Chapter 20

GETTY

We’ve been driving for thirty minutes or so, mostly in silence except for the low hum of the radio. The terrain around us rises up, becoming more mountainous, the patches of pine trees getting thicker.

Everything about this morning so far has been unexpected. Waking up alone in Zander’s bed. The flash of hurt he wasn’t there. The confusion as to why he was up on the roof.

And then the hit of reality. The realization that even though last night was incredible in so many ways for me—a selfless lover, achievement of an actual orgasm by someone else’s hand, praise and not criticism—it was probably just run-of-the-mill for him. I’m just another friend among a list of friends with whom he most likely has enjoyed benefits.

It was a hard thing to accept as I was lying in his bed, the subtle scent of his cologne on his sheets, and the memory of his hands on my skin and words in my ears. He was everywhere around me and yet still not really there.

Hence his warning, his offer to find the damn lighthouse, made perfect sense then. He somehow knew ahead of time that it wouldn’t be so simple. That I’d probably develop feelings despite knowing there wasn’t a chance of more.

But could you blame me? My mind can’t help but skim back over the events of yesterday. First the confessions and afterward feeling like I finally let someone in. Then last night— reverent touches and murmured promises and his all-consuming hands on my body. I’d enjoyed being with a man who pulled me close instead of spewing insults while pushing me away. Who made me feel beautiful and competent and sexy. The last thing I’d ever thought myself to be.

I’d woken up giddy and satisfied with those butterflies in your stomach you read about in romance novels and expected he was going to be on the pillow beside me when I rolled over. So what if I’ve misplaced my gratitude and possibly turned it into feelings for him? Isn’t that natural?

Asking myself the question yet again, I stare at Zander, his eyes focused on the road ahead, who hasn’t spoken since he told me to put a seat belt on when he started the car. And the difference is this time when I ask myself the question, my concern about how this is all going to play out isn’t just in my head like it was when I was in his bed. Rather I’m looking right at him and seeing it for myself.

The man beside me is very different from the one I was with last night. He’s pensive, quiet, irritated. I sense something is wrong and all I can figure is that he’s had time to think about it all and now realizes we made a mistake.

So why am I here, then?

I’m startled from my thoughts when Zander makes an abrupt turn off the main road and pulls in front of a log cabin of sorts. It’s rather large with green awnings over the windows and smoke trickling from two chimneys. The awnings have some kind of logo on them, but from where we’re parked, I can’t quite make them out.

“C’mon.” It’s all he says as he gets out of the car and walks toward the front door. I stare after him, hating that for the second time he’s telling me what to do. I immediately want to follow after him, while at the same time I want to know where the hell we are and what his problem is.

Eventually I scramble out of the car and around a few of the others parked in the lot to catch up with him. He waits for me on the steps with the door held open. At least there’s that.

When I enter, I’m surprised to find a hostess stand and a full-fledged restaurant inside. Ornately carved wood seems to be the theme and the intricate pieces that adorn the interior are quite incredible. A few patrons dot the place and yet they seem to be talking across the tables as if they know one another. I turn toward Zander just as his smile spreads wide on his face at the lady approaching us.

She’s as wide as she is tall, with silver hair cut short, and a warm smile lights up her face when she recognizes Zander.

“Good morning, Zander. Good to see you brought her with you this time,” she says with a slight accent I can’t place, but I’m more flustered by the knowledge he’s been here before and has obviously spoken of me.

“Hi, Lynn. You twisted my arm . . . and the patio, please.” The warmth in his voice after the chill I got in the car surprises me. And I hate that I kind of resent it a little.

She furrows her brow for a moment and then nods. “Sure. Of course. Right this way.”

I’m a tad dumbfounded as we follow her through the maze of tables, the customers nodding in greeting to us, before entering and ascending a short stairwell. All the while I catch partial snippets of conversation between Lynn and Zander that make no sense to me, but then again this random cabin in the woods being a restaurant isn’t really normal either so . . .

“Any openings today?” Zander asks.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re up here, then.” Lynn laughs with a shake of her head. “Just can’t let go of that need, huh?”

“It’s in my blood.” His laugh is sincere and the expression on her face when she looks back is one of adoration. He’s been here, what, a whole month and he already has women smitten with him.

Not like that’s hard, though.

“Russell’ll be here at eleven if you guys want first spots.” She glances down to her watch as we clear the top of the stairs.

