by Charli Webb
Rowdy presses a button on the two-way radio attached to his shoulder harness. “Base, this is Rowdy Daletzki. We have one injured climber on the top third of the final pitch of The Bastille Crack. Male, twenty-one, conscious and responsive. We also have an uninjured female stranded near the summit.”
Rowdy continues to talk into his radio as another helmeted face peers over the ledge. A gorgeous, feminine face. Crap. It’s Rowdy’s stepsister, Anna. She was always trying to get Rowdy to break up with me.
She appraises me with undisguised loathing then looks at Rowdy with more than just sisterly affection in her gold-flecked, dark brown eyes. I want to claw them out of her head.
Rowdy returns his gaze to me. He speaks with cool professionalism. “Okay, Skylar. Let’s get you out of here so we can get to Boone.”
I knew he recognized me. I want to say something to him, but my brain seems to have blown a fuse. All I can do is nod like an idiot as Anna slips over the edge to attach redundant gear to my harness. She glares at me the whole time. I’m tempted to ask, ‘just what the hell is your problem,’ but decide antagonizing the person who literally has my life in her hands is a bad idea.
Rowdy pulls me to safety then passes me off to a kid that looks way too young for the job. Anna double checks Rowdy’s gear then belays him down to Boone.
The kid guides me into a rescue litter and holds the back of my head as he lays me down. It takes me a second to figure out what’s going on. I try to sit up, but he puts a restraining hand on my shoulder.
“My name’s Wade Summers. I’m with Boulder Mountain Rescue. Do you mind if I check you out real quick?”
“I’m fine.”
“What’s your name?”
“Skylar Layton.”
“Well, Skylar, I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me do a quick exam.”
“Whatever.” I figure it’ll be quicker to just let him do his thing than to argue with him.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
I repeat the story as he pokes at me from head to toe.
“How long were you suspended in your harness?” Wade wraps a blood-pressure cuff around my arm.
“Ten…fifteen minutes? I don’t know.” It felt like forever. “Why?”
“Suspension trauma.”
I have no idea what that is.
The blood pressure cuff deflates. Wade grins at me. “Other than a couple of scrapes, you seem to be pretty healthy, but it wouldn’t hurt to get you checked out at Avista while they’re taking care of Boone.”
I sit up and lean towards the edge, hoping to get a glimpse of Boone…and if I’m being totally honest…Rowdy.
Wade grabs my arms. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I just want to see how Boone’s doing.”
“The last thing Boone needs is for you to shower him with scree or fall on top of him. Stay put.”
“What’s taking so long?” My body trembles, but it’s probably just from the adrenaline leaving my bloodstream. It has nothing to do with seeing Rowdy again. Yeah, right.
Wade tears open a foil packet then dabs at my bloody hands with an antiseptic wipe.
I yelp and jerk my hand out of his.
“Sorry. I’ll try to be more gentle.” He holds a gloved hand out to me, palm up, and waits for me to place my hand in his.
I talk to Wade to distract myself from the pain. “I’m not a wimp. I just have a more advanced nervous system than most people.”
Wade arches his eyebrows.
“I’m joking.”
He grins and shakes his head then gives my shredded knuckles another swipe.
I flinch. I really do have a low pain threshold but I refuse to let it get in my way.
“I’m almost done.”
I recognize the Boulder Mountain Rescue insignia screen printed on his royal blue t-shirt, but not the WEMT acronym embroidered over his impressive left pectoral muscle. “What’s WEMT?”
“Wilderness Emergency Medical Technician.”
“Is that what Rowdy is?”
Wade’s eyebrows disappear under the fringe of curls on his forehead. “You know Daletzki?”
“I used to.” I can’t help the sigh that escapes.
Wade’s mouth quirks to the side. “Daletzki’s actually a full paramedic with several specialist certs.”
“Certs?”
“Certificates. He’s an expert in just about every type of wilderness rescue. If you get into trouble, Rowdy Daletzki’s the guy you want.”
