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KIT

JUNE

E verest Base Camp sits at 17,600 feet…only four hundred feet below the highest point we reached in Africa.

It’s where I’ve left Miller, after eight long days of climbing and acclimating to get there, and the real work—the dangerous work—lies entirely ahead of him.

I left to pursue a challenge of my own, and I’m sick to my stomach about his and mine both.

My program is letting me come back … if I can pass the finals I took at the end of my second year. I tried hard to convince them to let me wait until Miller was done in Nepal, but beggars can’t be choosers…if I want to prove I’m ready for year three, which will primarily be rotations, I’ve got to prove I still know what I did when I left. And I have to do it on their schedule, which means the timing couldn’t be worse—the same tests I was taking when Rob died at high altitude are the ones I’ll be taking while Miller endures far greater challenges.

“You look terrible,” Maren says when I walk into the trendy little restaurant she’s chosen in Battery Park.

I fan my face with a menu as I slide into the booth—it’s a million degrees today. “You try camping for eight days followed by nineteen-hour days of study.”

I’ve been working like a dog, and I just want it behind me so I can get back to Miller.

“That’s no excuse for that hair,” she says. “And those nails. Lord.”

“Okay, Ulrika ,” I say.

She laughs. “Maybe I do sound a little like Mom, but don’t you want to look fucking fantastic when Miller sees you at base camp next weekend?”

Reluctantly, I smile. “Simply being the only person there who hasn’t been camping for weeks on end will probably be fantastic enough.”

“Nonetheless, Mom got you an appointment with Geoffrey after we’re done here, and Elsa will be at your apartment on Friday night after you’re home to give you a spray tan and do your nails.”

They can’t begin to imagine what rough shape everyone at base camp is in now, nor how ridiculous I’ll look with a fresh spray tan and French tips. But I love Maren too much to complain. She’s the only person alive who could have taken the cards I’ve dealt her and handled them with such grace.

Yes, there were a few awkward dinners at first, but it didn’t take long for the weirdness of me dating Maren’s ex to dissipate. There’s nothing wistful in her face when she looks at Miller and half the time, she treats him like an annoying kid brother. There’s something she isn’t telling me, but I suspect it has nothing to do with Miller. She’ll share it when she’s ready, I suppose.

“Okay,” I reply. “I guess I don’t mind having a spray tan and fresh highlights before I sleep in a tent for seven more days.”

We place our order and I reach for the sweating bottle of Perrier in front of me.

“How’s it going?” Maren asks. “Have you talked to him?”

My hand tightens around the bottle. “Yesterday. Now he’s climbing up to camp three to acclimate.”

“Is any of that dangerous?”

I exhale heavily. “All of it is dangerous.” There’s the altitude, avalanches, blizzards. And they’ve got to go over the icefall—the divide between two glaciers, which Miller will cross using a ladder —anytime they ascend from or descend to base camp.

“Then you definitely need to reward him by looking like a million bucks when you arrive,” says Maren. “I’ll even loan you my red lipstick.”

I laugh. “You’re just baiting me at this point.”

* * *

I fly to Charlottesville with freshly cut and highlighted hair, which probably doesn’t convince anyone that I’m going to make a very committed medical student, but does look good. The exams are surprisingly easy. Easier, even, than they were when I was in school. I’ve had months to study, first of all, but I think I also spent so many days replaying memories of what I was doing when I should have been saving Rob that half the information imprinted itself on my brain. Reviewing for the exam was a lot like encountering a friend you went to war with—it was painful, but I hadn’t forgotten much.

When it’s behind me, I board one flight after another until I arrive in Kathmandu, where I shower in the club lounge and then fly to Lukla. From there, I catch a helicopter to the base rather than climbing for eight days. The cost is insane, but my father was thrilled to cover it. He now refers to Miller as the child I never had —when I pointed out how insulting this is, he doubled down by explaining that Miller is kind like Maren and interesting like me, which didn’t improve matters as it implied Maren and I were still found lacking.

As we take off, my heart speeds up. It’s not nerves…I’m simply desperate to lay eyes on him and press my face to what is, at this point, an undoubtedly filthy parka. Unfortunately, I won’t see him right away as he’s climbing down from Camp Two today, but at least once he’s slept for a solid twelve hours, we’ll have a very happy reunion.

We take off over the lower elevations, which are still several thousand feet above sea level. From the air, the ground looks like massive piles of dirt, with tiny blue marbles at their base. They are actually mountains, and the puddles are lakes, but it’s all relative here. They’re so much smaller than the summit and the peaks surrounding it that it’s hard to believe they’re anything at all.

