With Every Breath (Wanderlust #1)

by Lia Riley

  “You have something, something special. I’m not just saying you are strong. Anyone can be strong if they work hard enough, but you’re mentally fit. One of the strongest mental climbers I’ve come across.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s why I’m glad you aren’t pissing your life away on a bloody stupid stunt.”

  “I was no’ doing it for glory.”

  “I didn’t reckon. Way I figured, you wanted to see if the legend was true.”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “That’s what has me thrown, because you seem like the kind of bloke who’d know better. They say at the top of that mountain, for the man, or woman, who goes alone, waits the thing they most want, but how bloody stupid. You don’t get what you want like that. You get it by going after it.”

  I can’t explain to him that I didn’t have any other way. Up until today, all the paths were blocked for me except the one that rose outside that tent. But to know Cameron is coming? My chest is lighter, as if the boulder crushing me has finally rolled away. Everything should be good. And it is, except for the fact that Cameron coming means Auden is leaving. My life is one fucking seesaw, up, down, up, down. What wouldn’t I give for balance?

  “Cameron arrives tomorrow.”

  “That a fact?” Murray’s eyes widen with surprise. “Well, good. Be like old times.”

  “Except he doesn’t have a hand.” We won’t do La Aguja, but right now I don’t care. Having him come so I can look him in the eye and ask for his forgiveness is all I’ve dreamed of. I realize that now.

  “That was a bloody business in Karakorum, wasn’t it?”

  That’s the good part about Murray. He keeps life understated. Me cutting my brother loose, sending him to his death, causing his hand to be amputated is reduced to “a bloody business.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “What are your plans?”

  “Dunno.” I shrug. “Not sure where he’s at. I don’t want to assume his abilities until he’s here.”

  I glance back out the open door. There is no movement from my tent, but I should head back in case Auden awakens. “Hey, before I go, what about the other journalist?”

  “That Dutch wanker?”

  “Yeah. Where is he?”

  Murray snorts. “Probably halfway to Peru. He rocketed out of here after you kicked Psycho’s ass like the devil himself rode on his heels. Don’t think he wanted to be the next punching bag.”

  Good. Guess he’s smarter than I gave him credit for.

  “Why do you climb with Psycho anyway?” I ask. “I get Goonbag. He’s solid. But the other one? He’s a liability.”

  Murray nodded slowly. “This will be my last trip with him. He’s gotten too unreliable. He’ll need to find himself new partners.”

  “Yeah.” I reach out and bump his knuckles. “Good call.”

  “Take it easy.”

  “Will do.” So many things have gotten easy. I should be fucking grateful. Maybe the solution for what to do with Auden is forthcoming. I take a deep breath. If I want something, maybe Murray’s right; I just need to go after it. If I want her in my life long-term, then the best thing I can do is—

  “Amigo!” The gaucho comes toward me, waving the newspaper. “Eh?”

  “Muchas gracias.” A fresh bit of reading material is always welcome.

  The tent is quiet when I get back inside, but Auden’s awake.

  “I’m sorry.” I freeze in the entrance, catching her stare. “I meant to be here when you woke up.”

  “It’s OK. I still feel a little out of it. What time is it?”

  “Close to dinner. Can you eat anything?”

  She shakes her head. “My stomach feels gross.”

  “I have some powdered chicken noodle soup. It’s no’ gourmet, but it’s hot and salty. It might help fix you up, and then I want you to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Thank you,” she says, sitting up.

  “What for?”

  “Taking care of me again.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” And that it is. This girl can manage herself fine, but when things don’t go her way, I like to know that I can be the guy who helps makes things easier.

  The inclination comes again. I’ve told her I want her, but how to expand on that, say more? The words are right there, hovering overhead, a different kind of challenge to climb. One I’m not sure I’m ready to face. “I’ll step outside and fix that soup.”