Rowdy’s the only guy I want, whether I’m in trouble or not, but I keep that thought to myself. “From what I remember, Rowdy was pretty damn good at getting himself, and everyone else, into all sorts of trouble.”
“Sounds like you have a few stories to tell. I’d love to hear ‘em over a cup of coffee.” Wade’s grin widens.
I look away. Even though I’m getting nothing but friendly vibes from the guy, and he’s extremely cute with a drool-worthy, athletic body, I don’t want to encourage him. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Wade Summers. He isn’t the problem—Rowdy Daletzki is.
The awkward moment stretches out between us as half a dozen rescuers slip over the side. Wade’s radio squawks. Rowdy’s voice crackles through the mild static. “Patient is secure. Belaying to bottom. What’s the status of the female climber?”
“She’s shaken up with minor lacerations. I’ll escort her down Fowler Trail to the parking lot.”
“Hey, I’m not shaken up.”
Wade grins and shakes his head. “Correction. Female climber is not shaken up. I’m still escorting her to the parking lot.”
When we get to the trailhead, I’m shocked to find Boone sitting sideways in the back seat of his beat-up old Jeep Wrangler with his leg in a vacuum cast. Rowdy, Anna and half a dozen other blue-shirted rescuers are standing around, talking.
“Boone? What’s going on?”
“My ankle’s definitely broken.”
“Holy crap. Why aren’t you on your way to the emergency room?”
“I’m not paying for an ambulance and I can’t exactly drive myself.”
I don’t blame him. An ambulance is too expensive to be used as a taxi. “Rowdy wouldn’t give you a ride?”
At the sound of his name, Rowdy snaps his head around and lasers me with ice-blue eyes. It simultaneously heats my blood and sends a chill up my spine.
I refuse to let him intimidate me. “Why’s Boone still sitting in the parking lot?”
“He refused transport in an ambulance.”
“And you couldn’t drive him?”
“Liability issues.”
“You’re his friend. Or at least you were.”
“Sky, it’s okay.” Boone shifts his weight and grimaces.
“No, it’s not. You’re in obvious pain and he’s just standing around with his hands in his pockets.”
“Can we go now?”
I jog around to the driver’s side and slide behind the wheel.
Rowdy shuts Boone’s door then leans in through the window. “I’ll follow you to Avista.”
“Why?” If he couldn’t be bothered to drive him to the hospital, why does he want to follow us there?
Rowdy gives me another arctic glare. “Like you said, he’s my friend.”
I glance in the rearview mirror and see Wade slide into the passenger seat of Old Blue. It thaws a little of the ice around my heart to know that Rowdy still has the same old Chevy truck he had in high school. We had lots of deep conversations and intense make-out sessions in that thing.
I hope Wade is tagging along for Boone’s sake and not mine. Boone didn’t have many friends growing up. He tried so hard to fit in with the fringe groups in high school. The goths and stoners tolerated him without actually accepting him. Rowdy was his only real friend. As far as I know, Boone never even had a girlfriend. “So, is Wade a friend of yours?”
Boone’s mouth curves up into a shy smile. “We met at CU last year. He’s a great guy.”
/>
I pull into the ambulance unloading area at Avista but before I can get my door open, Rowdy’s pulling Boone out of the back seat.
“Go ahead and park. I’ll get Boone inside.”
By the time I park the car and persuade the ER nurse to let me join Boone, Rowdy’s gone.
Chapter Two
Rowdy
The Dark Horse Bar and Grill is surprisingly crowded for a Wednesday night. I don’t come here often. Can’t afford it on my salary. But until the fall semester starts at CU, it’s the best place to pick up women. And after that run-in with Skylar, I definitely need a woman. What the hell is she doing back in town? And what was Boone thinking, letting her lead on The Bastille Crack? Skylar’s always been reckless, but Boone knows better.
I need another drink.
An hour later, I’ve got a nice buzz going and a curvy little tourist on my lap. So why do I feel like my dog died? And why the fuck am I still thinking about Skylar?
