Twelve
My preferred climbing gym features challenging climbing routes along each wall and a cavelike area devoted to bouldering. In an attached room, shallow grooves are etched at eye level to strengthen fingertips, and a low-oxygen chamber mimics even higher altitude than our mile-high city already boasts.
Murals of popular local mountainscapes line the walls—Garden of the Gods, Rocky Mountain National Park, Black Canyon. Some of which I’ve been to, many of which I hope to summit someday.
I bounce across the cushioned floor mat to the bouldering wall, strapping my chalk bag around my waist and figuring I’ll start with bouldering. My arms are tired from the evening round of punch downs, but the rest of my muscles are tense. After closing up shop, I donned leggings and a tank top and came here. To loosen up and seek clarity, the exercise being as much for my mind as my body.
I have the area to myself, so I select a purple route that starts with a move that stretches me to my full five-foot-three-inch height. There are no ropes, no harnesses, no spotters in bouldering. It’s about getting from one point to the next by strategically moving your limbs in different ways and leveraging every muscle. There’s no right way to make a move; there’s only getting there.
My brain churns through puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit—Nick’s jealousy, the old friend Oscar was supposedly going to meet, and the eyewitness testimony. Suffice it to say, clarity evades me.
I’m halfway down the wall when I sense someone join me in the bouldering cave. Dangling from one arm, I dip my free fingers into my chalk bag, peeking under my arm at the newcomer.
Dark hair slicked to the side, toned muscles, Led Zeppelin T-shirt. I immediately recognize the distinguished figure and brace myself for a charged interaction with the detective heading Oscar’s case.
When Eli notices me, his step falters. There’s a brief hesitation, a half step backward, like he might retreat.
Oh, I am not going to stand for that.
Instead of the graceful dismount I envisioned, I proceed to fall flat on my bum. My pride smarts as much as my backside. At least it did the trick.
Eli moves to my side and helps me up, his hand warm in mine. He lets go as soon as I gain my balance.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, throwing my line from the jail back at me.
I raise one eyebrow. “Especially since I thought you were too busy to go climbing.”
“An unexpected slot opened up in my calendar.” He has a smooth smile on his face, but there’s no warmth in his caramel eyes.
“I see.” I dig the toe of my climbing shoe into the floor mat. I love my climbing shoes, how they make my feet both dainty and powerful at the same time. “Care for a game? Add On, Take Away, Memory?” I prattle off all the climbing games I know.
He scratches the back of his head, maybe considering, or maybe trying to think of an excuse.
I thought we were friends, reacquainted nearly a decade after those awkward high school years where we were playing at whom we would eventually become. Thought we’d connected over what it meant to be judged on assumption instead of who we really are.
Guess I was wrong.
“I’ll pass,” he says.
Despite the frustration seeping through my veins, I give him a playful smirk. “I get it, you don’t think you can keep up.”
I move to a different part of the bouldering wall, feeling his eyes on my back as I hoist myself up and start a challenging orange route.
“I can keep up fine,” he finally says, a spark of competition entering his eyes. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Under the circumstances.” There’s an iciness in his tone, a warning.
I lunge for a grip and use my fingertips to pull the rest of my body along until my foot can reach the next hold. “You mean because you wrongfully accused my boyfriend of murder?”
A girl who’d just entered the cave with us turns on her heel and, understandably, makes for the climbing wall on the opposite side of the gym.
Eli’s attention never wavers from me. “How can you be so certain Mr. Wallace isn’t guilty?”
“You can call him Reid, you know.” I pant as I finish the route, hopping backward onto the mat in a slightly more redeeming move than my last dismount. “And it’s because I know him. The evidence doesn’t line up. Speaking of which, I have something that might interest you.”
“That remains to be seen.”
I’m seeing a new side of Eli, the hard-detective side, and I’m not sure I like it. I rest my hands on my hips, opting to play nice with him.
“I found a button outside Spoons yesterday, in the back alley where it all went down. Something you and your band must have missed.”
“I highly doubt that. We thoroughly combed that area. Whatever you found was likely dropped there after we left and has nothing to do with the case.”
“Are you willing to stake your reputation on that?”
