CHAPTER ONE
AMY
The river looked deceptively peaceful.
That was the first red flag.
I’d seen enough documentaries to know nature loved luring people into a false sense of security before trying to kill them. Tornadoes did it. Sharks did it. And apparently rivers did it too.
“This is nice,” I lied to myself as I followed the group of women to the river.
The guide helping people into the raft grinned at me like he already knew something I didn’t. “Just wait till we hit Devil’s Bend.”
Devil’s what now?
My stomach tightened. I looked around at the other women. They seemed fine. Excited, actually. One of them was bouncing on her heels like she’d been waiting for this her entire life. Another whooped. An actual, genuine, enthusiastic whoop.
I felt no kinship with any of them and the doubts started to creep in.
Maybe I should’ve stayed home. Maybe taking empowerment swim lessons at the YMCA for six weeks hadn’t actually prepared me for whitewater rafting. Sure, I could doggy paddle with confidence and I no longer inhaled half the pool every time I attempted freestyle. That was growth. Real,quantifiable, chlorine-scented growth. Unfortunately, the river ahead looked less like a recreational activity and more like nature’s way of thinning the herd.
Still. I was here for a reason. Thirty-two years old and terrified of everything wasn’t how I wanted the rest of my life to go. I’d been the person who said maybe next time so many times it had basically become my brand. I had an entire Pinterest board called Brave Things that I’d been curating for three years without actually doing any of them.
When an ad for a women’s rafting weekend at Lone Mountain had popped up on my socials, I clicked the book now button before my common sense could tackle me to the floor. I was going to be brave.
I was going to be the woman who whooped.
Now I stood in a life jacket tight enough to rearrange internal organs while six strangers climbed into a raft that did not look puncture proof.
“You getting in?” The man holding the raft steady was smiling widely. Maybe too wide.
“Yes,” I said, and immediately got one foot tangled in the rope beside the dock on the first step. Wonderful. Strong start.
A woman already seated in the raft gave me a supportive thumbs-up. “Don’t worry. My cousin came with me last year and only fell out twice.”
I froze. “Twice?”
The woman nodded. “She broke an arm, but that was all.”
Not comforting. Not comforting at all.
I climbed carefully into the raft, lowering myself onto the side with all the grace of a sedated walrus. I knew, with the kind of knowledge that comes only from spending a lifetime in a curvy body, that I didn’t belong here. The life jacket was pressing my chest into an unusual shape and the strap barely made it acrossmy hips. But this was fine. This was brave. Brave people didn’t worry about how tight the life jacket strap was.
The guide pushed us gently away from shore. The raft drifted along the calm water, bobbing softly. Okay. This wasn’t bad. Honestly, this was almost relaxing. The mountains towered over us in deep green layers, sunlight flashing against the river. Birds chirped as if giving their approval. The whole scene belonged on an inspirational wilderness calendar. Maybe I could do this. Maybe this was the start of the new fearless me. The guide passed out the paddles, and I took mine with a brave smile.
Then the raft turned the corner and the river ahead exploded. White water crashed violently between jagged rocks, roaring loud enough to shake the air itself. The raft surged forward and my soul briefly left my body. Someone screamed excitedly. Psychopaths. I was in a raft with pure psychopaths.
“I would like to formally exit the adventure!” I screamed at a volume that should have been heard. It was not. Or the guide simply ignored me.
“Forward paddle!” he yelled. I dipped my paddle into the water with all the confidence of a Victorian woman being asked to operate machinery. The raft hit the first rapid. Cold spray smacked me directly in the face and I shrieked. The woman beside me laughed.
“This is the fun part.”
No. No it was not.
The raft bounced hard. I gripped the paddle so tightly my fingers cramped. Another wave crashed over us. The guide shouted instructions I absolutely did not process because survival mode had taken over every functioning brain cell I possessed.
Then it happened.