Page 28 of Avalanche (Endless Winter #3)

Liam

“Liam? You awake?”

I blink groggily into the darkness, conscious of Antoine breathing beside me on the mattress, then frown at the shape of Matty silhouetted in the doorway.

“What time is it?” I don’t have to be at work until ten today. Perks of being booked with the same student for private lessons all week, I guess.

When Matty stammers out some unintelligible answer I reach across Antoine to grab my phone off the nightstand, my frown deepening when I see its only seven in the morning.

“What the fuck, Matty.” I flop back onto my mattress and throw my arm over my face.

It’s way too early to get up. I can’t even hear Seth clattering around in the kitchen, which means he’s probably not back from his run yet. Which means no coffee and no food. Which means there is not a chance in hell I’m getting out of bed.

“I- do you know where Seth is?” Matty whispers.

“He’s probably running. Like he does every morning.

” I roll my eyes, both at Matty’s question and at the reminder of what a complete lunatic Seth is.

Who goes running outside in the snow when it’s still completely dark?

It’s not even like he’s trail running or something— that I get, even if I’d never do it—but he’s just running alongside the road.

Totally nuts.

“Yeah, I know…” Matty shuffles inside my room, his oversized body rustling and thudding loudly.

“But he’s normally back by now.” He lifts his phone, the screen glaringly bright in the darkness, holding it out to me as if it’s irrefutable proof.

“He usually comes back by six-forty-five every morning.”

I feel my eyebrows lift as I stare at Matty in disbelief.

“So he’s fifteen minutes late. He probably went for a longer run.”

Matty frowns. “He never goes for a longer run.”

I sit up, being careful not to jostle Antoine and scrub at my sleep-swollen eyes with the heels of my hands.

Is Matty seriously waking me up at seven in the morning just because Seth is fifteen minutes late?

And how does he even know that Seth normally comes back at six-forty-five? Who tracks that sort of information?

“Then call him,” I suggest wearily. “He always has his phone on him, right?”

Matty shakes his head. “I did. He didn’t answer.”

I peel the blankets away with a sigh, then scoot to the end of the bed. Antoine grumbles sleepily, one hand reaching out to palm the space on the mattress that I’ve just vacated.

“Okay.” I scoop up a shirt from the floor and pull it on. “What do you want to do about it?”

“I fucking hate running. You know that, right?”

“It’s not that bad.” Matty turns to give an apologetic grin over his shoulder from where he’s bent over tying his laces at the top of the steps.

I find my gaze lingering on the curve of his ass for a heartbeat longer than I should, then instantly feel guilty. He might have welcomed my touches in bed, with all of us together, but that doesn’t mean he wants anything with me.

After all, it was Antoine that he kissed.

“We don’t even know which way he went,” I dutifully point out, tilting my chin to the suburban wasteland below us. “He could be anywhere.”

“He should be here,” Matty retorts, rising to stand.

“He should be on his way back, at the very least. But he’s not.

” He scans the carpark below us, the curving driveway that leads to the main road.

It’s nearly empty, save for the occasional vehicle rumbling past, kicking up grey slush and dirty snow. “I’m going to find him.”

This last part is a whisper, a secret prayer uttered to the ice-coated wind.

“Are you coming?”

The look Matty gives me has a shiver running down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

It’s sharp and alert, his blue eyes piercing, that square jaw clenched, his shoulders practically vibrating with the need to move.

The chill sinks deeper when I realize I’ve seen him like this once before, when he was digging like mad to free that skier from the snow.

If he hadn’t freed that skier, if he hadn’t gotten that beacon, they all would have died. We’d have been scraping our boards and skis over buried corpses.

“Yeah.” My throat is tight, my heart hammering behind constricted lungs. I give a curt nod. “Let’s go find him.”

At first we plan to split at the road, for Matty to go right and me to go left. But when we get there, it’s pretty clear which way Seth has gone since there’s only one set of footprints in the fresh dusting of snow coating the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” I ask with alarm when Matty starts jogging in the direction of Seth’s footprints.

Matty doesn’t answer, just tosses me an incredulous look over his shoulder, a silent demand that I follow, then picks up his pace. I give a huff of annoyance, my breath clouding in the cold air.

Ahead of us, the sun is starting to rise, not quite cresting the looming mountain peaks, but casting the clouded sky in golds and pinks. I rub my hands together to ward off the chill, then force my booted feet into a reluctant jog.