“We’ll take it. And the usual for both of us, please.”

My jaw drops, mouth easily wide open, when I step out into the room around us. It’s not really a room, though. More like a covered patio open on all sides, the pine trees within arm’s reach if you tried to touch them.

I find myself wandering around the space, utterly lost in its beauty. There are tables and chairs up here too, but they are more the comfortable, outdoorsy type of sets with big cushions that sit lower to the ground. I run my hand over the back of a chair and then step up to the railing, a varnished, twisted log. The forest is stretched out before me—pine trees growing out of jagged landscape, a canopy of green.

And then I look down. I gasp in surprise and my head grows dizzy. From the entrance, the cabin looks like it’s on solid ground. From where I stand, it appears to be perched on the edge of a canyon, the hill dropping away, giving the feeling that you’re more than two stories up.

“It’s like an overgrown tree house.” I turn around to catch Lynn watching me with anticipation in her expression.

She nods, her soft smile growing wide. “I knew you were a smart girl,” she says with a wink as she glances over to where Zander is moving a set of chairs and tables closer toward one of the railings. “That’s what this place is called. The Treehouse.”

Something in the far-off distance rings a bell in my mind over the name, something from when I first arrived on the island and looked through all the tourist pamphlets on the ferry.

“Go, get comfortable,” she says as she squeezes my arm. “I’ll go get your coffee and breakfast.”

“Don’t we have—”

“Zander ordered for you.”

“Oh.” There’s not much else to say as I watch her walk back toward the stairs, not sure if I’m miffed or okay with the fact that Zander took the liberty.

I try to tell myself that it’s not a control thing on his part. He’s not Ethan, who ordered my food whenever we went out under the guise of being a good husband but really wanted to make sure I didn’t gain any more weight. Zander was just being nice.

There’s a thought—nice—considering he hasn’t said a single thing to me other than telling me to follow him. The nerves return now that Lynn is gone, and we’re alone. He’s sitting in the chair with his back to me, feet propped up on the railing, when I turn around.

I make my way to where he is, look out to the forest beyond a bit longer, and then slowly sink down into the chair he’s moved for me. It’s silent except for the birds chirping and the rustling of the trees around us.

We sit for some time, the chasm of uncertainty increasing with each passing second regardless of how peaceful the setting is. And just as I’m about to say something, Lynn comes back with a busboy carrying a tray.

“Here you go, you two! Coffee. Eggs and bacon. Sourdough toast.” She sets plates onto the small table between us, pours us some coffee, pulls silverware, napkins, and condiments off the tray, and gets us settled.

“Thank you,” we both say in unison, and when our eyes meet, I realize it’s the first time since we’ve left the house. We hold each other’s gaze, unspoken words flicker across his face, and yet I can’t read a single one of them.

“Eat before it gets cold,” he finally says, and when I break away from his stare, I realize that Lynn is long gone and I have no idea how long we’ve waged this visual standoff.

The deck fills with sounds—the scrape of a fork on a plate, the clatter of a knife, the hiss of too-hot coffee burning his tongue—but the one sound I want to hear the most doesn’t happen. His voice. And even though the food is good, I don’t taste it.

The silence eats at me until I can’t stand it anymore. There’s too much doubt. I’m feeling like we screwed things up by sleeping with each other last night. And yet I don’t think I’d want to take it back if I could. The way he made me feel was too powerful to want to wish it away in lieu of how I feel today.

So I glare at him as he takes a bite of toast, a sip of coffee, then another bite of toast, and looks anywhere but at me.

“Is there a point you’re trying to prove with the silent-treatment, moody thing you’ve got going here? Because if this is your way of trying to make me forget about my dinner with my father tonight, I assure you this isn’t the way to do it. And if not . . . if there is something else you’re trying to tell me, it’d be much easier if you just laid it all out on the table.” I gesture to the table between us. I’m irritated, hurt, unsure, and all three come through loud and clear when all I wanted to do was sound aloof and confident.

Zander’s eyes flash up to meet mine above the rim of his coffee cup, eyes guarded, face expressionless, and he holds my stare as he slowly lowers his cup and leans back.

And of course now that my initial surge of courage is gone, the words thrown out there without any precursor, the doubt laced with nerves takes over and I begin to second-guess whether I should have kept my mouth shut.