One thing I know about Eli—he values his reputation. When we were in high school together, he was the school stoner, getting high being his one and only hobby, a means, as I later learned, of coping with a less-than-stellar home situation. It took him a long time for the world to see him as something more. There’s no way he would jeopardize his current good standing.
“We’ll take a look,” he acquiesces.
“That’s all I ask.” I give him a sweet smile.
Eli opens and closes his carabiner, studying me. I fidget under his scrutiny, shifting on my feet, adjusting my chalk bag.
“I don’t see how you can trust him so completely.”
“It’s like climbing,” I say, gesturing around us. “You have to trust your equipment, and your belaying partner, to not let you fall.”
“If I recall correctly, you had a climbing tumble earlier this year due to faulty equipment.”
The faulty equipment he’s referencing was courtesy of someone I’d mistakenly put my faith in, and the damage she inflicted on my tie-in loop. While her attempted sabotage left me unscathed, her betrayal still smarts, and is no doubt a contributing factor to my ongoing trust issues.
Goose bumps form on my arms at the memory, but I refuse to let Eli know he’s rattled me. “Luckily I was belaying with someone skilled enough to catch me.” I nudge his shoulder as I walk by.
I’m tempted to look back, but I force myself to keep walking, my eyes locked on the ground.
“Why did I agree to this?” Sage asks, studying herself in her full-length mirror.
“Because you have to get back on the bike, or horse, or whatever,” I say with a twirl of my finger.
I’m lounging on her bed, nestled among a sea of cushy pillows, a dewy glass of crisp sauvignon blanc clutched in one hand.
Sage’s bedroom pays homage to her many interests. Cosplay outfits hang in her closet, my personal favorite being her Éowyn ensemble—battle armor over a dress, because girls can defeat Ringwraiths, too. Law tomes mingle with fantasy novels in her bookcase. And there’s a small flat-screen TV in the corner, so she can watch reruns of her favorite shows while working through the piles of work she always has.
After bumping into Eli at the climbing gym, I was more than happy to come over and help Sage get ready for her date, not eager to spend the evening dwelling on Eli’s remarks. Even now, my jaw clenches at his haughty tone: If I recall correctly, you had a climbing tumble earlier this year due to faulty equipment.
Stubborn, self-righteous, and a few other choice obscenities reel through my mind.
I take sip of wine, a practice that involves the sense of smell as much as the taste buds. Just as my nose detects floral notes and honeysuckle, citrusy grapefruit bursts forth on my tongue. It soothes my frustration.
Sage turns to me and asks for my opinion on her current outfit. I shake my head. “Needs more pizzazz. More you. More fantastical elements.”
She perches on the quilt at the end of her bed. “But shouldn’t I wait to spring my crazy on him until the second date?”
“First off, your crazy is awesome.” I wait a beat, letting that point sink in. “Secondly, if he can’t handle your awesomeness, then he’s not worth your time.”
Sage waves at my glass and I pass it to her. She takes a large gulp—not bothering with the savoring bit, though I can’t blame her—and hands it back.
Then she returns to her closet. Her strawberry-blond hair is pinned back with bobby pins sporting Wonder Woman logos, and she twirls an elfin ring around her thumb. Before too long, she snags a hanger and holds it up, one eyebrow raised.
I nod so enthusiastically my tie-dye headband slips down my forehead. “Tonight absolutely calls for the big guns.”
Honestly, I’ve never been that into fandom, having a hard time keeping up with the hot new books, movies, and shows. But having a best friend like Sage means I pick up on a thing or two. Like that Dungeons & Dragons is basically a video game minus the CGI and controller. Or how Star Wars can bring generations together just as well as the best-set dinner table.
She models her final outfit—a funky AT-AT shirt, breezy peasant skirt, and cropped denim jacket. She twirls and I ooh and aah accordingly.
We relocate to the living room of Sage’s studio apartment, adjacent to casement windows that overlook Walnut Street. Below, passersby traipse along the sidewalk. The wind has died down and the sun is almost completely camouflaged by mountain peaks. All in all, it’s an ideal evening for a date.
I decide it’s now or never for Liam. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Has that ever stopped you?”
