Page 43 of First Echo

We didn't talk about what it meant, about Sam, about tomorrow, about anything beyond the walls of our room.

Words seemed inadequate, unnecessary in the face of what we'd just shared.

Instead, we lay together, trading lazy kisses that gradually slowed as exhaustion claimed us.

I rested my head on her shoulder, my arm draped across her stomach, our legs tangled together beneath the blankets.

Her fingers traced patterns on my back, soothing, gentle.

The last thing I remember before sleep claimed me was the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against my ear, the rise and fall of her chest beneath my cheek, the feeling of absolute rightness that had settled in my bones.

I woke to an empty bed.

The sheets beside me were still warm, the pillow still holding the indentation of Brooke's head, but she was gone.

For a moment, I just lay there, disoriented, my body still heavy with sleep.

Then memory rushed back—her lips on mine, her hands on my skin, the sounds she'd made when I touched her—and with it came a wave of panic.

Had she left? Really left? Was it just a moment for her? Did she regret it the moment she woke up?

My heart hammered against my ribs as I sat up, scanning the room frantically. Her suitcase was still there, her clothes still hanging in the closet, but no sign of her. Had she gone to breakfast already? Was she avoiding me?

And then I saw it—a folded piece of paper on the nightstand, my name scrawled across the top in Brooke's messy handwriting. I snatched it up, my hands trembling slightly as I unfolded it.

Dear Madeline, Gone snowboarding. Try not to fall on your face again. Best wishes, Brooke.

I stared at the note, reading it once, twice, a third time. And then, unexpectedly, I laughed—a full, genuine laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me.

Because it was exactly what she'd said she'd write. When I'd complained about her leaving without waking me, she'd sarcastically suggested leaving a note with these exact words. She'd remembered. Of course she had.

I pressed the note to my chest, closing my eyes, feeling the rapid beating of my heart through the paper.

The relief was so intense it almost hurt, washing away the panic that had gripped me moments before.

Brooke hadn't left me. She'd just gone snowboarding, like she did every morning.

And she'd left me a note—sarcastic, teasing, perfectly Brooke.

I fell back against the pillows, the note still clutched in my hand, a smile I couldn't control spreading across my face. I didn't know what this was—what we were—but I knew it was something . Something that made my heart race and my skin tingle and my cheeks flush with warmth.

The giddiness lasted through my shower, through getting dressed, through the walk to the dining hall for breakfast. It was like floating, like being untethered from gravity, like the world had suddenly shifted into brighter, sharper focus.

And then I saw Sam.

He was sitting at our usual table, Julian across from him, both of them laughing at something on Julian's phone.

Sam looked up as I approached, his face lighting up with that same genuine smile he always had for me.

The smile of my boyfriend. My boyfriend who had no idea I'd spent last night wrapped in someone else's arms, someone else's kisses.

Reality crashed back with brutal force, the guilt hitting me like a physical blow. Sam was a good guy—kind, loyal, uncomplicated. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve me kissing someone else, wanting someone else, while he sat here waiting for me, completely oblivious.

"Hey, you," he said, scooting over to make room for me. "Sleep well?"

The question was so innocent, so normal, and yet it sent a flush of heat to my cheeks. Did I sleep well? Wrapped around Brooke, her breath warm against my neck, her arm a comfortable weight across my waist? Yes, I'd slept better than I had in years.

"Yeah," I managed, sliding onto the bench beside him. "Really well, actually."

"You look different," Victoria said from across the table, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. "Are you glowing? Why are you glowing?"

"I'm not," I replied quickly, busying myself with pouring a glass of orange juice.

"You definitely are," Audrey agreed, leaning forward to examine me more closely. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," I insisted. "I'm just in a good mood."

"Since when?" Victoria pressed, not ready to let it go.

I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Can't a girl just be happy?"

"Not without a reason," Victoria countered, suspicion clear in her voice. "Especially not you, especially not after how weird you've been this whole trip."

Before I could respond, Julian jumped in. "Leave her alone, Vic. Maybe she's just excited about heading home today."

I shot him a grateful look, surprised by the unexpected rescue. Julian, for all his faults, had his moments. Though if he knew the real reason for my "glow," he'd probably be the first to throw me under the bus.

The conversation moved on, shifting to plans for the final morning on the slopes, who had packed already and who was procrastinating until the last minute.

Sam's arm draped around my shoulders, a familiar weight that now felt strangely intrusive.

I let it stay there, too afraid of raising suspicion if I pulled away, but each minute it remained felt like a betrayal—of Sam, of Brooke, of myself.

I couldn't focus on the chatter around me, couldn't join in the excited planning for one last day on the mountain.

My mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of last night, wondering where Brooke was now, if she was thinking of me too.