  The weather is shifting. Lenticular clouds stack on top of one another. These clouds are unique, look like flying saucers or hotcakes stacked one on top of the other. They are created when moist air is thrust upward as it travels over mountains. This makes them look like they aren’t moving, hovering stationary, but that’s an illusion. In reality, the constant flow of moist air comes from the windward side, even as they are losing moisture on the leeward side, like where we are now. Good weather is coming. The cloud is starting to pull back from the flanks of the mountain, like a lady lifting up her skirts inch by inch. The stone is fucking tantalizing. The idea of a climb makes my mouth water, but Cameron won’t be in a position to attempt that.

  We’ll do something different, straightforward. All I want is to reconnect with my brother. My best friend. Then the thought occurs to me.

  I can ask Cameron about Auden.

  He’ll give me solid advice. He’s figured all that out, love and shite. Relief settles around me like a mantle. Aye, Cameron will know what to do. I’m no’ alone anymore. I’ll have backup.

  The hot water is boiling in my metal pot, and I fix Auden a mug. I usually keep powdered soup on hand for emergency, but I’m not a fan. I’m too spoiled from all the stew Mum made growing up. Good hearty pots full of mutton or chicken, boiled potatoes and carrots. Things that kept the cold North Atlantic air at bay as you ate them. Warmed you from the inside.

  Mum would like Auden. They’d join forces to give me shite. I find myself smiling. Go back in and pass Auden her wee cup, and she takes it with both hands, positioning her face to catch the steam.

  “Oh, that’s nice. I thought I didn’t want anything, but this might settle my stomach.”

  “Good.” I unfold the paper. Ready to kick back and read by the light of the dying day, content to sit in silence as Auden sips her soup.

  She opens her mouth and appears to think better of it.

  “What is it?” I say, setting the paper down.

  “I heard you in the woods,” she says, fidgeting. “Talking to Psycho.”

  “Don’t be troubled by him none. He’s no’ going to bother you again. Once Cameron comes, I’m going to leave this camp. Head somewhere else in the park. There are plenty more quiet places without bullshit.”

  “And I’ll go back to Boulder, start my internship.”

  “Yes,” I say, faltering.

  “It will be like nothing ever happened.”

  The way she says “nothing” is peculiar; she gives it an emphasis.

  “You’ve had a hard day, but if you need to talk about any of it…”

  She shakes her head. “Nah, that’s cool. Share some paper with me.”

  “’Course.” I fork over the front-page section. It’s all in Spanish, and while I speak it fine, reading it will be a bit of an effort, a good distraction.

  She settles back, sipping her mug, and begins to skim.

  I wish I knew what she was thinking. Thank God Cameron will be here soon.

  “Rhys.”

  The quiet way she whispers my name sends a chill down my spine. The wind picks up, and the dull roar grinds over the tent, rattling the nylon. A few sad drops plop on the ceiling. Not rain, just a grim sprinkling. She stares at me, and it’s hard to make out her face exactly, as the daylight is gone, leaving behind a gray gloom.

  “Are you unwell?” I reach out, ready to get her outside before she’s sick all over herself.

  “Oh my God, Rhys. I’m sorry.” She’s crying now. My heart hammers my chest, striking my ribs like
an ice ax. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Auden.” I pull her into my arms to comfort her, but the way she clasps me in return is wrong. All wrong. It’s as if she’s the one doing the comforting. My stomach turns to water. The time between her next two breaths is endless, and I spin in space, no idea what she’s about to say and terrified to know. Whatever it is will have consequences, and I’m not sure what’s to be lost. Pressure builds in my skull. I’m doing my best to wait until she’s calm enough to speak, but dread tears at me. What’s happened to her? What could have changed in the past two minutes?

  She stares at me as my organs go into free fall, and then her trembling hands reach up to bracket my face.

  “Rhys, I am so sorry.”

  “Auden, you need to tell—”

  “The paper, you haven’t read it?”

  I give my head a single shake. The gaucho passed it over before he headed back down the mountain.

  “There was an accident. A commuter plane crashed during the bad weather a few days ago.”

  I mentally knock up against the words, like it’s a headwall I need to climb. I’m back in the Karakorum. There is ice cutting my eyes. It’s hard to see. My sockets burn.