“Are you interested in my brother as more than just friends, or is it purely friendly affection?”
Her motions slow as if she’s moving through molasses. “I feel weird talking about this before a date.”
“A first date,” I clarify, moving around to the other side of the couch so I can take a seat. “Which seems like the perfect opportunity to reevaluate feelings.”
“Honestly, I don’t know. He’s just so . . .” She trails off, leaving me guessing what Liam is. “Nice? Funny? Supportive?” Each word sounds like a question.
“Don’t look at me to validate my brother’s attractive qualities,” I say, trying for a joke.
She finishes tucking her phone in the outside pocket of her strappy purse. “He gets me and what I’m into, and there’s chemistry there.” She takes a shuddering breath, one I’m afraid might break my brother’s fragile heart. “But after what happened with Jason, how completely and utterly wrong I was about him, I want to be cautious, especially since Liam is practically family.”
Jason is Sage’s ex, who, despite them having grown up together and practically dating their entire lives, remained an adolescent on the inside. When they ended things, it shattered Sage’s confidence. I can see signs of healing, but it still scares me to see her so fierce in her work and yet so shaky in love.
“I respect that.” I dip my chin, setting my now-empty wineglass on the end table. “Just so you know, it would be okay with me if you two wanted to give it a go.”
She sinks into the couch next to me. “Things are so up in the air with everything, I don’t want to change too much at once.”
I get the feeling Sage is referring to more than her relationship status.
“I have an interview next week,” she says, crinkling her nose.
I nudge her foot with my toe. “And why am I just now hearing about this, missy?”
“Because I don’t want to jinx it.”
“You must want it bad.”
“It’s exactly what I’m interested in. A public defender. Helping out those who can’t afford an attorney.” She fiddles with the strap of her purse. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s been good helping Reid out, like a trial run or something.”
“I’m glad there’s some silver lining to this mess.” I cover my face with my hands. “Is there anything else I can be doing to help Reid?”
“No,” she says. “It’s tough, but you need to let the justice system do its job.”
“What if the system is broken?”
“Hey, that’s my livelihood you’re talking about,” Sage says, faux chastised. “But I can see how you might feel that way.”
“What about DNA evidence?” I ask, grasping at straws.
Her voice is quiet when she speaks next, her eyes flitting to mine. “I wouldn’t count on DNA evidence in this case.”
“Why not?”
“It’s going to take a couple days for anything to surface, and it’s only happening that fast because the law enforcement agency is making it a priority.”
My hunch was right, then; they want to put the perpetrator behind bars ASAP. Or at least someone behind bars, to make the public think all is right and rosy in the world.
Sage continues, “Besides, the murder weapon was Reid’s knife. His DNA is bound to be all over it.”
A lump forms in my throat and I rub my temples. “And you still won’t tell me where he was that night?”
In answer, she pointedly changes the subject. “How’s the harvest?”
While her wine knowledge has steadily been improving, I know she’s asking to get my mind off Reid. It doesn’t work.
“About as good as Reid’s case,” I say with a snort. “I failed to come up with a new blend this morning, and any day now, a new truckload of grapes is going to turn up at my winery and completely bury me.” I sink back into the couch, my lower lip trembling.
“Then I’ll come dig you out. Anytime.” There’s a knock on the door and Sage stands up quickly, patting my knee. “Except not tonight, because that’s Arthur.”
“Have fun,” I say, putting a cork in my self-pity. “Call if you need anything.”
Sage and I have each other’s backs. The dating world can be intimidating for a woman, and it’s important that someone knows whom you’re with and where you’ll be. She used to be that person for me, and now I’m gladly reciprocating the gesture.
“And remember,” I add, “he’s the lucky one in this scenario.”
She gives me a nervous smile and pads to the front door. From where I’m hidden behind a beam, I eavesdrop on their greeting. Arthur is smooth, complimenting her skirt and asking if she likes Italian food (she does).
Even as I’m mentally wishing my friend a successful first date, I text my brother: Get a move on asking Sage out.
I watch the “. . .” that tells me he’s responding. He stops, starts back up, and then stops again.
He never does respond.
I roll my eyes. No wonder Liam and Reid are friends.