and I glare at him. The way he’s staring at Nicole is making my blood boil. I know I don’t have a claim on her, but still.
I wait until she’s done talking to her student before snagging her gaze. Then I jerk my chin over to my office. My silent demand is practically Neanderthal, I know.
Thank hell, she follows.
4
* * *
| NICOLE |
His confidence in me is shaken; I’m sure of it. Frankly, I don’t blame him. This is the absolute worst thing he could’ve witnessed.
Kenny is a troubled guy with a lot of hardships in his life and a variety of mental health issues that have plagued him through high school. Unlike most of my other students, he also sees a psychologist for traditional behavioral treatments and a psychiatrist for medication. But now with the difficulties he’s been having being in college with no foster family anymore, he’s needed to adjust his meds quite a bit, which hasn’t been an easy transition.
Not that I can legally divulge any of this, of course.
“What the hell was that out there?!” Logan bellows the second his office door slams shut, anger throbbing in his voice, his chiseled jaw locked with tension.
“An unfortunate, but highly atypical situation, Logan. As you well know, none of my students have ever been in danger like that before. People freeze up on the wall for a lot of different reasons, it’s part of the therapy process. If Kenny hadn’t been climbing without me to begin with, things never would’ve gotten to that point.”
He looks exasperated as he stands there towering over me at his full height just north of six feet. Like an impossibly tough, complex, daunting mountain a climber would have to be a little crazy for wanting to take on. As a therapist, I don’t really like using that word, but good lord, I might be feeling a little crazy right now.
“I’m not talking about the kid,” he growls, “I’m talking about you. You went up almost four stories without gear. What the fuck, Nicole.”
“If I hadn’t, K
enny would’ve gotten seriously injured.” Given how on edge Logan is at the moment, I know I should probably leave it at that, but I keep going. “I would do it all over again if I needed to.”
“Jesus Christ. Are you trying to get me to take away your climbing privileges?”
I gasp. And then narrow my eyes at him. I don’t like being threatened. “You would make me move all my students to a different gym?!” Not that any other gym is even on my radar. Logan’s is bar none the best.
He glares right back at me. “I mean climbing privileges anywhere. I’ll make sure you’re blacklisted from every goddamn gym on the west coast.”
He wouldn’t!
Expression harsh and unyielding, he crosses his arms over his chest and reads my mind. “Oh, I would, sweetheart. You can’t be reckless on a climb. I won’t allow it.”
“That was a calculated risk. And a necessary one,” I argue. “You know me. I don’t have a reckless bone in my body. I’ll sign a waiver if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t care about that shit,” he snarls. “I care about you not cracking your head open. Or worse.” Raw, sincere, and outright pissed-off concern is slashed across his expression.
Not going to lie, hearing that Logan Reynolds cares about me in any context is a little surreal. And strangely intoxicating.
But, instead of overanalyzing the situation like I would normally, I frame the situation in a way that I know deep down he doesn’t want to think about.
“What if that had been Hannah up there?” I ask. “Would you have objected to me going up without gear to help her? Would you have stayed down here yourself?”
His hands curl into frustrated, white-knuckled fists. He doesn’t answer.
I venture a step closer, resisting the urge to calm him with tactile contact. Somehow, I don’t think placing my hand on any part of his hard, musclebound frame right now would do either of us any good.