  “The paper says there were no survivors. One of the passengers is listed as the climber Cameron MacAskill.”

  The wind lashes outside with a triumphant howl. It returned for its due, and this time the price was paid.

  27

  AUDEN

  Why?” He repeats the question in this awful depersonalized voice. “Why did this happen?” I don’t even think he’s aware that he’s spoken.

  Silence thickens the air. Sweat pools in my bra. I grip his hand tighter, leaning close to squint at the newspaper in the fast-fading light. The plane from Santiago hit a storm over the mountains. They’re waiting for official word from the black box, but primary indications point to bad weather leading to pilot error. The plane stalled and crashed about fifty miles north. Only ten minutes ago, my worst problems were that I’d been given hallucinogenics as a stupid prank and wasn’t sure if Rhys had real feelings for me.

  Now it’s as if everything has been crammed into a blender and turned to liquid.

  “Cameron’s dead?” He lifts his head, and his thumb circles the grainy photo of Cameron next to an aerial image of a small plane shattered against rock. “He died coming for me.”

  “Oh, Rhys, I’m so sorry.” I hug him hard, try to infuse as much love and warmth as possible into his hard, inflexible body. It’s like trying to warm a slab of marble. “You know this isn’t your fault, right? What happened to him is a terrible tragedy, a freak accident.”

  He doesn’t answer. I know this guy in my arms, and the guilt of the accident is going to drag him under. How will he come back from this? How could anyone?

  I brush his hair off his forehead. He’s not crying, or yelling, or displaying even a modicum of actual human emotion. The guy who’d been with me the last few days has vanished, obliterated by grief.

  “When did the crash happen?” He closes his eyes and kneads his brow.

  I wet my dry lips. “The day before New Year’s Eve. December thirtieth.”

  “The night you came to my tent,” he whispers. “The night the lightning struck twice like an omen…”

  “We’ll leave at dawn.” Screw my story. This takes precedence over any opportunity at Outsider. “The park entrance isn’t too far. We can take a bus to wherever you need to go. We’ll discover the location of… of… his body… help get him home.”

  He starts gulping air like he’ll never get enough. “Amelia is pregnant. I was to be an uncle.”

  “You still can. Cameron wanted you in his life, remember? That’s why he was coming.”

  He pulls away from me. “He should never have had to. It should have been me going to him, on my knees.”

  “If he’s anything like you, nobody forced him,” I say fiercely. “Who is to say he wasn’t coming for himself? After surviving an accident like that? Being faced with a life-changing injury like the loss of his hand might have driven him to need this trip for himself as much as to reconnect with you.”

  His face doesn’t change expression. He stares through me as if I’m a ghost, as if I’m in fact nothing. I realize now in some vague truth that he didn’t mean the words earlier, that he said them to get Psycho away from sniffing around whatever was happening with us. But now. Now I am nothing. The world is nothing.

  To Rhys, everything is ashes.

  So I stop talking. There is nothing I can say. I can’t tell him he’ll be OK, because this is the time to grieve. All I can do is sit beside him and bear witness. Hope my touch acts as a lifeline so that he can find his way back and I’ll be there waiting for him. He deserves the first person he sees when he returns to himself to be the face of someone who loves him.

  Because that’s what I do.

  I love him.

  I am in love with Rhys MacAskill.

  And it might be something people will scoff at, like how can I possibly love this guy I’ve known for such a short time, but facts are facts. And the fact of the matter is, there’s a part of my soul that is no longer my own, but his.

  I silently hold him for hours. This isn’t an exaggeration. He sits in utter stone silence until my legs cramp and finally fall asleep in slow, prickling tingles. Until the arms that I grasp him with are dull with tired weight and still don’t move. He doesn’t have to face the long night alone.

  I slip into torpor, half dozing, half gripped by the relentless crucible that hasn’t released my stomach since Cameron’s photo appeared in the paper, when Rhys jerks. At first I think he’s fallen asleep, a blessing, because he’s going to need to conserve strength. But no. Noiseless violent sobs rack him, soundless pain, even though his cheeks are dry against my own.

