Page 83 of Wrecked on the Mountain

Chase chokes on his coffee then sprays it across the room when he can't contain his laughter.

"Firsts?" Knox repeats loudly. "That's... interesting phrasing there, Boss."

"Jesus Christ, you guys," I mutter, heat flooding my cheeks as I double-check my medical kit.

"I mean, we're just saying," Chase adds with a smirk, slinging his gear over his shoulder, "some firsts are more memorable than others, right Doc?"

Jamie stomps across the room and smacks them both around the back of the head. "Focus, idiots. We've got people to save. Now move!"

Without even enough time to think about it, I find myself strapped to the seat, my heart pounding as I prepare for my first helicopter ride.

Except it's not a ride.

It's a fucking mountain rescue.

The helicopter's rotors slice through mountain air as we lift off, and my stomach drops in the most exhilarating way possible.

Through the curved windows, Stone River Mountain spreads below us like a living postcard. I stare in amazement at the endless peaks dusted with snow, valleys carved deep with shadow and light.

"First time in a bird, Doc?" calls out Marcus, our pilot, his voice crackling through my headset.

"First time for mountain rescue," I shout back, gripping my medical kit as we bank sharply around a granite outcropping. The g-force presses me into my seat, and I can't stop grinning.

This is nothing like the sterile ambulance rides I attended in my first year in Chicago.

This is flying into the heart of the wilderness to save lives, and every cell in my body is singing with purpose.

Dad would fucking love this.

Jamie's voice cuts through the radio chatter, calm and commanding from his position coordinating the ground teams who are already on the scene.

"Brooke, we've got visual on the climbers. Three on the ledge, approximately two hundred feet down. One appears unconscious."

Marcus works carefully, getting us closer. I lean forward, scanning the cliff face until I spot them—tiny figures pressed against grey rock, one motionless while the other two wave frantically at our approach.

"I see them," I confirm, moving to check my equipment.

"It's gonna be tight, Doc," Marcus warns as we hover near the cliff face. Wind buffets the helicopter, making it dance in the air. "You sure about this?"

The old me might have hesitated. The burned-out trauma surgeon who second-guessed every decision would have listed a dozen reasons why this was too dangerous, too risky.

But that woman feels like a stranger now.

"I've got it," I say firmly, double-checking my harness. "Jamie, talk me through the approach."

"Roger that. We're setting up the rappel line now. Knox and Beau are going down first to stabilize the casualties. Critical patient appears to be a male, early twenties, possible head trauma from the fall. He'll reach you first."

My medical training kicks into high gear, running through protocols and possibilities. Head trauma at altitude, potential hypothermia, unknown mechanism of injury.

But instead of the crushing weight of responsibility I felt in Chicago after losing that nine-year-old boy… today, there's only clarity.

This is what I was meant to do.

Marcus brings us into position, the downdraft from our rotors sending snow swirling off the cliff face. Through my headset, I hear Jamie coordinating the technical rescue with the same calm authority he brings to everything.

"Alright! Brooke!" Jamie's voice is sharp in my ear. "We're bringing the first casualty up now. Male, twenty-three, altered mental status, possible skull fracture. Critical, I repeat,criticalcondition."

"Copy that. Trauma kit ready, IV lines prepped," I respond, staring down as the man is hoisted up beneath the chopper.