She rocks on the balls of her feet, restless while she faces the State Park Ranger and my dad.
I blow out a breath.
It’s just Daisy, I remind myself.
It’s been years since her hair has been light brown, her natural color that matches mine, and so I’m still trying to grow used to it.
The color suits her though. Maybe because she’s been smiling more often with the change, and while Ryke has stayed impartial about the whole hair-color process (to avoid influencing her decision) he let his thoughts slip to me yesterday.
His exact wording: “I was afraid she’d look too much like you, but she doesn’t. I didn’t realize how f**king attracted to her I’d be.” Apparently Daisy met him at a quarry, took off her motorcycle helmet, and revealed the finished product. Then they had outdoor sex.
The idea is better than reality. I know firsthand.
As I near, I watch the State Park Ranger shake his head fiercely at Ryke, trying to push a harness and rope at him. Ryke raises his hands.
I reach hearing distance just as he says, “I’ve already signed a f**king waiver. If I die, it’s not the park’s responsibility.”
“It’s windy and still dangerous. If you’re looking for a challenge, you can try for a second pitch. Not a lot of climbers do it on this rock face.”
Ryke growls in frustration.
My dad steps in between them. “If Ryke says it’s safe to climb, he should be able to climb. He understands the risk involved.”
The Ranger asks, “Is he repelling down?”
“Yes.” My father nods. “Two people are already at the top with gear for him.”
The Ranger sighs, resigned from the fight. “Fine. I’ve said everything I can.” With this, he walks off, and my dad pats Ryke’s shoulder and mutters a good luck.
I realize I’ve frozen halfway there, and I anxiously shift my weight from one foot to the other. No sex, I chant over and over as a familiar urge attempts to sweep me. The Ranger’s warnings seem logical. This is dangerous. It is windy. And what if he falls? Ryke said it himself.
He’ll die.
While Ryke whispers with Daisy, he turns his head and catches sight of me. His usually hard features soften a fraction. And I read his eyes well enough: I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me, please.
Ryke never wants anyone to agonize over his wellbeing, but he’s so much a part of my life, of Lo’s, that if he disappears, it’ll be like severing a foot. Moving forward will be hard.
“Hi, Lily,” my dad suddenly says next to me.
I almost flinch by his presence, and I’m even more surprised when he chooses to stay put. “Do you…want to watch the climb with Mom?” I ask.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, dressed in an identical white-collared Fizzle shirt like Sam. “I’m good here.”
I take a glance over my shoulder at Lo. With concerned wrinkles along his forehead, his eyes are trained solely on his older brother. Ryke kisses my little sister and then picks up his bottle of Ziff, about to chug it before he ascends.
The chatter escalates from reporters and more people, drowning out the buzzing wind.
“Lily…” My dad starts but then hesitates and his lips close. He smiles nervously like he’s unsure of what to say or how to say it.
A lump rises in my throat, and for a split-second I contemplate clearing it with Blue Squall.
But he speaks again before I venture down that road. “I was upset for a long time.”
My bones lock, and my eyes widen in surprise. I can’t say anything. He hasn’t mentioned my sex addiction to me ever, and I have a feeling that’s the direction he’s going.
“I just couldn’t find a reason why you’d do…that.” He pauses, his eyes dropping to the grass. “…when I’d given you so much.”
A violent breeze tangles my hair and waters my eyes. I’m going to blame the wind as my father finally admits to blaming me. The pain wells like a pit in my ribs. “I’m sorry,” I barely croak.
He shakes his head, and his reddened eyes meet mine. “Don’t be. I felt betrayed and hurt because I couldn’t face the reality.” He gives me a saddened smile, and I’m more aware of the gray strands that salt his brown hair. “I spent over half my life working for my daughters, to provide you with a better life than I had, and it’s a very hard realization to admit—that what I worked so hard for ended up doing the inverse of what I dreamed.”
I shake my head. He blames himself. For my addiction. Tears threaten to fall, and I try desperately to suppress them.
He takes my hand in his and says, “You’ve been my shy little girl for so long, and I should’ve recognized that you weren’t all there. As an adult, as a parent and as your father, I am so sorry.”
Hot liquid rolls down my cheeks. Why here? Why now? I ache to ask these questions, but I see the answers in his watery gaze. And as he wipes my tears. No one can really pinpoint a reason why and when someone grows courage.
It happens over time, and my father has cemented this painful, raw reality—the one I have always been living in. And what’s funnier, it’s more peaceful with him here. It doesn’t hurt as badly.
“Thank you,” I whisper, sniffing and blinking back more tears. I have to ask… “Would you want to…maybe come to therapy one day with me? If you don’t want to, I completely understand—”
“I’d like that, Lily.” And then he hugs me, my heart bursting. A moment passes and he asks, “Now how do you like Ziff? Be honest.”
Oh no. I rub my nose with my arm, very unladylike, but my father doesn’t care. “Uh…” I wince like I can’t exactly say my thoughts aloud.
“That bad?” he asks, his brows shooting up his forehead in worry. He steals my bottle and inspects the label. “The recipe did well with kids your age.” I remember Sam saying as much about the multiple test groups.
“Maybe it’s just me.” I shrug.
He gives me a tight squeeze. “With Ryke as the face, it has a good chance to succeed. That’s what I’m hoping.” He never intended for Ryke to fail. All this time, he was hoping Ryke could help Fizzle, a company that my dad considers a fifth child. It’s nice to know that he’s had good intentions, even if we all predict a Mountain Berry Fizz 2.0, with a short shelf-life.
After another brief second, I focus on the cliff with my father. The tension is nearly gone, and he keeps his arm around my shoulders. The waterworks almost start up again.
In a matter of minutes, Ryke scales the rock with speed and precision. Twenty feet high. Then fifty. He’s to the top faster than those bottled pyramids probably took to build. With a sweaty chest and slicked back hair, he chugs another entire bottle of Ziff again.
The crowds roar in enthusiasm. It’s a picture-perfect moment, a brilliant ad for a magazine or a commercial. Everyone claps and cheers. Even my father. With a prideful smile, his palms smack together.
He likes Ryke. He may not want him with Daisy. But it’s hard not to admire Ryke’s bravery. He defies the impossible every time he climbs.
I try to let out a breath, but it tightens the moment Ryke begins to put on a harness, preparing to repel to the base. Ryke once mentioned that the most dangerous part of rock climbing isn’t the ascent but rather the descent. So my stomach flip-flops all over again.
And then he repels.