His unwavering stare and continued silence scream for me to explain myself. I hate that I want to, that I don’t want to, but this morning-after business is all new to me and I don’t know what to do or expect.

All I know is how I feel. It’s a jumbled mess of want and need and fear of the unknown and insecurity and confusion. I already know I’ve stepped over the imaginary line he’s set for whatever to us meant that night at the Italian restaurant and yet don’t know how to pull myself back.

In a move I’m not sure is smart or stupid but is spurred on by his unyielding stare, I try again. “Look, if you think last night was a mistake . . . or you were faking how you . . . oh, just never mind.” I shift my gaze to my own fingers fiddling with the handle of my fork, hating my sudden inability to string words together to make a coherent sentence and my lack of nerve to stand behind my opening question.

“If you’re gonna open the door, Getty, you might as well walk on through it.” There’s a warning tone in his voice that makes me fidget in my seat and I wish I’d just let things play out however they were playing out.

But now I can’t. Now I have to finish what I started and I’m not so sure I want to. My mouth suddenly becomes dry as uncertainty clouds every ounce of hope I woke up with this morning. “I just—I understand why . . . if I wasn’t . . . if you regret last night . . . that’s all.” My eyes sting with the rejection ringing in my tone.

“What gives you the impression I regret anything?” His eyes search mine and his voice scolds me in a way that makes every part of my body stand at attention. And I’m not quite sure what it is about him that gives him such pull over me, but as much as I want to look away, I can’t. “Well?” The quirk of an eyebrow. The dart of a tongue. A lazy but more-than-deliberate glance down my body and then back up to my eyes.

“It’s not like you’ve been exactly pleasant this morning.” When he just raises an eyebrow again, telling me to go on, I continue. “A few grunts here and there followed by one-word commands . . . the caveman thing doesn’t do it for me.”

“I’m pretty sure I know what does it for you,” he says as a smile ghosts over his lips and travels up to his eyes, but then it’s gone just as quick as it comes. The fleeting appearance of the man I slept with last night feels just as confusing to me as the verbally stunted jerk of a guy from this morning. “I warned you.” He shrugs. “I’m moody.”

“Seriously? The Mander excuse isn’t going to fly with me right now. I mean . . .” I huff out a breath and roll my eyes, distracted momentarily by a loud clatter of sounds on the floor above us. “Was saying good morning or granting me more than two words on the ride here that difficult for you to do?”

We sit in silence, eyes locked. I’m not sure what happens to cause it, but all of a sudden his face softens subtly and he shakes his head before looking down at his fingers on his coffee cup. His voice is gruff when he finally speaks. “I’m pissed at you.”

“What?” I laugh in disbelief, more confused than ever. “What the hell did I do?”

When he looks up, I’m staggered by the sudden empathy in his eyes and the shy smile on his lips. The hard edge from moments ago is gone. Stripped bare. This is the man who was with me last night. The one I’m still trying to figure out but, more important, want to know more about.

He licks his bottom lip and then bites it as he leans back into his chair and shakes his head. There’s a knowing look in his eyes like he wants me to understand something that he doesn’t understand himself. Confusion wars across his handsome features as I just sit and wait for him to work through whatever is weighing so heavily on his shoulders.

A loud sigh. A toss of his napkin on the table beside his plate. “We’re venturing into uncharted territory for me, Socks.”

I angle my head and blink a few times, trying to understand what he means. His toast flashes through my mind: . . . because friends between the opposite sexes leads to friends with benefits and that always ends in disaster, and you know what, Getty? I don’t want that with you, so let’s just say “to us,” whatever us may be. . . .

“Like as in ‘always ends in disaster’ territory?”

“Something like that,” he says with a nod, but his eyes tell a different story I can’t quite read yet. He twists his lips, lowers his eyes for a fraction of a second before raising them back up to mine. This time there’s a bit more resolve in them. “When I left home after everything with Colton, I promised myself from here on out I’d live my life without regrets. That every step I take, every decision I make, everything I do, will be with that as a constant in my mind. So, Getty . . .” He shifts forward in his seat, places his elbows on the table so that we are as close as we can be with a table between us. “Let me make myself clear when I say I have zero regrets about last night and you even thinking it pisses me off.” And the way he speaks, voice deep but still quiet and intent, makes any response I have insignificant.

“Oh” is all I can muster, considering he deliberately holds my gaze hostage with that amused glint in his eyes as he sits back in his chair.

