Sully gives me a look. “We were fifteen. You were pissed.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s what you do later that matters. Making mistakes and correcting them, that’s life.”
“We make a mistake on a mountain, Sul, and we die.”
“Here I am, being all metaphorical, and you have to go and be all literal.” He shakes his head at me with mock disapproval. He lifts the cake, acting like he may smash it my face. And just like that, we let the heavy shit go. Our friendship is the easiest one I’ve ever had.
“You do that, Sully, and I’ll push you off this f**king mountain.” We’re sitting on the edge, and if we start hitting each other, we could go over quickly.
“I was just going to tell you to take this back to Daisy.” He dips his finger back in the icing and licks it off. “I’ve never seen a girl melt over cake like she did.”
I took her to the gym to teach her how to rock climb, and Sully was there, instructing two ten-year-olds. I could never do his job full-time. I have a harsh way of speaking when people aren’t giving a hundred f**king percent, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. He went with us to a café after his shift, and she ate three pieces of cake, all chocolate.
“She’s not in Philly,” I tell him. He doesn’t keep up with the gossip, so he wouldn’t know that she’s left for Fashion Week. “And she hasn’t eaten sweets in practically a month. She’d probably f**king drool if you put cake in her face.”
“Aww,” he says. “Poor girl. Where is she?”
“Modeling in Paris.”
He whistles. “She’s always all over the place, isn’t she?” He gives me another look, this time with a growing smile.
“What?” I snap.
He shrugs. “You two have a little thing. Not as cute as what Heidi and I have, but you know, you’ll get there.”
“We don’t have a thing,” I tell him.
He ignores me. “Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding, okay? I don’t have to be a groomsman or anything, but I do expect to be in the wedding pictures. I’m not against photo-bombing either.”
“Fuck off,” I say.
He touches his heart. “I love you too.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and check the caller ID.
DAISY CALLOWAY.
Sully looks over my shoulder. “Think she heard us talking about her?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Your voice is louder than mine,” he refutes, knowing where I was going with that.
“I have to take this.”
“Don’t take her too hard. She’s young and impressionable.”
I flip him off, standing to answer the call while he laughs.
I press the green button and walk further onto the peak of the rock. It’s flat, and up here, people gather to repel back down, the chatter echoing from one side to the other. I check my watch.
8 a.m. here. 2 a.m. there.
The line clicks and then dies. I frown. I look at my phone. She f**king hung up on me? Maybe it was a misdial. I call her back.
Her answering machine cuts on this time. “Hi, it’s Daisy. Not Duck and not Duke. Definitely not Buchanan. I’m a Calloway. If you haven’t misdialed then leave your name after the beep, and I’ll call you when I return from the moon. Don’t wait around. It may take a while.” BEEP.
“Call me back or text me that you’re okay,” I say tersely before I hang up.
I’m about to return to Sully, but my phone rings again. She’s being f**king weird. “Hey, what’s going on?”
She sniffs and tries to speak, but her voice falters.
She’s been crying.
My chest tightens. “Fuck. Daisy, what’s wrong?”
She lets out a breath that shakes the sound from her lips, and then she inhales sharply and chokes like she’s unable to exhale.
Fuck. Fuck. I rest my hand on my head. “Dais…”
“I…I can’t…”
She cannot have a f**king panic attack while I’m here and she’s there.
“Shh, shh,” I tell her in the gentlest voice I can. Calming someone—that’s not a skill I possess. I jump after girls who dive off of cliffs. I accompany crazy chicks on their illogical adventures. I teach them how to stand back up. I hold them while they f**king cry.
But I’m not there to do any of these things. I’m thousands of miles away with no room for error.
“Take deep f**king breaths. Relax,” I say roughly, dropping my hand and clenching and unclenching my fist.
“I…feel sick…” She coughs, dry heaving until I hear her really f**king vomit.
Fuck.
Sully is by my side with concern. He looks at me like what’s going on?
I just shake my head at him. “Daisy,” I say, running my hand through my damp hair. “Hey, you need to talk to me right f**king now. Take deep breaths. You’re not dying, so stop acting like it.” Being a jackass is the only way I can think to get her to calm down. It’s the only f**king tool I have to work with.
She pukes, but it turns back into a violent cough. Then she begins to breathe somewhat f**king normally.
“Good girl,” I say.
She exhales shortly. “They took pictures…of me…and no one cared…”
What the f**k is she talking about? She’s a model; of course they take photographs. “You’re not making any f**king sense.” I can’t just stand on top of this f**king cliff. I can’t just f**king talk. I head over to Sully’s backpack, and he keeps up with my hurried stride.
“I was naked,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “The designer…she threw me out of her show, and she stripped me…”
You’ve got to be f**king kidding me. I freeze, gripping my hair with one hand. “And no one did anything?”
She chokes on another cry.
I almost kick the f**king cake off the edge. I almost lose my shit. I bend down to a crouch to stop myself from screaming. I f**king hate people. I hate that the ones I care about most are the ones that get shit on.
“Hey, f**king talk to me,” I say, realizing she’s completely silent now. “Daisy?” Nothing. “Daisy?!” I check my phone. Signal lost. The call dropped. I try again, but I have no more range. I look to Sully with panic.
“No signal,” he says, tapping at his iPhone screen.
I stand up quickly and switch into a new gear called Get the f**k off this rock. “We need to go down now.” I pick up his backpack and find the extra harness that I use when I descend with him. I put each leg through the f**king straps while Sully collects rope, repel devices and locking carabineers, his hands moving in a flash.
“Is she hurt?” he asks, his eyes flickering to me.
I tighten the straps on my legs. It’s not a physical hurt. It’s not like she crashed her motorcycle, but it f**king feels like she got into a head-on collision. “I don’t know,” I tell him. Truth is, I think she’s always been hurting. It’s just different when I’m not there to take care of her. “I need to get her back on the f**king phone.”
“Double your rope so you can get down faster.” He tosses me extra rope for my descent, and I tie two together with a Double Figure-8 Fisherman’s knot. Then I tie an extra knot at the end of the rope in case I f**king fall. It’s the last safety I have to catch me.