nine
Rhett
I stand on the porch, watching as the snowcat approaches. Its rumbling engine shatters the perfect silence of the past days. Reality, arriving right on schedule.
Beside me, Jade shivers slightly in the cold, though she's now dressed properly in her own clothes, her injured arm supported in a makeshift sling. The bruises on her face have begun to fade to a sickly yellow-green, but somehow she's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"That's your ride," I say unnecessarily, my voice rougher than intended.
She nods, eyes fixed on the approaching vehicle. "Looks like it."
Aspen whines at my feet, sensing the impending separation. I know exactly how she feels.
The orange snowcat grinds to a halt, and Jake hops out, his usual grin in place as he trudges through the snow toward us. He gives Jade a quick once-over, professional assessment mixed with undeniable curiosity.
"Miss Wilson," he says with a nod. "Ready to head back to civilization?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," she replies, but her eyes find mine, full of unspoken things.
Jake, never one for subtlety, glances between us, his eyebrows rising slightly. "I'll, uh, get the cabin warmed up. Take your time." He retreats, giving us a moment of privacy.
Neither of us speaks immediately. What can I possibly say? That in the span of forty-eight hours, this woman has crashed through every barrier I've built over the past five years? That I'm terrified of what that means?
"So," she finally says, "this is where I get my dramatic rescue part two, huh?"
"Looks that way." I step closer, unable to help myself. "Though this one's considerably less harrowing than the first."
"I don't know about that." She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "First one just involved almost dying. This one's..." She trails off, leaving the sentence hanging between us.
Complicated. Impossible. Life-changing.
"Jade," I begin, not sure what I'm about to say.
"Don't." She shakes her head. "Don't say something you'll regret, or something noble and self-sacrificing." She reaches up, her cold fingertips brushing my cheek. "Just tell me one thing—was this just some cabin fever fantasy for you?"
"No." The word comes out instant, emphatic. At least I can give her that truth. "Not even close."
Relief flashes across her face. "Good. Because it wasn't for me either."
Jake calls from the snowcat, reminding us of the limited time. The mountain won't wait forever.
"You should go," I say, though every part of me wants to ask her to stay. "Carlson is probably pulling his hair out wondering where his star instructor is."
She laughs softly. "What's left of it, anyway."
I help her to the snowcat, supporting her around the waist, savoring these last moments of contact. Jake discreetly busies himself with the controls as I help her into the passenger seat.
"Rhett," she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear. "I meant what I said. I want to find out where this goes."
I nod, unable to trust my voice. Want and fear waging war inside me.
She leans forward, pressing her lips to mine in a brief, fierce kiss. "Think about it," she whispers.
Then she's settling back, door closing, window between us. Aspen barks once, plaintively, as the engine roars to life.
I stand in the snow with my dog, watching the taillights recede down the mountain, taking with them something I didn't even know I was missing until now.
Three days. That's how long it's been since Jade Wilson left my cabin and my life. It feels like three hundred years.
I adjust the straps on my demonstration pack, checking the avalanche beacon inside for the fifth time. Busy hands keep my mind from wandering to green eyes and soft lips and the echo of my name gasped in pleasure.
"Mr. Sullivan? They're ready for you."
I nod at the young teacher—Ms. Singh, if I remember correctly—and follow her out of the lodge's back room. This is my monthly routine: safety seminars for the high school groups that visit Darkmore on field trips. Usually, I find it grounding. Today, it feels like going through the motions.
Thirty teenagers in brightly colored ski jackets await in the resort's outdoor classroom area, a cleared space near the bunny slopes. Their attention spans are as short as expected, eyes constantly darting to the main slopes where they'd clearly rather be.
"Morning," I begin, setting my pack down. "I'm Rhett Sullivan, Search and Rescue. Today we're going to cover mountain safety basics, because what you don't know up here can kill you."
That gets their attention. Nothing like a little blunt mortality to focus teenage minds.
I'm halfway through demonstrating proper beacon use when I feel it—that prickle at the back of my neck that tells me I'm being watched. Not by the kids or their chaperones, but by someone else.
I scan the small crowd and freeze. There, at the back, leaning against a wooden post with arms crossed and a small smile playing at her lips, is Jade.
Our eyes lock, and the rest of the world falls away. She looks good—too good. The bruises on her face have been artfully concealed with makeup, her arm is in a proper sling now, and she's dressed in the resort's instructor uniform. Her hair catches the morning sunlight like burnished copper.
Somehow, I continue the demonstration on autopilot. Beacon signals. Probe techniques. Emergency protocols. My mouth forms the words while my mind tries to process her presence.
