Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

“I did it!”

“Hell yeah, you did!” Greg hollers back up at me.

The employee narrows her eyes, but Greg quickly apologizes and then turns back to me and mouths, “Fuck yeah.”

I chuckle, using one hand to wipe the tears from my face as I look down and get weak in the knees again. “Now how do I get down?”

“Hold onto the rope at the base of your harness and kick back off the wall.”

“So, you’re saying, just fall?” I mock, shaking my head.

Greg laughs, and when I catch his eyes, the laugh slips, the smile going along with it.

I don’t know if he can see it from all the way down there, how my face is shining with the remnants of the tears I let fall, or how I’m shaking, how that climb meant more to me than just accomplishing something physical.

But there’s something in his gaze, something deeper than him just telling me it’s safe to rappel off that wall.

It’s like he’s saying it’s safe to fall into him.

I tear my eyes away, reminding myself that’s the furthest thing from the truth as I grip the rope, close my eyes, and kick back.

Just as he said, the suspension catches me, helping me rappel down nice and easy. Before I know it, my feet are on the ground.

At least, for a split second, until Greg scoops me up in his arms like I weigh half of what I actually do, and spins me as much as he can with me still being attached to the wall.

“I told you,” he says cockily when he drops me back to the ground.

My body slides along the length of his as he sets me down, my arms gripping his, our chests pressed together. For a long moment, he holds me there, his smile leveling out as I struggle to catch my breath — both from the climb and from being in his arms.

I glance up at him through my lashes, and suddenly he’s breathing heavy, too.

But as quickly as the moment happens, it disappears, Greg releasing me and clearing his throat as I step back with a furious flush.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if you have that same smirk on your face when I make you get a pedicure,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood and ignore the fact that his sweaty body was just touching mine.

Greg makes a face, but before he can retort, his phone buzzes loud from where we stashed our stuff in a nearby cubby.

I work on releasing myself from the harness, thanks to some help from the employee who seems less than amused by our first climbs, all the while watching Greg’s face as he reads a text message on his phone.

“Do you need to go in?” I ask, making my way over to him. I swipe my water bottle from the cubby and take a big swig, arms still shaking.

“No, it’s my buddy Asher. He’s a firefighter and they’re doing a stair climb this Saturday at Raymond James. It’s a fundraiser. He’s asking if I’ll be on his team.”

“His team?”

Greg nods. “It just means I’ll climb the stadium with him, get people to pledge they’ll pay a dollar a step on our team’s landing page, that sort of thing.”

“Let’s do it.”

Greg pauses, arching a brow at me with his hands hovering over the text. “Let’s?”

“Yeah,” I say, instantly flushing and tucking my hair behind one ear. “I mean, if you want someone else on the team, that is. I haven’t done anything like this in a long time, since David was in school, and I ran fundraisers all the time for the PTA.”

My voice fades, heart aching in a foreign way that makes me press my fingertips over my chest to soothe it.

I miss that, I realize distantly.

Greg’s eyes are softer when I look at him again, and he nods, offering a small smile. “It would fit with our breaking out of the comfort zone theme, wouldn’t it?”

“It may also fit in the breaking Amanda’s legs theme but hey, I’ve climbed a wall, what’s a little stadium?”

Greg barks out a laugh, eyebrows shooting up as he texts his buddy back. “Alright, then. I told him we’re in.”

“Sweet,” I say. Then, I look back up at the wall, shaking my head with my hands on my hips. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“I can.”

I flush again, looking at Greg for just a split second before I start gathering my things. “We better get going. School night and all.”

Greg nods, chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s biting back something he wants to say. Whatever it is, he holds it in, getting his own things together before we make our way out to his car.

“We almost got kicked out for our language back there.”

I snicker. “Unsurprised.”

“We need a hand sign. A secret one that no one else knows, and one we can’t get in trouble for.”