My Husband Gave Her My Parachute Chapter 08

Loose stones sliced Ryan’s palms and knees.

He braced his hands against the ground and crawled forward. Even as the rocks cut into his flesh, he didn’t stop.

All he could see were the scattered red traces ahead.

Blood splattered by the impact had dried almost black in the wind.

He’d gone less than fifty meters when his foot struck something hard.

A white helmet, shattered into several pieces.

The shell had caved in. Its blood-soaked lining stuck to the rocks.

A small sunflower sticker was still attached to the front.

He’d put it there himself when Claire won her first world title at twenty-five.

He’d told her it would be her lucky sticker from then on.

In that helmet, she’d flown over high mountains, snowfields, and tropical rainforests.

After every landing, she’d take it off and run toward him, smiling. She’d throw herself into his

arms.

Now the helmet was shattered.

She was gone. A small bone fragment with dark hair still attached was caught in the goggle

slot.

Ryan’s hands shook uncontrollably.

He reached to pick it up but recoiled before touching it.

“Claire…”

Tears mixed with dust and ran down his face.

“Come out. Answer me, okay? I was wrong. I shouldn’t have given Mia your rig or let her touch your gear.”

He kept looking around, as if she might step out from behind a rock.

“Let’s go back to Los Angeles. We’ll stop going to the club and give up skydiving. We’ll open a little shop. You’ve always wanted a golden retriever, right? We’ll go find one tomorrow.”

He kept talking to the deserted stretch of loose rock.

The rescuers arrived one after another.

Seeing the blood and bone fragments on the ground, the team leader stopped short.

He took off his helmet and looked down in silence for a moment. When he looked up again, his

eyes were red.

“Ryan, I’m so sorry. She couldn’t have survived a fall onto rock from that height.”

He glanced around.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to recover her body intact.”

“Shut up!”

Ryan whipped around and shouted at him.

“She’s not dead! Do you know who she is? Claire Bennett! She’s a legend in extreme skydiving. She can’t die here!”

He began moving rocks, turning them over one after another.

His fingernails cracked and peeled back. Blood smeared across the pale gray stone.

Still, he searched.

He had to find her, even if all he found was a scrap of clothing or part of a finger.

Finally, between two enormous black rocks, he spotted scraps of her outdoor jacket.

Blood had soaked the red-and-black fabric, turning it black.

A black action camera lay among the scraps.

Its faint red light was still blinking.