“Yeah. Oh.” He says both words in a way that has my body standing at attention and taking notice of everything about him like it’s my first time really looking at him.

He’s sitting across from me, angled in the chair so that one elbow lies on the armrest, arm bent with his finger running back and forth over his bottom lip. I take in his unshaven jawline, dark hair hidden beneath the lid of a Giants baseball hat, the broad set of his shoulders, and the flex of his bicep.

Ungodly handsome. And so damn pretty. The last thought makes me smile and earns me a raised eyebrow asking me what’s so funny. But I don’t answer, because I’m so captivated by his fingers running over his lip. My mind immediately recalling what those lips felt like when they moved against mine.

And over my skin.

“Getty?”

I lift my eyes to meet his again and instantly the air begins to shift. Electrify. It fills with an underlying tension that vibrates all around us. My pulse picks up, body becomes restless.

His eyes still hold that hint of irritation they’ve had since he stalked in the house, but there is no mistaking the desire now clouding them too. And even though I’m still confused as to why he’s pissed at me for venturing into this uncharted territory, there is no way in hell I can deny my body’s immediate response to him.

I never thought sexual desire could be tangible, but my God, in this small space of time it feels like I’ve just been sucker punched.

He continues to rub his finger back and forth, visual foreplay that I’m pretty sure is a deliberate taunt to my awakening libido. I’m irritated that he can affect me so quickly and at the same time I’m turned on so much that I have to press my thighs together to ease the ache burning there.

Determined to let him know that I can play whatever game he wants to play, I shift my gaze from his mouth back up to his eyes. And those eyes? Whew. The look they give me, like he wants to clear the table, lay me down, and devour me, right here, right now, causes my breath to stutter in my chest.

“This is all your fault, you know.” The censure in his tone is laden with suggestion.

“Mine?” I lean back and mirror his posture, try to appear as nonchalant as he is, when my insides feel like an exposed live wire. “How so? If you’re gonna open the door, Zander, you might as well walk on through it.” A lift of my eyebrows in challenge. A hint of a smile to reinforce it.

His laugh is long and low, yet has an edge to it that I don’t quite understand. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes focused on his fingers steepled together until they shift to meet mine.

“I meant what I said last night.” His voice is heavy with a sincerity that makes my heart beat faster.

“Which thing?” I have to ask because there were so many things he said. So many promises he made.

“All of them.”

Oh. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I try to make sense of this conversation and the events of the past twenty-four hours. “So then you’re mad at me because—”

“Look. I think we need to lay some ground rules is all.” He lifts his hat and runs a hand through his hair before slumping back in his seat, completely disregarding the previous train of conversation and shifting gears.

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” I nod, willing to agree so maybe we can bypass the awkwardness the next time we have sex. And even that thought feels so foreign for me. “Ground rules? As in boundaries, right?” I ask, full well expecting the flash up of his eyes, since he’s the one who overstepped the previous boundaries we’d set.

“Yes, as in those types of boundaries.” He takes a sip of coffee. Takes his time swallowing. Surveys the open deck around us and then looks up to the ceiling when there’s another loud clank, before looking back to me with curiousity reflected in his eyes. “Have you ever done the friends-with-benefits thing before?”

My laughter is tinged with disbelief. “Considering I’ve only been with you and Ethan, I don’t think you need to ask that.” The hitch in his movement is subtle but noticeable. Almost as if realization has hit him over my lack of experience. I speak quickly, not wanting him to think too much about it. “The question is, have you?”

“It doesn’t matter if I have before.”

“Seriously? You’re going to say that and think I don’t know the answer is a resounding yes?”

“Look, Getty.” He blows out a breath in resignation. “We live together, so this could get tricky. I figured maybe if we set some type of rules, it would help some.”

“Like no-spending-the-night type of boundaries?” I snicker at how ridiculous it sounds, since our living in the same house makes that impossible, and catch the irritation that plays over his features.

“Very funny, Getty.” My name is a verbal reprimand that he’s serious and while I get what he’s saying, heed the warning, I can’t help it. It’s almost as if I feel relieved knowing that there is no regret, no doubt, on his part, just rather a need for him to prevent the disaster from happening.

And I’ve had enough disasters so far, so I’m all for it.

