I reached into my jacket pocket, expecting to find my phone reduced to metallic confetti by the fall. Instead, I found intact metal and glass—a minor miracle.
The screen lit up to reveal a single bar of signal strength, flickering but potentially functional. I held the device toward the sky in hopes of catching the attention of the cellular gods. "Does modern technology trump geological catastrophe?"
My fingers trembled as I composed what might be the most crucial text of my life. I sent it to my father.
Eric:Stranded cliffside on the North Cliff trail—safe but need help.
Hopefully, it could get through and trigger Dad's professional rescue instincts without sending him into full panic mode. The phone claimed it successfully delivered my message, but no answer was immediately forthcoming.
"Now we wait." I slid down the cliff wall to sit with my back against the stone.
Wes remained standing while he watched the horizon. We were on a part of the island that faced away from Whistleport into the open ocean. "I hate waiting."
"I know." I patted the granite beside me, inviting him to sit. "Unless you've developed the ability to fly since breakfast, waiting seems to be our most viable option."
Somewhere below us, gulls rode the updrafts with casual mastery, their cries sharp against the wind. I thought aboutthem finding our predicament amusing, circling close enough to get a good look at the humans who'd managed to strand themselves on a thin granite diving board.
Wes finally settled beside me. His weather journal had survived the fall, leather cover scuffed but intact, and he pulled it out, leafing back through meteorological history.
"The wind's shifting. A storm is coming. Probably tonight or early tomorrow morning."
We both understood the implications of his comments. Being stranded was manageable in calm conditions, but if bad weather moved in before rescue arrived, our granite shelf would transform from an uncomfortable refuge to a death trap.
After several minutes of silence between us, Wes spoke. "Funny thing about being trapped. It makes you realize how much energy you've spent on always maintaining escape routes."
He took a deep breath. "I don't do this—sit still with someone. There's nowhere to run when things get too..."
"Too what?"
"Real." He lowered his head. "Derek used to say I had an emergency exit strategy for everything. Conversations, relationships, or even hockey drills that got too intense."
I remained perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe in case sudden movement might spook him back into silence. He'd just volunteered more personal information than in all of our previous conversations combined.
"He was right. Even as a kid, I always had one foot pointed toward the door. Guess it might take getting stranded on a cliff to figure out that running isn't always the answer."
The wind picked up and tossed his hair across his forehead. I watched his profile and maintained my silence. I had nothing to add as long as he continued his confessions.
"After the accident and everyone decided I was toxic, it hit me like validation. See? I was right to keep my distance. Peopleleave, or they get hurt, or they die, and the only way to avoid that is never to get close enough for it to matter." He pressed his palms flat against the granite, fingers spread wide. "That's why I spent sixteen years perfecting the art of not needing anyone."
Wes clarified the architecture of his isolated world. It wasn't built only on shame or guilt—he'd systematically dismantled his capacity for connection.
He continued and brought me into the picture. "Then you showed up, and you were impossibly cheerful while telling bad dad jokes. Despite that, I started remembering what it feels like to want someone to stay."
I moved my hand to cover his where it rested against granite. His skin was cold beneath my palm, and a subtle tremor ran through him.
"That terrifies you," I whispered.
"More than falling off cliffs." He didn't pull away from my touch, but I imagined him fighting back the impulse. "Because at least with gravity, you know what's coming. With people..."
"With people, you never know if they'll catch you or let you fall."
He turned to look at me then, gray eyes searching my face.
"I'm not going anywhere." I leaned toward him, letting my shoulder rest against his. "Whatever happens next, and whatever we figure out about us, I'm not running when things get complicated."
His breathing deepened, and a lump grew in my throat when I watched a half-smile appear. "You say that now when we're stuck on a ledge with nowhere else to go."
We both chuckled.
