Hoping the cockroaches, clowns, germs, and fear of flying are enough false leads to throw Chloe—and Brendan, if she shares our texts with him—off the scent, I book the tickets I need and send Brendan my first message since we agreed to take a week to think things over. Meet me at this address tomorrow? Two o’clock? And wear warm, comfortable clothes in case we decide to take a walk outside?

I type in the details and only have to wait a few seconds before he texts back. Be there with bells on. Looking forward to seeing you. I’ve missed you this week…

Taking a deep breath, I text back: Missed you, too.

My thumbs hover above the screen as I debate the wisdom of saying anything else. I could say that I can’t wait until tomorrow, but that wouldn’t be completely true. Yes, I’m dying to see him again—our second week apart has been even more torturous than the first—but I’m also scared out of my fucking mind, and I don’t want to lie to him.

So I decide against saying more and slip my phone back into my purse.

I hit the gym, lift weights until I’m dripping sweat and my muscles have turned to hot, aching, gelatinous ooze, and then indulge in a long sauna, hoping the combination of sweat and exhaustion will be enough to knock me out at a reasonable hour. But back at home, I lie in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, my fevered, fearful brain comes up with approximately three hundred excellent excuses to convince the Crooked Creek Bridge Company to refund my one-hundred-dollar deposit.

But I don’t get out of bed or write an email, and come morning, I don’t pick up the phone. This plan might be crazy, but it’s my plan, and it should vividly demonstrate how far I’m willing to go to change.

Assuming I don’t die.

Dying would probably make changing fairly difficult…

“It’s perfectly safe,” I tell my reflection as I plait my hair into a French braid, the better to keep it out of my face while the wind is whipping past my ears and I’m trying not to faint.

I dress in the same clothes I wore to go skiing with Brendan and Chloe, and then immediately strip and go with purple ski pants and a heavy silver sweater, instead. I can’t decide if the first outfit is lucky—Chloe and I both survived, after all—or unlucky—we were scared to death, and I injured my knee so seriously I’ve had to take it easy on cardio at the gym for over a month—so I decide it’s best not to take any chances. I kill an hour returning emails and tidying up my desktop and then another hour de-junking my junk drawer, which has somehow managed to get disgusting again even though I only moved into my new place two months ago, and then it’s time to go.

The drive to our rendezvous point—a sports bar on the other side of the highway from the Crooked Creek Bridge Company—seems to take an eternity and yet no time at all. Every second that passes is another second that I’m still alive, but it’s also a second closer to the moment when I will step to the edge of insanity and take the plunge.

By the time I reach my turnoff, I’m sweating, my throat is so tight it feels like I’ve swallowed a dinosaur egg, and I can safely say I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life.

But I’m excited, too. Because I’m about to see Brendan again. God, I’ve missed him. So insanely much. It’s like the week I tried to give up caffeine, times one hundred and combined with a nasty case of sugar and orgasm deprivation.

I arrive ten minutes before two to find Brendan already waiting outside the sports bar, looking even more irresistible than I remember in black ski pants and a bulky blue pullover that emphasizes his broad shoulders. He’s wearing reflective glasses that complete the Winter Sex God vibe, but he slides them off as I step out of the car, revealing hopeful, but cautious, blue eyes.

Those killer blue eyes that take my breath away…

A group of women emerging from the nail salon on the other side of the strip mall get one look at him and stop dead, jaws dropping, before they burst into hushed, giggle-riddled conversation.

He is that stunning, the kind of man who inspires giggling in grown women, and all I have to do is overcome a few of my biggest fears, and he could be mine. Forever. Until death does us part.

Which could be fifty or sixty lovely years…

Or about fifteen minutes.

It’s not too late to call this off, you know. Just head inside the bar and have a beer. Brendan will never know you had something crazy planned.

But I’ll know. I’ll know I didn’t have the guts to stick to my guns, and it will haunt me every day of this fresh start.

No, there’s no turning back now. Onward, soldier. Onward to the brink!

Pulling my slinky black stretch pants from my purse, I take a deep breath and step up onto the curb beside Brendan, knowing if I delay long enough to kiss him hello and tell him how much I’ve missed him, I might still lose my nerve.

I hold up the stretch pants, letting them dangle between two fingers. “This is the best I could do for a blindfold. You trust me?”

His eyes narrow, but after only a beat he smiles and nods, just once. “Of course I do.” He takes the stretch pants and ties them behind his head, tucking the waistband up until only his eyes are covered.

I take his hand, warmth surging up my arm, giddy to be touching him even in this simple, innocent way. “We need to get back in the car,” I say, giving his broad palm a squeeze. “But only for a few minutes. Our destination is close.”

“All right.” He lets me lead him back to my Subaru, where I help him squeeze into the passenger’s side without banging his head before hurrying around to the driver’s seat.