“So that’s why you’ve been an asshole? Couldn’t you have just said, ‘Hey, we need to talk’ when you walked into the kitchen this morning instead of giving me the silent treatment while you drove me all the way out here?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m out here because I couldn’t sit at the house.” His eyes are focused on his hands and I wish he’d look at me so I could see what he’s not saying.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t get you out of my goddamn head.” He grits it out like it’s a curse and every part of me sags in relief at the roundabout compliment. At knowing the feeling is mutual because all I was doing standing in the kitchen was thinking about him.

“But what does that have to do with bringing me here?”

He lifts his face up and the intensity in his eyes when they meet mine is unwavering. “Because I don’t want to want you as much as I do, but I do . . . and if we’d stayed at the house, then I’m pretty sure I would have done exactly what I wanted to do when I saw you standing there in the kitchen.”

His tongue twister of a response doesn’t answer anything and yet it causes my pulse to begin to race at its implication.

“What did you want to do?”

The hunger in his eyes practically answers the question for him. “To fuck you, Getty.” Each word sounds like a thread of his self-control is snapping. His body is tense, hands fisted. “To bend you over the edge of the kitchen counter and fulfill one of those many promises I’d made to you last night.”

“Oh.” That ache is back, liquid heat spreading through my core at his explicit words, which turn me on in ways I never imagined they could.

“Yeah. Oh,” he repeats as again I’m left wordless. “And we’re here because we needed to talk and I couldn’t talk there at the house where there were so many convenient places to lay you down.”

My breath comes faster and my mouth is suddenly dry as he does just what I’d asked, lays it all out on the table. I wish he’d lay me out on the table. I fight the smile, the giddy feeling fluttering through me at being wanted and desired running right beside the lust that’s slowly consuming my thoughts.

“And road trips cure that?” I ask coyly, my confidence resurfacing suddenly now that I feel like the power has shifted and it’s a more even playing field.

“I thought it would,” he says as he abruptly moves the table between us to the left and then reaches out to my chair, scooting it so that my knees fit between his. I let out a yelp of surprise at the unexpected action, but before I can catch my breath, his face is inches from mine, both hands on my thighs, and his eyes darkening with lust.

“And?” I whisper.

“I was wrong.” His kiss is soft and gentle, but I can sense the violent edge of desire just beneath his quiet control. I close my eyes and allow myself to fall into the kiss—the taste of coffee on his lips, the scrape of stubble against my skin, the sounds of the forest all around us—and realize that he ran off this morning because he’s fighting the pull that’s already reeled me in and taken hold of me.

I may not have a lot of experience with men, but after watching Ethan constantly for so many years, I’m observant enough to see a man wading into waters he deems treacherous.

The damn white squall.

He breaks our kiss with a laugh, rests his forehead against mine, and just breathes me in.

“So, boundaries, huh?” I feel his mouth curve into a smile against mine. “How’s that working for you?”

He throws his head back, his laugh deeper and richer this time, and I feel a tad more settled after this awkward dance of trying to downplay and yet own the attraction between us.

“You’re a little—”

“We’re ready for you,” a voice booms from the doorway, shocking us apart and drawing my attention over to a burly-ish guy. I take in his plaid shirt, worn jeans, and full beard before it registers that he’s speaking to Zander and me.

“Hey, Russ.” Zander stands up with my hand in his, prompting me to rise too. “Perfect timing.”

“Not from what I can tell,” he says with a resonating chuckle before turning his back and disappearing into the stairwell.

“C’mon,” Zander says with a secretive smirk and a spark in his eyes that leaves me more than curious about what he and this mysterious mountain man are talking about.

“What’s going—”

Zander turns around and places a finger to my lips to quiet me. “No questions, Socks. You can thank me later.” He continues up the flight of stairs with a visible bounce to his step.

When we clear the landing, “No way in hell” falls from my mouth, my legs already retreating the way we came as I take in what’s before me. But Zander’s prepared and grabs my hand to keep me on the platform of sorts.

And even though I’m physically struggling against him, my mind rejecting what the contraption and the gear around me are used for, it’s his laugh that echoes the loudest in my mind. Carefree. Excited. Daring.

“You’ve taken scarier leaps before. This is a piece of cake.” The words knock the fight out of me. His even, encouraging tone telling me he’s referring to how I came to be in PineRidge.

With his hands firm on my arms, pinning them to my sides so I can’t back away, I take in everything around me. The thick metal cables and pulley system disappearing into the distance. The two harnesses laid out on the wood planking of the patio. The helmets next to them. The gap in the railing with the plank that extends beyond it.

