Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Tell me about Mount Crow,” I say, because I need words between us. Need something to break through this energy.
“What do you want to know?” He says, finger tapping against his thigh.
“Why do you ride it if it's so dangerous?” I ask, turning into him.
He's quiet for a long moment, before finally answering. “Because the danger's the point. When you're up there, fighting to stay alive, fighting the mountain… nothing else matters. No expectations. No legacy to live up to. It’s just you and the snow and the possibility you might not make it down.”
My brow arches. “Sounds like a death wish.”
“Maybe.” He turns, finally looking at me. “Or maybe it's the only time I feel alive.”
Understanding settles deep. We’re more alike than I can ever admit to him.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it's a call.
“I should—”
“Ivy.” The way he says my name stops me cold. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has ever had the power to stop me the way my name on his lips just did.
He continues. “Whatever you're running from, whoever you're hiding from… you don't have to do it alone.”
If only he realized what I was hiding. Who I am.
My heart rattles against my ribs. “Everyone's alone, Ash. Some of us just hide it better.”
His jaw flexes, his eyes a thunderstorm of ice. “That's the most fucked-up thing you've said yet.”
I shrug. “Reality usually is.”
His fingers find my hair, threading through the strands with a tenderness that catches me off guard. “Not all of it.”
I snort, curling my legs beneath my ass. “Prove it.”
“You're here.” His thumb skims the curve of my ear, and my skin prickles. “With me. Right now. That's not sad—that's fucking perfect.”
My phone blares again, the screen flashing Blocked. Only one person calls this way.
“I have to take it.” I pull back and instantly hate how obvious his absence is. “Work shit.”
“At this time?” He challenges.
“Deadlines don't sleep,” I say lightly, but the lie tastes bitter. Before him, I never cared. Lying was a language I was fluent in, but with him, right now, it feels strangely foreign.
I'm in the kitchen when his voice stops me, low and rough.
“Ivy.”
I pause, glancing back. He hasn't moved from the couch, the firelight carving shadows into his face—sharp cheekbones, the stubborn set of his mouth as he scrolls through his phone.
“Yeah?” I whisper, because in this moment, he can’t see the vulnerability that’s scratching at the surface.
Without looking up, he murmurs, “don't take all night.”
I step into the shadows of the kitchen and answer the call. “This better be worth my time.”
“Three hours.” Emeric's voice cuts through the line. “Three hours since you landed and not a single update.”
“I was busy,” I say, eying the large mountain in front of me.
“I heard.”
I blank through the conversation, before his words come back through.
“Remember who you are. Check in with me tomorrow.”
The call ends and I stand there, phone growing cold in my hand, staring at my reflection in the dark window. Behind me, I can hear the fire crackling, hear Asher moving around in the living room.
I should leave. Pack up, go back to Chicago, put distance between us before this gets worse. Before I do something unforgivable.
But when I turn around, Asher's standing in the archway.
“Bad news?” He asks, tilting his head.
“Work.” I force a smile. “You know how it is.”
“No.” He says quietly. “I don't think I do.”
We stare at each other across the kitchen. There's a question in his eyes, one I can't answer. Won't answer.
“Asher—”
I shouldn't. Every instinct screams at me to walk away, to build the walls higher, to remember what I am. What I'm here to do.
Instead, I cross the kitchen toward him.
He doesn't move, causing me to brush past him to get through. The contact sends electricity down my spine.
He must turn, because his voice carries. “I have questions.”
“About?” I ask innocently.
“You.” He says, following me through to the living room. “Who are you?”
My composure is fixed in place. “You know who I am.”
“Do I?” He moves closer. “Because sometimes I look at you and I see someone else entirely.”
Why are you so intuitive?
“Maybe that's projection.” I cluck my tongue. “Maybe you see what you want to see.”
“Maybe.” Another step. I don’t like this… “Or maybe you're the best liar I've ever met.”
My heart flat lines. He's too close to the truth. Too close to me.
“Everyone lies, Asher.” I brush him off with a shrug.
“Not like you.” His hand comes up, hovering near my face without touching. “You lie the way you breathe. Like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”
“That's—”
“True.” He finishes. “It's true and we both know it.”
Tension cracks between us like a whip. He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
He flashes me with a grin, the kind I’m beginning to rely on. This can't happen. We have to stay on the lines of friends or I risk everything.