I force myself to focus on the students, answering questions, correcting techniques as they practice with the equipment. All the while, I'm acutely aware of her watching me, her eyes never leaving my face.
"Remember," I tell the group as we wrap up, "the mountains don't care if you've made plans. They don't care if you think you know better. Respect them, prepare properly, and you'll get to enjoy them for many years to come."
As the teachers shepherd the students toward the ski rental area, I slowly pack up my equipment, heart hammering in my chest. I don't look up—can't look up—afraid she might have disappeared, or worse, that she was never there at all.
"That was quite the speech, Mountain Man."
Her voice washes over me like a warm current. I straighten to find her standing a few feet away, that small smile still playing at her lips.
"Standard warning," I manage to say. "They usually only half-listen."
"I don't know. You're pretty compelling when you get all serious about safety." She takes a step closer. "Though I'm probably not the best judge, considering I'm the poster child for what not to do."
"What are you doing here, Jade?" The question comes out harsher than intended.
Her smile falters slightly. "Watching you. Learning."
"Learning what?"
"That you're the same man here as you were up there." She gestures toward the cabin's location high on the mountain. "That wasn't just some... isolated incident."
I zip my pack closed with more force than necessary. "And what was it, exactly?"
"You tell me." She moves closer, stopping just out of reach. "You're the one who's been avoiding me since we got back."
"I haven't been avoiding you," I lie. "I've been busy."
"Right." She doesn't bother hiding her skepticism. "Too busy to return a call? Too busy to stop by the resort when you dropped off the incident report yesterday?"
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. "What do you want from me, Jade?"
"The truth would be a good start." Her voice is steady, but I can see the vulnerability in her eyes. "Was it just sex for you? A nice distraction while we were stuck together?"
"You know it wasn't."
"Do I? Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like a man who got what he wanted and is now finding every excuse to disappear."
Her words hit like an avalanche, burying me in shame. Because she's right—I have been avoiding her. Not because I don't want her, but because I want her too much.
"I'm seventeen years older than you," I say, the same argument I've been repeating to myself since she left.
"I'm aware of basic math."
"I live alone on a mountain."
"Also aware of geography."
"I'm not the man I was before the accident."
At this, her expression softens. "That's kind of the point, Rhett. Neither of us is who we were before our accidents. That's why this works."
Hope, dangerous and fragile, unfurls in my chest. "This thing between us—it can't be simple."
"Nothing worth having ever is," she echoes her words from the cabin, stepping closer. "I don't want simple. I want real."
The last of my resistance crumbles like snow under boots. In two strides, I close the distance between us, my hands framing her face as I claim her mouth with mine. She makes a small, surprised sound that quickly turns to approval, her good arm winding around my neck to pull me closer.
I pour everything into the kiss—all the longing, the fear, the tentative hope that's been building since I first pulled her from the snow. She meets me equally, her response just as fierce, just as honest.
When we finally break apart, both breathless, I rest my forehead against hers. "I thought this would fade once we left that cabin. That whatever sparked between us was just circumstance."
"And?" Her eyes search mine.
"And I haven't thought about anything but you since you left." The confession costs me nothing, not when the reward is her brilliant smile. "I tried to talk myself out of this a hundred different ways."
"Let me guess—I'm too young, too reckless, you're too set in your ways, we're too different." She ticks them off on her fingers. "Did I miss any?"
"You covered the greatest hits." I can't help smiling back at her. "I've been an idiot, haven't I?"
"Monumentally." She rises on tiptoes to press another quick kiss to my lips. "But you're my idiot, if you want to be."
"I do." The certainty of it surprises me. "God help me, I do."
"Good, because I'm not letting you go that easily, Rhett Sullivan." Her expression turns serious. "I know we have things to figure out. I know it won't always be easy. But when I was buried in that snow, I thought I'd never get a second chance to really live. And then you gave me one."
"You gave me one too," I realize. "I've been half-living since the accident. Going through the motions."
"Then let's figure it out together." She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. "I'd rather face the challenge with you than play it safe without you."
In that moment, looking into her eyes with the mountain rising behind her, I understand something fundamental: some risks are worth taking. Some leaps of faith lead not to disaster, but to salvation.
"I think," I say slowly, "that might be the most sensible thing you've ever said."
Her laugh rings out across the snow, bright and clear. "Don't get used to it. I still plan to make plenty of reckless decisions."
"As long as they don't involve going off-trail in avalanche conditions."
"Deal." She squeezes my hand. "Though I can't promise I won't occasionally need rescuing."
I pull her close again, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. "Lucky for you, I'm pretty good at that."
As we walk toward the lodge, hand in hand, I glance back at the mountain that nearly took her from me before I ever found her. But I did. And we rescued each other.