The crowd cheers. I look up and notice the Rockies’ game is playing on the big screen over the bar. That explains the mob.
The tourist’s beer-scented breath warms my neck as she whispers seductively in my ear, “You ready to get outta here?”
I should be, but I’m just not feeling it. Hell, I can’t even remember her name and she’s reminded me at least three times. “I just got here.”
I take a long pull on my Coors, hoping that’ll get me in the mood. She’s pretty enough for a bar whore. She’s got that bleached-blonde, spray-tanned, tramp-stamped, easy-woman look. She could have her pick of just about any guy here. I should feel lucky. But all I feel is depressed.
I need something stronger than beer. I’d buy a shot of tequila if it didn’t cost more than an entire bottle of the cheap shit I get at the liquor store.
The tourist pushes her lower lip out. I’m sure she thinks it’s a sexy little pout, but it looks ridiculous. She’s gotta be at least thirty. Grow the fuck up.
She walks her fingers up my chest then taps the end of my nose. “We could have more fun back at my hotel.”
I pat the side of her hip and shift my weight. “Hop up. My legs are falling asleep.”
Her eyes widen then narrow as she slides off my lap. She grips the handle of her souvenir beer mug so tightly her hand shakes. For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to throw the designer brew in my face.
Whether she does or not, I’m done with this one. I can tell she’s the clingy type. The type that’ll get pissed off when I leave immediately after sex. If you want hugs and cuddles, don’t go home with random guys you meet in bars.
She tosses her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, flips me off, then saunters away towards the pool tables.
Every man but me drools as she passes, hips swaying, boobs bouncing and practically popping out of her low-cut, two sizes too small tank top.
I lift my index finger to signal I’m ready to settle my tab then freeze when Skylar walks through the door. Boone hobbles in behind her. He’s on crutches with a velcro boot on his left foot. I feel a twinge of guilt for not sticking around a little longer at the hospital. But it can’t be too bad if he’s out cruising bars already.
Derek nods at my half full bottle of Coors. “You ready for another?”
“No, I’m fine.” I lower my hand, embarrassed that I’ve been sitting here pointing at the ceiling ever since Sky walked in.
Derek smirks at me. “Don’t tell me some conniving female finally got her hooks in you.”
“What are you talking about?”
He nods at Skylar. “You’re staring at that chick as if she were the only woman on the planet. And I saw the way you shoved that slam-dunk hottie off your lap. You could’ve nailed that one in the bathroom.”
Derek’s eyes widen when he spots Boone. “Oh, wow. What happened to Boone Dog?” He gives me a suspicious look. “Please tell me you aren’t the reason he’s on crutches. You know the code.”
“If you say bros before hoes, I’m going to punch you in the mouth.” I drop a twenty on the bar. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, man.” Derek scoops up the bill and grins at me. He thinks I’m joking about punching him.
I’m not usually a big tipper, especially not when it’s one of my housemates behind the bar, but I want to get out of here before Skylar and Boone spot me.
Too late.
Boone pins a crutch against his ribs with his elbow and waves.
Skylar’s gaze locks on mine. She lifts her chin and clears a path through the crowd for Boone. She doesn’t inspire the same level of raw lust in the drunken horde as the hot little tramp I had in my lap, but more than one asshole adjusts his junk as Skylar weaves her way through their midst.
I’m trapped. If I leave without at least saying hello, I’ll look like a pussy. “Shit.”
Derek gives me a sympathetic smile then moves to a customer at the other end of the bar. I don’t blame him for ditching me. There’s so much tension in the air you can feel it. Like static electricity before lightning strikes. I’d run for cover too, if I could.
Boone flashes a grin at the girls sitting on either side of me. “Do you lovely ladies mind scooting down a bit so we can talk to our friend?”
One girl huffs in obvious annoyance, but they both do as he asks. Funny, I hadn’t even noticed them. The one on my left immediately strikes up a conversation with Boone, leaving me to deal with Skylar on my own. My blood pressure climbs until I can hear my pulse behind my ears. I take another long pull on my beer, delaying the inevitable.