How in the hell did I not notice the zip line overhead when I was down below? I was obviously so mesmerized with the incredible view and the unsettled feeling between Zander and me that I overlooked it.

“Getty.” Zander’s voice pulls me back. “You’ve jumped before. This time, though, you’ll have a rope and a harness.” He nods his head, eyes steadfast on mine.

“But . . . I . . .” Thoughts. Fears. Heights. The last of which causes a bone-deep terror at the idea of jumping headfirst into midair attached only by a cable to prevent me from plummeting to my death. “I can’t . . . I just.” My eyes blink rapidly as I’m trying to process this, when his hands move from my arms to my cheeks.

“You can.” He bends his knees so we are at eye level, equals, and continues. “I came here needing one of the constants in my life: adrenaline. Something to ground me and clear my head, because it’s getting all muddled up. And you? You’ve left your old life behind, leapt without looking, and I think before you face your father tonight, you need something to ground you too. Something to remind you that you did this on your own, started a new life, your way, and that you’re not the woman your father or Ethan thought you were. You’re strong. And beautiful. And brave. Maybe doing this will help you see it.”

Tears blur my vision. My lower lip quivers. His words take root in my soul and wrap around my healing heart. And as much as I want to reject what he says, all of it, I also hear every single word.

“No regrets,” he whispers.

The nervous smile that slowly spreads on my lips is mirrored on his. I subtly nod my head, not wanting to agree with him but realizing I want to live this new life without regrets just like he does. I want to be spontaneous and push past my comfort level and own my fears. And he’s completely right—what better time to prove it to myself than right here, right now, the day I have to face everything I never want to be again?

“Don’t you think you should have sprung this on me before we ate breakfast?” I ask with a nervous laugh, eyes wide, and not ashamed to stall any way possible.

“I’ll hold your hair for you if you puke.” He winks, grin widening as he just shakes his head back and forth. “What do you say, Socks?”

And how can I resist that?

“Okay,” I agree, followed by an unsteady breath. “No regrets.”

“There’s my girl,” he says with a flash of grin that lights up his face, and while I should be knocked on my ass by his sheer handsomeness, it’s the words he said that make my heart jump. My girl.

“All set?” Russell asks as he steps forward and breaks up the moment.

After we’ve been debriefed, signed our life away with waivers—which I’m not sure really matter because how can you sue when you’re dead?—we are strapped into our harnesses and helmets. They’ve explained the five-tiered zip line course to me: You go from one platform to another, five times, until you reach the bottom of the canyon.

“So,” Russell says as he slaps his hands together and rubs them back and forth, “Doug is on the other end waiting for you.”

Maybe it hasn’t all sunk in yet, but when he says those words, followed by his smug smirk, I can feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. I thought I was fine with it after the safety rundown. I really did. I listened to Zander laugh as he retold a few funny stories about some of his previous zip-lining experiences. They made me comfortable enough; I even opted to go first after much internal debate. I know myself well enough to know that if I was second, I probably wouldn’t step off the platform without Zander standing behind me.

The nerves kick in. My hands tremble, and my legs test my weight against the thick cable I’m tethered to, as I question my sanity. I refuse to shift my gaze from Zander to look forward at the forest valley above which I’m standing about one foot from the edge of the deck.

“C’mon, Socks. You know the first step is the always the hardest.”

My heartbeat is so loud in my ears. Goose bumps cover my skin, pinpricks of awareness that I’m alive. My knees feel like rubber. But it’s Zander’s reassuring smile and the belief in me that shines in his eyes that have me turning to face my fear.

The valley spreads out wide before me in a painted canvas of greens and browns. The cable runs from above my head all the way to a platform I can barely see in the distance. It’s breathtaking. It’s terrifying.

Don’t look directly down.

My slow, deliberate exhalation, like audible courage, fills the space around us as I talk myself into this, and take the final step forward, toes perched on the edge. I hear the clank of Zander’s harness a beat before his hands squeeze my shoulders.

“Let go, Getty. Just jump.”

Just jump. The words replay in my mind, their meaning encompassing everything about my new life as Getty Caster.

And about how I want to continue to live it.

I close my eyes, inhale a calming—if there is such a thing—breath, take the first step into empty air . . . and just jump.