After ten minutes of Matty’s relentless pace, I feel like my lungs might burst. But I don’t dare ask him to slow down.

Not now that the sun is painting the snowcaps red as blood and the town itself seems to be waking up, with lights glowing from the windows of the shops and apartments that line the mountain’s base on the other side of the road.

This side of the road is completely desolate though, with a wintery dormant park and naked trees and piled up snow drifts from the snowplows clearing the road. A few decaying snowmen decorate the otherwise empty field, their misshapen bodies gleaming gold in the rising sun.

A rising sun, but still no sign of Seth.

“Are you sure these are his footprints?” I call out to Matty’s back. The words are strained, exhaled on tight breaths. “Maybe we should call him again.”

Matty slows his pace to dig in his coat pocket for his phone. I nearly sob in relief at the momentary reprieve, but it’s short-lived, because Matty breaks into a run again the moment he puts his phone to his ear.

“It’s ringing,” Matty tells me, not sounding the least bit out of breath.

“Yeah, I know,” I huff. “I can hear it.”

And I can. Matty must have it on speaker or something, because I can hear the sound from ten paces behind him.

Matty skids to a stop, his arm going limp at his side, the phone nearly slipping from his fingers. The ringing continues, incessant and unmistakable, but it’s not coming from Matty’s phone like I thought.

It’s coming from beside us. Beside me. From a snowdrift that’s piled to nearly knee high along the curb.

“Fuck.” The word punches out of me on a sharp exhale. “Oh, fuck.”

Matty’s pushing past me, dropping to his knees in the snow. No hesitation, not a breath, not a heartbeat.

My feet are rooted to the spot, as if the ice has crusted itself to the soles of my feet.

“Seth. Seth, can you hear me?” Matty’s voice is thick with emotion, but steady. Not at all like the sound of my heart, the whoosh , whoosh , whoosh , pounding in my ears.

Seth is sprawled along the curb, half hidden by the snowdrift.

Grey snow is tainted dark in patches, a dark red that seems to mock the gentler pinks cast from the rising sun.

One of his legs is twisted at a strange angle inside joggers and, though his face is half hidden, pressed into the dark snow, I can tell his eyes are shut.

“He’s still breathing.” Matty’s words echo, distant in the fog tangling in my mind. “He’s still alive.”

Still alive . Those words echo through my skull, tasting like blood and snow and pain. For a flash of a second, I’m back there, at the base of that kicker, the sound of my coach’s voice screaming in my ears, that feeling of wrongness in my spine, in my legs.

You’re still alive , they had said, when they told me I’d never ride again. You’re still alive. As if I should have been grateful, laying in that hospital bed.

“I’ve got you. Shh, that’s it. It’s me, Matty. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Matty is lifting Seth up, hauling all six feet of him into his arms, cradling Seth’s head against his own broad chest. But even he isn’t strong enough to carry him, not when Seth is all dead weight and loose limbs.

“I can’t carry him,” Matty rasps, shooting me a panicked look over Seth’s head. “Not all the way back to the condo.”

I blink, and the world comes rushing in around me, crystallizing with icy clarity.

I’m here, at the side of the road in Park City, with Matty’s blue eyes pleading with me and Seth scarcely breathing in his arms. Matty, who looked at me with so much blind trust only days ago, when our bodies were pressed together with only Lily between us.

Matty who trembled like a new-born foal when he brushed his lips against Antoine’s.

Something sharp and solid presses behind my ribs, making my shoulders straighten, my heartbeat calm. I pull my phone from my pocket, ignoring the trembling in my hands.

“We’re not taking him back to the condo,” I tell Matty decisively. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

Matty’s brow dips, his lips parting as if he means to disagree, but then he looks down at Seth, at the man bloodied and unconscious in his arms, and he knows I’m right.

I know what he’s concerned about. I’d be a liar if I said I’m not thinking about it too.

There isn’t a Kiwi working here who hasn’t heard the horror-stories about what can happen if you get caught out without medical insurance in this country.

Half a million in medical debt from a broken leg, an ambulance ride that costs more than a trip in a private jet.

Which is why I forked out for the best travel insurance I could get before I left home.

But I have no idea if Seth did the same.

Seth exhales, a ragged, wet sound that leaves pink tinging his lips. Matty’s eyes widen in alarm.

I push the call button.