  “My brother is dead,” he says at last, lifting his head, face lost in the night.

  “I know.” I pull him against me, and he squeezes so hard my next inhalation is almost impossible and still I don’t release my grip.

  Any strength inside me, let it pass to him.

  It seems strange to wish for such a thing when he’s obviously so much stronger than me, but right now, he’s broken. When we first met, I sensed his secret vulnerability, the place inside him held together by a gossamer-thin strand. That’s snapped now, and he’s blowing adrift, and it’s up to me to hold on until he finds a way to tie himself back together.

  He buries his face in the top of my head and slides his hands to bracket my shoulders. Then I’m against the ground and he’s on top. I kiss first and he responds, shuddering. What happens next isn’t pleasurable; it’s necessary, a reminder of life in the face of death.

  I tear off my shirt as he removes his, and a few more zips and tugs get us naked. There’s no foreplay, and I don’t want it. That’s not what this is. I tear open a condom foil with my teeth and fumble as I try to stretch it over him. He takes charge and sets it in place with one smooth shove of his fist. Then he’s taking me and I let him. At first he does nothing but mindlessly thrust. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s rough and fast, as if he can escape what haunts him. His body hits mine with audible thwacks as his breath grows increasingly ragged. All I can do is keep my arms braced on his shoulders.

  Slowly, almost unnoticeably, the tempo changes. He puts his face against me, and there’s the first wetness from tears.

  “Auden,” he gasps.

  I don’t tell him to shush. I don’t tell him everything is going to be OK. This is a time for truth. “I love you.”

  He stills, buried to the hilt, fingers gripping the small of my back.

  “I love you, Rhys.”

  I can’t see his eyes, only the hint of his head.

  “Jesus, God,” he groans, crushing my face to his chest. I kiss the skin over his heart, and the pounding there reverberates against my lips. He cries out, a sob, a note of need, and I add my teeth and tongue, and his thighs begin to tense, a sign of his building clim
ax.

  “Auden.”

  “Rhys.” I’m bewildered to find myself here, beside him. There’s no good reason I should orgasm, except that the overwhelming intensity between us is enough, and there is no point questioning because fuck it—I’m going over and he falls, too, and we tumble together through sweat, urgent kisses, and tears—his and mine—tying ourselves into something that will hold fast against the coming storm.

  I wake in the dark. The first hint of pearly dawn aids my eyes in adjusting. For a moment the soreness between my legs focuses me to what passed between Rhys and me in the middle of the night, but just as quickly a sickening soberness sets in.

  Cameron is dead and Rhys can’t face the next few days alone. We have to get out of the park, contact his family. I rub my eyes. “We should get a start as soon as possible.”

  “I’m staying.”

  I study his face until he looks away. “Wait…” It’s early, but I’m not computing. “We need—”

  “I am staying here.”

  He isn’t going to do what I think he’s doing. The next words are a struggle to form. “You can’t.”

  He doesn’t look at me. “I said I’m staying.”

  “No.” What he’s saying doesn’t make sense, because he’s had the wits shocked from him. “I can’t let you stay and climb La Aguja. You need to come with me. We’ll find out where your brother’s body is—”

  “Stop talking.” He holds up a hand. “Stop fucking talking.”

  “OK, but—OK.” I scrub my face with my hands, choking back the overwhelming desire to scream myself hoarse. Damn it. I was close, so close to getting Rhys out of here in one piece. “I need air.”

  “Good idea.”

  I grab my light down jacket and zip it to my chin, then crawl past him. He’s big, fills most of the tent, and yet moves his body so I don’t skim him as we pass. I want to take the used condom that’s tied off in the tent pocket waiting for the trash and fling it in his fucking face. He’ll make love to me in the night and refuse to speak to me in the morning.

  But what happened between us last night wasn’t lovemaking. I crawl outside and let the cool morning air shock my lungs before removing my steroid inhaler and taking a puff. I stride blindly past some other earlier riser, ignoring their mumbled greeting as I swipe tears off my cheeks. I told him I loved him for one reason, because it’s the truth.