Page 50 of Fool Me

“You are,” she says softly and without judgement.

“I am and that’s okay. Let’s just keep moving.”

She doesn’t push back, she just takes my hand in hers again and leads us down the path. Each step is mechanical. I’m blindly following her, but it feels different this time—her palm flush against mine, our fingers laced in a stronghold. Like she’s silently saying,I’ve got you.

And I think she might really have me, whether she intends to or not.

The trail gets busier and we pass more and more people heading back to town after their morning hikes—families, couples, climbers. Almost all of them are local and many of them stop to talk to Harlowe.

She smiles at them all, never dropping my hand, politely introducing me but carrying the burden of the conversation. At the end of each interaction, she gives my hand a squeeze, like she knows how much it’s taking out of me to just stand there, mostly silent.

When we get to the base, she lays out a hiking towel in a shaded grassy area near the lake.

“Lie down.”

“Excuse me,” I ask, feeling foggy and questioning if I heard the command correctly, or if I’m imagining the assertive tone in her voice.

“Lie down, Doc,” she says slowly, but no less insistently.

I do as she says, my back taking up most of the undersized towel, forcing me to bend my knees and plant my feet in the grass. I prop my head up on my palms. The slight angle of the ground gives me a stunning view of the sparkling glacial blue water and the towering Tetons. After living in Houston for so long, it was easy to take the natural wonder of my hometown for granted.

“Scoot,” Harlowe instructs, drawing my attention away from the humbling view to one that’s even more jaw-dropping in its wild grace.

Harlowe’s long, lean frame stretches toward the blue sky above me. A cool breeze from the mountains swirls loose strands of her golden hair around her face. She looks stoic, powerful—so fucking elegant, even in her cargo pants and black tank top. I imagine this is what Athena might have looked like before going into battle—eyes that match the lake blazing with intensity and her jaw set in determination as she waits for me to do as I’m told.

Wordlessly, I lift my hips, giving her half the towel, not caring that it leaves me with grass poking through my thin shirt.

Her long fingers wrap around my bicep, tugging it toward her—another command I willingly oblige. She rests her head on my arm, shifting beside me until she’s comfortable. “Close your eyes.”

I huff out a long sigh. I hate that my shit is getting in the way of our plans, but there’s no point in fighting her now that she’s set the course.

“Neither of us are going anywhere near that rock face until you’re sure you’re good. And before you argue with me, I can see it written all over the lines of your face. You’re exhausted. Just take a minute and rest as best you can.”

Every part of me is so hollowed-out that I’m only vaguely aware of her shifting next to me. There’s a gentle scratching as her fingers shift through my hair. Echo curls up next to me on the grass and nudges me with his head until I lift my arm for him just like I did for her.

“I can do that as long as you keep talking to me. Walk me through what we need to do, step by step.”

She returns my stubbornness with an annoyed exhale of her own but keeps her voice low as she whispers, going over the most mundane details of prepping for our climb. The hot puffsof breath as she whispers into my neck are as therapeutic as the hand on my stomach absently toying with the hem of my shirt.

She’s comfort.

And I’m well and truly fucked because I can’t help but think how much easier things are with her by my side. Her quiet understanding while she lets me work through the suffocating grip my mind has on my body is something I’m almost afraid to get used to because relying on her would be so easy.

Each slow stroke of her fingers in my hair and on my stomach brings me back to my body. I don’t know if it takes hours or minutes, but eventually, I’m rolling toward her.

Now my eyes are heavy for a different reason, because for the first time since I stepped out of surgery, I feel steady. The weight of everything—every doubt, every ache—eases just enough for me to remember who I am beneath it all, and that everything will be okay. My limbs don’t feel like lead anymore, my breath isn’t something I have to force. I’m here. I’m ready.

My forehead brushes her shoulder, and she gives me a sheepish grin. “Hi.”

“Hi.” The words scratch my dry throat.

“How are you doing?”

“I’ll be okay,” I assure her.

“I know you will,” she says.

“Ready to climb?”

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