Soon, we are approaching Everest. The mountains rise around us on three sides, snow-glazed and intimidatingly huge, and we bank right toward a long sweep of snow-covered slope. In the distance, there are tiny, colorful dots in yellow and blue and red: the tents of base camp.

I’m so excited that I’m sick with it.

Sherpas are waiting on the ground to direct the helicopter and help me carry my stuff in. But one of the men standing down there is a foot taller than the rest, wearing a familiar yellow jacket and the widest smile.

Miller. I have no idea how he could possibly be here already, but he is, and we’ve barely touched down before I’m jumping out the door and running to him.

He scoops me up, burying his face in my hair. “God, I’m so glad to see you.”

I want to ask how he’s here, why he’s so clean-shaven, why he isn’t resting in his tent if he got down the mountain early. As always, with Miller, there are too many goddamned things to say.

“Your face,” is all I get out, tears running down my cheeks as I press a palm to his jaw.

His grin is bashful, dimpled. “I didn’t want to rub you raw the second you landed.”

I go on my toes and kiss him. “My face would have survived.”

“It wasn’t just your face I was worried about, Kitten,” he growls against my ear.

Ohhhhh. “There will be none of that,” I tell him. “You need to rest.”

“Don’t you think I deserve a small reward for getting through stage two?”

I smile. It seems like more of a reward for me , but I’m not about to refuse twice.

We make the trek to base camp together while he tells me how he got here (by waking up at the crack of dawn, climbing down from camp two as fast as possible, dumping his backpack, and running to the helicopter landing pad.) When I ask how it’s been, he says, “No one’s died yet,” which I don’t find especially funny. I tell him how my exams went and he says he knew I’d ace them, which is why he’s had a realtor sending him listings near campus for the past month.

At camp, the supplies and food I brought for Miller and his team are eagerly torn into, and when the team jokingly suggests we all sit down for a meal, Miller tells them to fuck off and takes me to our tent.

He’s got a solar heater going to keep us toasty. “Undress, Kitten,” he demands, leaning back. “It’s been too long. I want to see all of you.”

My layers are removed. He’s down to boxer briefs, and the outline of him—hard and ready—makes my mouth water. I reach for his waistband, and he shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, his half smile predatory in the tent’s dim light. “Spread your legs for me.”

I recline on the sleeping bag, and he pushes my thighs as wide as they’ll go before he takes one long lick from my entrance to my clit. His tongue circles and moves inside me, and I’m already so close that it would take absolutely nothing to push me over the edge.

“Use your fingers,” I demand, arching upward.

His laughter huffs out over my sensitive flesh, and he sucks my clit against his tongue. “Yes, I know what you want,” he says. “That’s why I’m not giving it to you.”

He continues to play, to lick and suck and bite, keeping me right near the edge but not letting me go over it. I manage to run my foot over the outside of his boxers, and he hisses. “God,” he says. “Don’t. I’m so hard right now you’ll make me come in my pants.”

I sort of like the idea of that, but he grasps my foot before it can approach him again.

“Kit,” he growls, and then he returns to torturing me, except it’s all too much, suddenly, the idea of him that desperate to come, the idea of how hard he’ll fuck me once I finally do.

“Please,” I beg, thrashing, and with a groan, he shoves his boxers to mid-thigh and slams inside me.

“Oh God,” I whimper, clenching, and when he pulls out, biting his lip not to finish too fast, and pushes back in, I can’t hold out a minute longer. My head arches backward as I come and he gasps as I tighten around him, cursing as he joins me.

“That was embarrassing,” he laughs. “I was only inside you for five seconds.”

“At least now I know you missed me,” I say as he rolls to the side and pulls me onto his chest.

“You already knew I missed you,” he whispers.

“Let’s not be apart that long again, okay?” I ask.

He pushes my hair back from my face. There’s something secretive in his smile. “I’m not planning to,” he replies.

* * *

Three days later, he leaves me at base camp at dawn to begin his ascent; he’ll reach camp two today, remain there to acclimate and rest, and then progress to camp three and camp four over the following days. At midnight, after reaching camp four, he’ll leave to attempt the summit.

I get up to see him off, with my jaw locked not to burst into tears.

Which does not work.

“Don’t cry, Kit,” he whispers, pulling me close. “I’m coming back. You know I’m not letting you grow old with anyone else. It would make your father so sad.”

I laugh and cry at the same time. “Don’t do anything stupid,” I whisper. “Check your oxygen tanks. Wear a hat. I’m sorry. I’m treating you like a child. But still…don’t do anything stupid.”

He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re not treating me like a child. You’re treating me like someone you don’t want to live without. Believe me, I’ve been in your shoes.”

I remain outside, watching him and the rest of the guys until they are tiny spots of color against the snow-covered slope in the distance, and then there’s nothing left to do but wait.