Page 93 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

Adelaide and Isaak are already arguing over who’ll lead the first descent.

Their constant bickering grates on my nerves, but I tune them out and focus on Ophelia instead.

Her eyes, green in a way that shouldn’t exist outside a painting, catch the light, vivid against the white snow. Her cheeks are pale from the wind.

She looks good, but the sight of her still pulls something tight in my chest. Type 1 diabetes and throwing yourself out of a helicopter onto snow covered mountains isn’t exactly a safe combination.

She catches my expression before I can mask it.

“Don’t start,” she murmurs. “Let me live like a normal person. This is perfectly safe for me.”

My jaw tightens. “You’re sure you’re all right? You don’t feel faint? Did you check your blood sugar, your insulin?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “Just nervous. That’s normal.”

The helicopter lifts, its roar swallowing every sound. The world tilts beneath us, snow covered ridges and black stone tearing through the clouds.

The pilot banks, searching for a stable landing spot. When he finds one, the machine hovers a few feet above the ridge, blades chopping the air into a blur.

The guide signals. One by one, we crouch in the open doorway, skis in hand, and drop onto the snow below. The wind is savage, throwing ice into our faces.

As soon as the last of us lands, the helicopter rises again, banking away until it’s a distant hum swallowed by the mountains.

The sudden silence is startling, just the hiss of wind and the groan of snow beneath our boots.

We clip in quickly, checking bindings, tightening straps, adjusting beacons and helmets.

The guide’s voice comes through the radio in my ear, in short commands.

When he gives the all clear, Adelaide launches first, Isaak right on her tail.

Then it’s our turn.

The first descent is chaos and perfection all at once.

The snow gives under my skis, weightless and clean, the wind clawing at my face.

For a few minutes there’s no hate, no history, no memory of what she did. Just snow, gravity, and her. Reckless, alive and untouchable.

I push harder, chasing her down the slope. Ophelia glances back, her braid whipping behind her, and for a blink I catch her smile, bright and unguarded.

Damn it, she’s beautiful like this.

Free.

At the next drop, she turns, breathless laughter spilling into the wind. “First one down wins!”

“Ophelia—”

Too late. She’s already gone.

I curse, drop my goggles, and push off after her. The wind screams around me.

She’s fast. I cut across her path, too sharply and way too soon. When I glance back to warn her, I miss the turn.

“Shit.”

The slope pitches away. My edges catch, and the world goes white.