Page 109 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"Coordinates coming up," Jamie announces over the radio chatter.

Through the windshield, I can see the guardrail where it's been torn away, metal twisted and scattered across the road like broken teeth. Beyond it, the mountainside drops away into darkness.

"There," Jamie says, pointing toward a faint glow visible through the trees about fifty feet down the embankment.

Molly's car—or what's left of it—sits wrapped around a massive pine tree, steam rising from the crumpled hood. The driver's side is compressed against the trunk, and even from here I can see the spider web of cracks across the windshield.

"Jesus," someone whispers.

We gear up quickly, efficiently, the kind of teamwork that comes from training and trust. As I clip into the rope system that will lower me down to the wreckage, I feel something I haven't experienced in years.

Purpose.

Not just the drive to destroy or survive, but the calling to save.

But do I really want to save him?

Because unlike my previous battlefields, where we fought for freedom and righteousness, the person who needs saving tonight doesn't deserve it.

Even if he's the one who's made my life hell for as long as I can remember.

"Ready?" Jamie asks, his hand on my shoulder.

I look down at the wreckage, at the vehicle that represented everything good I'd tried to build for Molly, now twisted around a tree with my brother trapped inside.

"Yeah," I say, stepping toward the edge. "I'm ready."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Beau

The rope feels like a lifeline between worlds.

The safe ground above where Molly waits, and the wreckage below where my brother lies trapped in what used to be her car.

I test the anchor point one more time, tugging hard enough to make Jamie grunt with effort as he braces against the weight. The harness cuts into my thighs, familiar and reassuring in a way that surprises me.

Three years ago, gear like this triggered flashbacks.

Tonight, it just feels like coming home.

"You good?" Jamie calls down, his voice barely carrying over the howling wind.

I give him a thumbs up, then catch sight of Molly pressed against the guardrail, her face pale in the strobing red and blue emergency lights. She's wrapped in someone's rescue jacket, snow collecting in her hair, and she looks terrified.

Not for Riley. For me.

The realization hits me harder than the cold mountain air. She's not worried about my brother dying down there. She's worried about what saving him—or not saving him—will do to the man she loves.

What kind of man do I want to be for her?

I step backward over the edge, letting the rope take my weight. I want to be the man who chooses mercy over revenge. The man who saves lives because it's right, not because people deserve it.

The man worthy of Molly Jennings' love.

The descent starts smooth enough, my boots finding purchase on the rocky face as I rappel down into the darkness. Emergency floodlights create harsh shadows that move and change with every gust of wind, turning the mountainside into something from a nightmare.

Halfway down, my left boot slips on a patch of ice.