nodded, swallowing back the fear. Tears filled his eyes and he brushed one off his cheek. “He was frozen. His face was made of ice and his eyes were black holes. And there was snow in his hair and beard.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No. But he smiled at me.”
“It was just a dream,” Rogan said.
Ryan turned to him. “Some nights, before I go to sleep, I imagine that he’s still alive. I imagine that he walked off the mountain and is living somewhere in Nepal or Tibet. That he’s safe.”
“He isn’t,” Rogan said. “Mum says that he’s dead and we need to accept that. But...sometimes I wish he was alive, too.”
“Do you think they’ll ever find him?”
“Mal says that even if they do, they could never bring him home. It would be impossible.”
“I wish I could see him just once more. Just so I could remember him.”
“What would you say to him?” Rogan asked.
Ryan had to consider his answer. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with his father, but there was a tiny part of him that was. Max Quinn had promised to always come back, but he’d broken his promise, turning Ryan’s world upside down.
Their lives had changed overnight. Money was suddenly in very short supply, and the worry over the family finances was deeply etched in their mother’s face. They’d had to leave their little house in Rotorua, leave their friends and school and come to live in Raglan with their mother’s parents.
Lydie Quinn had been sad for nearly a year, staying in her room and not coming out, even for Ryan and his three siblings. Ryan had been afraid for such a long time, and he wasn’t sure how to help his mother. But he’d found odd jobs and made a few dollars here and there, each week handing over the money to his grandmother for groceries.
And though his siblings still worshipped the man who had been their father, Ryan was the only one who also saw that he’d had flaws. He’d left his family with nothing. He’d thought he was invincible—and he’d been wrong.
Rogan pulled the blanket up and crawled into the bed. Ryan moved over to make room. “Mum wants to drive to Rotorua tomorrow so we can go to the cemetery. It’s been a year. They put up a monument and she wants us to see it.”
“Is it going to be sad? I don’t want to watch her cry anymore.”
“I expect it will be,” Rogan said. “But best to keep our chins up and carry on.”
Ryan flopped back on the pillow, his gaze fixed on the shadows that danced on the ceiling. “I want him to come home.”
“I know,” Rogan said, lying down beside him. “Someday, maybe we can go look for him. We could bring him home and put him in the cemetery.”
Ryan shook his head, the thought of seeing his father frozen in time more frightening than the nightmare. “I don’t want to remember him that way. I want to remember him like he was when he was alive.” Before he’d broken his promise and died.
“Maybe you’re right,” Rogan said.
“But I do want to climb mountains someday,” he said. “Just like Dad. I want to see all the things that he saw.”
“We will,” Rogan said.
Ryan closed his eyes and tried to picture his father alive and happy. But no matter how hard he tried, the image of the man in the dream kept nagging at his brain. How could this have happened to Max Quinn? He’d always told his children that he would keep himself safe, that they had nothing to fear.
Had he forgotten his promise? Or maybe promises didn’t mean anything to grown-ups. Well, it would mean something to him. Ryan made a silent vow—he would never break a promise, ever.
“Go to sleep,” Rogan said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” Rogan put his arm around his brother, and Ryan clutched him tightly.
“Promise me that you’ll never die,” Ryan whispered.
“I won’t. I promise. Now you promise, too.”
“I won’t die. Not until I’m an old man. I promise.”
RYAN QUINN STARED out the rain-blurred windscreen of Rogan’s Land Rover, his gaze fixed on the dark tarmac. In the distance, the landing beacons from Auckland’s airport illuminated the night sky.
“How long are you going to wait?”
“All night if I have to,” Ryan murmured, glancing over at his twin brother, slumped in the driver’s seat. “They’re coming in from Los Angeles on a private jet. I don’t reckon they’ll be keeping to a strict schedule.”
“Serena Hightower,” Rogan said, shaking his head. “How did you get so lucky?”
Ryan shrugged. “I’m not sure I’d call it lucky. It’s just another job.”
“Yeah, but the scenery is going to be splendid,” Rogan said, reaching for the coffee he’d set in the cup holder. “What are you going to do with them? I asked Dana what your plans were, but she said they’re top secret.”
“We’re going to Fiji.”
“Really? We’ve never guided in Fiji before. That’s more of a vacation spot.”
“We’ll do some light trekking, maybe some climbing. Surfing. Sailing.”
“What about supplies and equipment and—”
“It’s not that kind of trip. I’m just on board as...an advisor. Someone who can take care of all the details for whatever they want to do.”
“Kind of like a...babysitter?”
Ryan glanced over at his brother, ready with a retort. But there was no way around it. That was pretty much the job description. But how the hell was he supposed to refuse the offer? He was getting his regular rate plus expenses and a promised bonus at the end, all of which he intended to keep for himself. And if he did the job well, there might be other opportunities—which meant a chance to carve out a life of his own, away from the family business. “I prefer to call it a facilitator.”
He’d been considering a break from the family adventure-guiding business for a long time, and lately, it seemed as if that time was now. Both Mal and Rogan were settling down with women they’d met, planning their futures, searching for ways to cut back on the trips they took for Max Adrenaline. They’d both assumed that Ryan would happily take over the brunt of the work.
But he’d made no promises to them and had plans of his own—he wanted to start a surf school. He lived right on the beach; he’d been surfer since the age of nine. And he’d always been a decent teacher. The only thing he didn’t have was the money to make it happen.
His fee, plus a big tip on this job would provide a good start.
“How did you get this job?” Rogan asked.
“I guided a bloke named Thom Perry last year. He was on our Mount Blanc trip. Perry owns Greenmoor Studios in Los Angeles. Serena Hightower is starring in some big blockbuster they have coming out after Christmas. She’s marrying her boyfriend right before the premiere, and he doesn’t want any bad press.”
“Bad press?”
“This is her hen party. She and her bridesmaids want one last fling before she gets married, and Perry wants to make sure they don’t create any problems for the studio.”
“So it’s your job to get her safely to the altar so this bloke’s movie can make more millions?”
“That’s