Come Back to Me_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Vivien Vale

  “We have provisions here,” I tell her. “We don’t...I don’t really need to go hunting.”

  She’s not going to settle for less than the truth. I can delay it or just get it out now.

  “Don’t think it’s my choice.” My voice rises with each word, the intensity running away from me.

  “What?”

  “It’s not my choice!” I yell. “Stop thinking that I’m so in control here. I needed to do it...”

  “You needed to abandon me?”

  “For you, Emma. I had to leave to protect you. I had no choice—I had to remove myself. That’s why I left, that’s why I’ve been here for years, and that’s why I’m essentially a ghost now. To protect you!”

  My voice reverberates through the entire cabin. Emma’s face changes, her eyes reddening. She lifts her head up slightly, and it looks like she’s readying to throw some angry words in my face, but she stays silent.

  Instant regret takes hold of me, and its grip becomes so tight I don’t even register she’s walked out the front door until after she’s gone.

  At first, it felt like she was just sulking, just storming out of the room, but now it dawns on me, a few precious seconds too late, that there’s a blizzard out there.

  Regret fades to fear, and fear freezes me for a moment. Opening the door should be the simplest act imaginable, but it feels like I’m moving through thick, resistant air.

  Once I’m outside, I see the precipitation rapidly intensifying. The temperature is already well below freezing. With the wind howling, things are even worse.

  The visibility is fucking terrible. I don’t see Emma through the hazy static of the evening snowstorm. I feel my body physically going into full panic as I start moving forward as fast as I can, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of her in the blizzard.

  I will find her soon, I tell myself, mantra-like, to keep a cool head. If I don’t...Emma won’t last in this storm.

  Emma

  Fuck, that hat is gone. Who knows where it went? And I didn’t think to put on any goddamn gloves, either.

  As freezing as it is in the great outdoors tonight, my body heat is melting the thin layer of snow on my head, soaking my hair before it’ll surely refreeze later.

  How is it that all this shit is just occurring to me now, out here in the freezing cold?

  I thought the sky looked light enough when I left, but the snow’s now falling so hard that it’s impossible to see very far—or at all, really—in any direction.

  I have to give myself some leeway with the delayed realizations, like the dawning reality that I don’t even have gloves or a hat.

  First of all, I’m on the…God, how many days is it now?

  From the fire, to waking up in the middle of freaking nowhere with a transformed beast of a former colleague, to all these life-shattering revelations—it all makes it seem like my former life is somewhere in the distant past now.

  However long it’s been, I’m in the thick of unprecedented craziness. I need to give myself a pinch of understanding for missing some admittedly crucial details.

  There’s a faint pinkish tint to everything, the color of all the snow reflected in the night sky.

  If it weren’t for that vaguely hellish light, I would be in total darkness. As of now, all I can see is a dimly-lit, rapidly descending ocean of snowflakes surrounding me on all sides.

  I’m still moving, taking slow steps through the growing blanket of snow under my feet.

  Okay, it’s not under my feet at this point. With my latest couple of steps, my feet are sinking into the fresh, powdery snow entirely, rising past my ankles and nearly over the tops of the giant loose-fitting boots I’m wearing.

  Dylan’s boots.

  I feel justified taking some of his things for the sake of survival. He has plenty of, well, everything in his little stronghold.

  I just wish he had some footwear that fit me better, because some of this snow—or a whole lot of it—is bound to make its way into these boots if I keep going.

  I’ll soon be freezing and soaked from literally head to fucking toe. Maybe I can forgive myself for not preparing better, but I’m feeling a growing, snowballing frustration at myself for trying to flee like this in the first goddamn place.

  With my feet now wobbling with each step and my balance deteriorating, I’m going to have a real tough time finding it in my heart to forgive myself for this one.

  Or not. I mean, it was a rash decision, but I’m not confronted with this kind of crap every day or, like, ever.

  And how was I supposed to now it would be snowing this freaking hard out here? Or that it would be so damn frigid?

  It’s not like this is Antarctica or the Yukon.

  I don’t think it is, but then the facts about my current reality are getting murkier with each unsteady step.

  A bitter, raw wind pierces through me, howling monstrously and nearly knocking me off balance.

  I decide that this is as good a time as any to freeze—figuratively, I hope—in place and try to coalesce my thoughts before continuing.

  What drove me here?

  That’s my first thought—or rather, my first question to myself.

  The short answer is Dylan.

  Another fucking gust of wind attacks my train of thought.

  “Shit! I get it, already! Just give me a minute, please!”

  There, that ought to do it.

  So, Dylan. Yes, that’s why I’m out here. Because of Dylan and his pointless veiling of the truth.

  For years and fucking years. Why couldn’t he just tell me?