I slide in beside him and fire up the Forrester. “So, I’ve been thinking, like I said I would.” My voice is breathy, and my heart pounds fast again as I guide the car back toward the access road and the terror waiting on the other side of the highway. “But I don’t want to talk about us until we’ve done this thing that we’re about to do. I think it will show you where I’m coming from more than words alone ever could.”

“As long as you’re not going to throw me into a pit of cockroaches,” he says calmly. “Or clowns.”

I smile. “Chloe told you about our chat?”

“She wanted to make sure she’d given you the right answers.”

“Did she?” I take the first left on the other side of the highway and then a quick right, heading for the Crooked Creek Bridge.

“Mostly. I’m not afraid of any of those things, but I keep food in airtight containers and have a standing appointment with a pest control company for a reason. So far, I’ve kept my life relatively cockroach free, and I would like to keep it that way.”

“And clowns?” I squeeze the steering wheel tighter, following the signs to the parking lot and check-in area.

“I’m with Chloe. If one sneaks up behind me, I’m going to punch that creepy red-nosed fucker first and ask questions later.”

On a normal afternoon, that would make me laugh. But nothing is funny right now.

Because we’re here.

And our reservation is in fifteen minutes.

I may only have fifteen minutes left to live, and suddenly I’m so scared my lips have forgotten how to form words, and my tongue is lying on the floor of my mouth like bloated, panic-swollen roadkill.

I cut the engine and sit there, breath coming fast as I convulsively flex and release my hands, trying to convince my fingers to let go of the steering wheel.

Finally, Brendan asks, “Are we here?”

I hum a soft mmm-hmmm and swallow hard, fighting to keep from hyperventilating as I add, “You can take the blindfold off.”

Brendan pushes the stretch pants up and off his head, blinking in the bright afternoon light as his eyes adjust. When he sees the sign above the little yellow cottage near the edge of the gorge, he smiles. “Bungee jumping?”

“The highest bungee jump in North America. A two-hundred-and-fifty-foot drop into the Crooked Creek Gorge,” I mumble as my mouth starts to go numb and my palms break into terror-sweat, making my hands slippery on the steering wheel. “That’s why I asked Chloe if you were afraid of heights.”

He turns to me with a confused look. “No, I’m not, but aren’t you—”

“Terrified,” I supply, nodding briskly as a hysterical laugh rises in my throat. “Absolutely terrified. I can’t promise that I won’t throw up or pee my pants or scream loud enough to burst your eardrums. Or maybe all three at the same time. And I guess I could potentially have a heart attack. I don’t want to be overly dramatic, but my heart is slamming pretty hard right now, and I’m still safe in the car, so…”

He reaches over, pressing two fingers to my neck, where my pulse is bouncing beneath my skin like a six-year-old pumped up on sugar and let loose in a room full of trampolines. “Jesus, you’re not kidding.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not kidding. I’m fine with heights as long as there are guardrails or something, but the thought of standing at the edge of a drop-off and…leaning over…” My eyes slide closed as my throat works convulsively, trying to swallow past the panic swelling ever larger inside of me.

“Swap places with me,” Brendan says sternly. “Slide over into the passenger’s seat. I’ll drive us back to the bar.”

My eyes fly open. “No, I have to do this! I can’t back out now. I already put down the deposit and—”

“Fuck the deposit. I’ll cover it. You’re completely white, Freckles. You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Or I am a ghost,” I try to joke, but I still sound terrified.

“Scoot over. Before you pass out.” He reaches for his door.

“No!” I cry, making Brendan spin back to me with arched brows. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I don’t want to give up. This is a symbolic journey, Brendan. If I fail at this, who’s to say I won’t fail at the other stuff? The stuff that actually matters?”

“Laura, that’s silly. You don’t—”

“It’s a symbolic journey,” I repeat. “A vision quest, and if I don’t go through with it, I won’t get my vision quest name. And you won’t get yours, either.” I trap my top lip with my bottom teeth and beg him with stress-tightened eyes to help me do this.

To help us do this.

His breath rushes out as he shakes his head. “I’m not sure I understand, but if it’s that important to you…”

“It is,” I say, willing my pulse to slow a few beats per second. “I need to prove to myself that I can do this. That I can overcome my fears and change and…jump when it’s time to jump.”

“All right.” His gaze softens in a way that makes me think he understands more than he’s letting on. “Then we should probably start by getting out of the car.”

“Yes.” I nod and keep nodding for way too long while my hands remain stubbornly glued to the sweat-slick steering wheel. “But you’re going to have to help me. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. That’s what I’m here for.” He reaches over, resting his hand on top of my white-knuckled one. “That’s one of the good parts of being a couple, you know. You don’t have to do all the scary stuff on your own.”

I nod again, but I don’t speak. My lips are pressed into a thin line, and I’m pretty sure if I set them free they’ll do something stupid like beg Brendan to get us out of here as fast as my Forrester’s winter tires will carry us.

With a final hand squeeze, he reaches for the door, and I brace myself for change. Big, hairy, scary change…