Despite the guilt churning in my stomach, despite the knowledge that I had a difficult conversation ahead with Sam, despite the uncertainty of what came next—underneath it all, I was happy.

Genuinely, irrationally, terrifyingly happy.

"Earth to Madeline," Julian said, waving a hand in front of my face. "You with us?"

I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. "Sorry, what?"

"We're heading out," he said, gesturing to the group already standing, gathering their things. "Last chance to hit the slopes before we leave. You coming or what?"

"Yeah," I nodded, standing quickly. "Let me grab my stuff and I'll meet you guys at the lifts."

As we exited the dining hall, I fell into step beside Sam, hyperaware of his presence, of the easy way he reached for my hand without thinking.

His fingers interlaced with mine, warm and familiar, but all I could think about was how different it felt from Brooke's touch, how his hand didn't send that same electricity racing through my veins.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, concern etched across his features. "You seem distracted."

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just... processing that this is our last day, you know? It's been a strange trip."

He nodded, accepting my explanation without question, his trust in me another twist of the knife. "I know what you mean. But hey, we had fun, right?"

"Right," I agreed, the word sticking in my throat.

We parted at the lodge entrance, Sam heading to the equipment check to get his skis while I returned to our room for my gear.

The walk through the quiet resort gave me a moment to breathe, to try to sort through the chaos in my chest. I needed to talk to Sam.

I needed to end things. It wasn't fair to him to continue this when my heart was so clearly elsewhere.

But the thought of that conversation, of the hurt I would cause, made my stomach clench with dread.

Back in our room, I changed quickly into my snow gear, my gaze continually drawn to Brooke's side of the room, to her empty bed, to the tiny traces of her presence that now felt so significant.

A hair elastic on the nightstand. A book left open, spine up.

The faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.

I tucked her note into the pocket of my jacket, a talisman against doubt, against the fear that last night might have been a dream. Then I grabbed my board and headed for the slopes, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

The resort was busy, everyone trying to squeeze in one last run before check-out.

I scanned the crowds as I made my way toward the lifts, searching for a glimpse of dark hair, for the unmistakable grace of Brooke on her board.

Sam and the others were already in the lift line, waving me over, but I pretended not to see them, continuing my search.

And then— there she was .

Brooke stood near the ski lift, alone, adjusting her gloves, her dark hair pulled back beneath a blue beanie.

She moved with that quiet confidence that had first caught my attention on the slopes, that had drawn my eye even before I understood why.

The morning sun caught in her hair, highlighting strands of hidden gold, and even from a distance, she was breathtaking.

I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just ran, my feet carrying me toward her before my brain could catch up, before doubt could take hold.

I was vaguely aware of Sam calling my name, of Julian's confused expression, of Victoria's narrowed eyes, but none of it mattered.

Nothing mattered except reaching Brooke, seeing her face, confirming that what had happened between us was real.

As I approached, she looked up, her expression shifting from surprise to something softer, something that made my heart stutter in my chest. She straightened, waiting for me, her lips curving into a small, private smile that I knew was just for me.

"Hey," I said, suddenly breathless, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, with my face, with the overwhelming feeling of rightness that washed over me just from being near her again.

"Hey yourself," she replied, her voice low, intimate, even in the midst of the bustling resort. Her eyes searched mine, looking for reassurance, for confirmation, for any sign of regret.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to touch her face, to feel her arms around me again, to lose myself in the warmth of her mouth. But we were surrounded by people—by our classmates, by Sam, by all the obstacles that stood between us and whatever this was becoming.

So instead, I smiled, hoping she could read in my eyes what I couldn't say aloud.

"I got your note," I said, pulling it from my pocket as evidence.

Her smile widened, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Did it meet your exacting standards?"

"It exceeded them actually," I replied, matching her teasing tone while trying to convey so much more beneath the words. "Very thoughtful of you."

"I'm nothing if not thoughtful," she said, the quirk of her eyebrow suggesting she was thinking of last night, of the care she'd taken with me, of the gentleness beneath her passion.

The memory made heat rise to my cheeks, made my breath catch in my throat.

Last night had changed everything. There was no going back, no pretending it hadn't happened, no returning to who I was before I knew what it felt like to have Brooke's lips on mine, her hands on my skin, her name on my tongue.

But it had also complicated everything. Sam was walking toward us now, confusion clear on his face.

Our friends were watching, whispering, no doubt wondering why I'd run to Brooke like she was a lifeline in stormy seas.

The carefully constructed world I'd built was crumbling around me, and I didn't know how to navigate the ruins.

All I knew was that I didn't want to let this go—whatever this was.

I didn't want to lose the way Brooke made me feel, didn't want to go back to being the version of Madeline Hayes who wore masks so perfect she forgot her own face underneath.

For the first time in my life, I felt real, felt seen, felt alive in my own skin.

And I would fight for that feeling, no matter what came next.