Page 7

7

MILLER

T hree days of continual frustration and resentment.

Three straight days of worrying about her—about her level of fitness or the way Alex keeps hitting on her—along with the knowledge that we’ve got five more days of this.

That’s why it happened, why I lost it. Not that Gerald didn’t deserve it—he’s been a dick to her ever since she set him straight the first day—but I don’t normally disintegrate the way I just did.

I can come up with other excuses too—that we’re all exhausted, that the altitude is getting to me—but I’m not sure that quite covers it either. There’s a reason beneath all of that, one I don’t want to consider, so I just continue on to camp, staying close behind her just in case she starts to slip again.

It really was a hard fall. I wish to God she hadn’t come.

The rain has died off by the time we reach Shira Two. Everyone is heading for their tents, desperate to get out of wet clothes and lie down, aside from Kit, who is heading to the big jug of hot water they place near each bathroom, just as I knew she would. I fight a grin.

Those Fischer girls always were vain as hell about their hair.

I follow her to the jug while the porters bustle around us, getting ready for dinner.

“I’ve got you, squirt,” I say, taking the bottle out of her hand and filling it with the fresh hot water. “Take off your hat and tip your head back.”

Shockingly, she does as she’s told without argument. I pour the water over her hair, working the mud out with my fingers, then fill the bottle again and tug at her ponytail holder, wrapping it around my wrist for safekeeping. This time I pour more slowly, running my hand all the way to her scalp, checking for…

“You’ve got a bump.”

She stiffens. “I think it’s fine.”

One more thing to worry about. One more thing to lie in my tent, awake, considering.

I go back to pouring the water. It makes sense that she’s vain about her hair. It feels like silk in my fingers, still gold even when it’s soaking wet, and there’s a mountain of it. I’ve never seen more beautiful hair in my life, but that’s always how it was with Kit—some girls had one amazing feature, one amazing quality, but she possessed all of them. The loveliest hair, the poutiest lips, the bluest eyes, the best laugh, the smartest comebacks. Her mother and Maren were both famed for their looks, but she somehow made them look plain when she entered the room.

“I think I’ve got it,” I say, handing her the water bottle. “Alex will be back to slobbering over you any minute now.”

She raises a brow. Is she about to point out that I sound jealous? It would be fair. I do.

“This might come as a shock to you, Miller, but I am not actually in the market for someone’s twenty-four-year-old son.”

Why are you encouraging him then? Why are you laughing at his dumb jokes and eating his gummy bears and letting him sit beside you at meals?

My jaw grinds with the effort to hold the words in. She isn’t actually encouraging him. She’s just being Kit—oblivious to the fact that she is the shiniest of objects, blinding everyone who passes by. She thinks her sharp words ward people off, but I’ve seen how they function in the real world—I’ve been victim to them myself—and all they are is something jagged you find yourself caught upon, leaving you to dangle like prey while she continues blinding you.

Or maybe it’s just that I’ve seen her with her family—that I’ve seen how deeply she cares, how good she is to all of them—so I know it’s an act. A role she assumed in order to keep them safe.

“Then you might want to let him know,” I reply.

She sighs. “Look, I have no issue with that, but it needs to come up organically. I can’t just shout, ‘ I have a boyfriend ’ in the middle of dinner, apropos of nothing.”

“It seems to me that people usually miss their significant other or have enough history with them that a mention or two comes up.”

She frowns at me. “I’m just a private person.”

But she looks unhappy as she walks off. Given how often her father mentions that he doesn’t think Kit loves the guy, I may have hit a nerve.

I hope I did.

Ninety minutes later, when we enter the dining tent, Kit’s hair is still damp. I wish she was wearing a hat—it’s already cold and will get a lot worse overnight.

Our oxygen levels are checked.

“Mine is, once again, the best,” announces Gerald when we’re done.

“You just climbed here two months ago,” Gideon reminds him wearily. “You’re still acclimated.”

“And actually, we were all at ninety-four or ninety-five yesterday, and we still are,” adds Kit, “while you’ve dropped two points. I wouldn’t get too excited.”

Gerald pouts while Alex takes over the conversation, telling some dumb story about his athletic prowess that probably isn’t even true. It’s only Kit’s attention he’s seeking, and she’s too busy picking things out of tonight’s stew to notice.

“How come your boyfriend didn’t come?” I cut in, and her head jerks up, her brow furrowing as if she doesn’t understand the question.

“ Blake? ” she asks.

“Do you have more than one boyfriend?”

She shakes her head as if clearing it. “No, but…why would he…” She stops herself. “This was a last-minute trip for me. He wouldn’t have been able to leave work that fast.”

“I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend,” Stacy says, sounding a little disappointed. Alex is probably going to cry himself to sleep. “Is it new?”

Kit glances down the table, a hint of pink in her cheeks. “No, not at all. We’re, uh, actually getting engaged sometime this spring.”

A strange pit forms in my stomach. “Engaged,” I repeat flatly.

She laughs. “I guess my dad hasn’t told you everything . My mom’s had the wedding half-planned since we met.”

Granted, until this week I hadn’t spoken to Kit in ten years, but I know for a fucking fact she’s not in love with Blake Hall. I mean, we’re on the third day of this trip and she hasn’t willingly mentioned him once.

I also know she couldn’t be in love with Blake Hall, because he doesn’t deserve for her to be in love with him.

Outside, the group stands for a moment, watching the sun set. We still can’t see Kili, but the clouds floating toward Meru—Tanzania’s second-highest mountain—look like an ocean, and everyone wants to grab a picture. I secretly get a photo of Kit to share with her dad if I ever forgive him for sending her here in the first place, which is unlikely.

In my tent, I get into my sleeping bag and continue to worry. I wanted to warn her about sleeping with wet hair and ask about that bump on her head, but I didn’t. She thinks I’m still treating her like a child when I give her these warnings but that’s not what my concern is about at all. I’m not sure what it is, but it isn’t that.

Let it go . I’ve told myself this a million times since this trip began. It hasn’t helped my anxiety to date, so I’m not sure why I’m still saying it.

I watch a couple of shows and then close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Because anything could happen to her. She could fall harder than she did today; she could get altitude sickness. It’s colder tonight than it’s been since the trip began—there’s already ice forming inside my tent. I should have told her to wear a hat, even if it annoyed her.

I lie awake for a full hour, listening to the sounds outside, wondering if the footsteps I hear belong to someone sneaking her way. She’s an incredibly attractive female sleeping alone in a tent—one she can’t secure. All she has to do is fix her ponytail and at least two of the men on this expedition are watching her like she’s a show they’ve paid good money for.

I like the porters and I like the other guys well enough, aside from Gerald, but I don’t trust any of them where she is concerned.

I can’t deal with four more nights of this bullshit.

I really can’t.