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“Good, because that’s what we’re doing today. We can turn around at any point, just use your safe word,” I tell him with a wink, doing my best to break through some of the tension thick in the air around us.
“Elise,” he groans out. “I’m not saying cum dumpster in public,” he whines. “Let’s just go back home to my family where we’ll besafe.”
“You’ll be safehere,Rafa. That’s what I’m trying to show you.”
He clenches his eyes shut, blowing a breath out through his nose, and rests his forehead on my shoulder as he winds his arms around my back. “Please,mi vida.”
I run my fingers through his thick, dark waves, to his neck, and down the length of his spine a few times, waiting for the sounds of his heavy sigh. It’s a sound I’ve learned to wait for, knowing that once it’s left his lips, he’ll be okay.
When that sound comes, I say, “Just let me show you something, and if you want to leave before we actually get started, we can. Deal?”
I feel his nod against my shoulder, and if this were sex, I’d require a verbal confirmation, but right now, I think this is all he’s capable of giving me, so I accept it for the answer that it is.
I unlock the door, pushing it open before climbing off of his lap and holding out my hand for him to take it as he gets out.
He takes his sweet ass time walking up the wide pine staircase to the top of the round, canopied treehouse.
I recognise the thirty-something-year-old man leaning against the desk at the check-in counter from his picture on the website.
“Che. Santiago?” I ask.
“Sí, it’s nice to meet you, Elise. And you must be Rafael?” he asks, extending his hand for him to shake.
“Nice to meet you,” Rafa says, and I’m thankful he’s retained his manners despite his anxiety.
“Well, let’s go ahead and get started then, yeah? I’ll start by giving you a tour of where we keep all of the equipment and go over the details with you.”
We follow Santiago around the front desk and back down a short hall with wooden beams. He unlocks the storage space, opening the door wide, revealing an air-conditioned room with shelves along the walls, each with various pieces of equipment labelled on them.
“This is our storage room where we keep all of our equipment. It’s weather-proofed because we want to make sure our equipment doesn’t rot out or form rust. We keep the doors locked when one of the staff isn’t in here to make absolutely certain no one could come in and tamper with the equipment.” Rafael’s eyes widen a hair, and Santiago must notice because he adds, “We’ve never had anything like that happen, and we have cameras all over the property, but we’ve heard some stories and want to make sure we don’t wind up a part of some true crime podcast.”
I’d definitely listen to that podcast but he’s right—I’d rather not be featured on one.
“That soundsveryresponsible,” I emphasise, and I’m rewarded with an eyeroll from Rafa.
He takes my hand in his, squeezing it tightly as Santiago shows us each piece of equipment from the harness to the gloves, helmet, and the individual components. He explains the weights they’ll each support, how frequently they replace them, the routine testing they perform on them, and the statistics on failures, of which there are very,veryfew.
“Any questions about this part of things, or can I bring you to take a look at our rig?”
Rafael scratches his neck nervously, his grip tightening on my hand. “I think we’re all set, thanks!”
Santiago nods, leading us out of the room and locking up before walking us up another set of pine steps that lead to the first platform built around a massive tree trunk.
“This here”—he waves a hand in front of a tall pulley system at the front of the platform facing the open expanse of water below—“is our zipline. One of the key features is a heavy-duty stainless-steel cable that is mounted to the platform on the other end. It can easily hold up to thirteen hundred kilos, but for safety reasons and due to the weight restrictions of our harnesses, we can accommodate up to two hundred kilos, which is about four hundred and fifty pounds.”
The more he speaks, the more I regret this idea. My stomach roils, acid burning up my throat. Heights are a big fuck no, but with nothing besides a heavy cable and harness to hold me up? Who the hell was I kidding?
I suck in a deep breath, willing the elephant seated on my chest to lift its heavy ass so I can get some goddamn air and focus on Rafael.
The entire time Santiago speaks, Rafa is rubbing at his jawline, scratching his neck, or bouncing his foot. He’s anxious, and it makes complete sense,but that’s why we’re here.
Santiago then shows us the mechanics of the system, explains all of the details and how he, his father, and brother, the owners of this company, maintain the system. “We run a daily check each morning to make sure it’s safe to operate for the day and have routine checks with a local team that assesses the quality of the lines. You’ll also notice that once you’re clipped into your harness, you remain clipped in until you finish the course. This way, you’re always attached to the line and won’t risk falling over the edge of the platform in the event that something extremely strange happens like losing consciousness.”
There are about fifteen other safety mechanisms he and his family have implemented, and by the time he’s done explaining everything, I genuinely feel like ziplining is a million times safer than driving or flying. Not that it helps my fear of heights any.
“If you’re ready to get started, I’ll walk you both down to the desk, and we can get you fitted for your equipment and get your safety waivers signed.”
After we’ve signed away our lives to this very nice man, who makes it seem as though having your feet firmly planted on the ground isnotas necessary as I believe it to be, Santiago heads to the supply closet to grab our equipment, which leaves Rafael and me some time to talk.