Skylar watches me from beneath her lashes. The tip of her tongue darts out and slicks the surface of both lips then disappears. It was too fast to be intentional. A nervous tic, not a conscious act of seduction, but the way her lips glisten, like ripe cherries after a rain, makes my mouth water. Doesn’t matter. I’m not falling for that shit. I’m not a love-struck, horny teenager and I’m sure as hell not a frightened, battered kid, desperate for affection. Not anymore.
I’m a hard-hearted, mean son of a bitch that can get laid whenever he wants and I’m not letting Skylar Layton, or any other woman, anywhere near my heart ever again.
I keep my own lips pressed to the mouth of my beer bottle and damn near chug the rest of it. It’s just beer, but I’m definitely feeling it. I should have splurged and ordered a quesadilla before I started drinking. “What are you doing here, Skylar?”
I know I’m being rude, but what I really want to ask her is, Where the fuck have you been?
“It’s a long story.” She licks her lips again.
Damn. I wish she’d quit doing that. I pick at the label on my now empty bottle of Coors. I don’t give a rat’s ass what her excuse is, but I am curious. Doesn’t mean I care. “I’ve waited four years to hear it.”
The right side of Skylar’s mouth twitches before she smiles. Most people wouldn’t notice it, but I do. She’s nervous. She swallows then clears her throat. “You know what they say about people that peel labels off bottles?”
“That they’re sexually frustrated?” A single, bitter laugh escapes my throat as I slam the bottle on the bar a little too forcefully. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
She flinches, but I’m not sure whether it’s because of the sudden noise, my harsh tone of voice, or my sarcastic remark. Instead of apologizing, I change the subject. “How long are you in town?”
“As of six forty-five this morning, I live here.”
“You live here? In Boulder?” I grab the rounded edge of the bar. I’d assumed Skylar was just here for a short vacation. The thought of randomly bumping into her on a regular basis flips my panic switch.
Skylar shakes her head. “I’m living with Boone in Eldorado Springs.”
His house is less than half a mile from mine. I am so fucked. “Why are you living with Boone?”
Identical red patches bloom across Sky’s cheeks. She tucks a short, strawberry blonde curl behind her ear. “I can’t afford to rent an apartment.”
&
nbsp; Bullshit. Her family’s loaded. They could buy an entire apartment building if they wanted. And even if rent was a problem, it’s pretty ballsy of her to come back after so many years of no contact and take advantage of Boone’s generosity. “Where were you when Will and Lori died? We missed you at their funeral.”
All the color drains from her face.
Shit. That was harsh, even for me. “I’m sorry.”
“Really?” Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “Because of all the things you could’ve said to me, I can’t think of anything that would’ve hurt me more.”
Boone levers himself off the barstool with his crutches. His eyebrows draw together, tilting up in the center as he shakes his head at me. “Not cool, man. Not cool at all.”
I stand up and grab his upper arms. For a skinny guy, his biceps are hard as rocks. “It’s the beer talking. And the stress of…” I don’t have to finish the sentence. Boone knows what I’m talking about.
His body sags into the crutches. “I know you went through hell when she disappeared. But you don’t know the whole story. None of us did. You need to let her explain.”
“I don’t need anything from her.”
Sky’s voice trembles. “Please, Boone, let’s just go home, okay?”
As a paramedic, I’ve seen a lot of pain and suffering on peoples’ faces. I see it on Skylar’s right now. I see it on Boone’s, too. Yeah, I’m definitely an asshole. But assholes don’t get their hearts ripped out of their chests and stomped on.
Boone and Skylar turn around and make their way through the crowd to the door.
I just stand here and watch them go.
~***~
I punch my pillow again and roll to the other side of my bed, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does. I’m exhausted but every time I close my eyes, I see Skylar’s filling with tears. “Fuck. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. I’m over it.”
Before Will and Lori died, I would have given my right nut to know what happened to Skylar. I would have given anything to see her again. But when she didn’t show up for their funeral, I decided it was time to move on.