  That answers it, and I’m satisfied. The pain and anger of the thought feels worse than the discomfort of this stupid blizzard.

  I take another step, then another, feeling a little steadier now, maybe a little warmer even—although that part might be in my imagination.

  For the first time since leaving the cabin, the snow looks like it’s slowing down, possibly.

  Or it’s just the wind getting worse, blowing the snow sideways from its downward trajectory.

  Either way, the wind’s definitely getting worse, and I wobble a bit when I realize that I’m on a slight slope.

  “Oh, holy shit.”

  All the other crap—going gloveless, losing my hat, running outside with boots that make me feel like I’m shrinking—all that I can excuse away, chalking it up to an insane, unforeseen course of events that I could never have predicted or prepared for.

  But this…come on. This is the fucking mountains.

  How did I not consider that little detail? How far did I think I could get?

  I think about taking another step, but I feel my balance deteriorating just at the thought.

  I don’t know how much of it’s in my head, but it’s so fucking cold right now I don’t even feel like considering that, or anything else.

  I still can’t see what’s in front of me, but maybe if I go back in the other direction, I can get back on level ground.

  It’s possible I haven’t traveled that far yet. The gusts of wind’s becoming nearly constant, and now the only thing I care about is finding my way back indoors.

  Heat. That’s all that matters. Or at least some kind of shelter from this brutal wind and biting flecks of snow it’s blasting onto my exposed face.

  If I could turn around, I would run, and I would not stop until I found a shelter—four walls, a door, and most importantly, a roof.

  Dylan’s cabin fits the bill, and I got myself this far on my two feet—if only I could get myself back.

  The way I’m standing is not sustainable. My left foot is planted a long stride in front of my right foot, which is pointed out diagonally.

  And the ground below my feet is curved downwards from where I stand. Gravity is already tugging at me mildly, encouraging me to move forward.

  I’m sorry, gravity, but I want to get the fuck away from whatever you have in mind for me in that direction. I need to turn around somehow.

  If I move
either foot, my balance is likely gone, and gravity will win for sure. That’s what it feels like now, but I might be able to center myself…

  I shift my shoulders backwards, moving gradually, subtly, and then stopping quickly. Okay, I didn’t fall, and I don’t feel like gravity’s pulling me anymore, so I’m making progress.

  I resolve to be a bit bolder with my next move as the urge to retreat indoors grows. I lean back some more, towards the direction I came from, which I believe to be the direction of the cabin. Again, I don’t fall—it’s time to lift my foot.

  I probably need to start with my left foot, the foot that’s in front, to maintain my balance and not fall forward to an uncertain fate. Shit, here we go.

  I angle my shoulders a touch more towards the ground behind me. If I’m going to fall, it’ll be better to fall a few feet backwards onto a soft blanket of snow than to fall forwards, yielding to whatever horrors lay in that direction.

  Really, falling backwards might be my best choice. I probably can’t pivot on one foot right now, although maybe I can. I’m getting more determined by the second.

  I lean back a hair more, preparing for a likely fall. It shouldn’t be so bad. I gradually start lifting my left foot up from the snow.

  Once my left foot is unmoored, my right foot slips hurriedly, and by the time I can even begin to assess the situation, I’m already flat on my back. I’m not in pain, and now I can turn around. I almost want to say That’s not so bad out loud, but I realize that my teeth are chattering at about a million miles an hour.

  That’s okay; I’ll be inside soon. I’m feeling numb in my extremities, and the numbness is slowly traveling up my hands and my feet—yet I know I’ll be able to walk back to warmth.

  It’ll be the nicest warmth I’ve ever felt.

  What I want to do is rotate myself so I’m face down and crawl carefully back to level ground before I push myself up onto my feet. I just need to make sure I stay traveling in that direction, since I’m pretty sure I went in a straight line all the way here.

  I twist in the snow, or I try to, but my arms and my back are not cooperating.

  Fuck, is there any part of me I can just fucking move at this point? I try kicking my leg into the air, and there it goes...

  And there I go. Darn, gravity is winning this battle in overtime, pulling me feet first down the slope.

  I start out sliding on my back, but gravity gets stronger before long, and I’m tumbling, rolling, as it gets steeper for a second, then levels off.

  The fall doesn’t last long, and I end up on my back again, this time on level ground.

  I start twisting, and this time, my body accommodates me. Now I push myself easily off the ground.

  I don’t feel hurt at all, and the whole thing gave me a nice surge of adrenaline. The wind’s quieter now, but the snow is getting even heavier, falling straight down.

  I still can’t see shit, but I have to find a way to get back to where I started. I may need to cli—

  BANG!

  I instinctively emit a shrill yell at the sudden, close noise, and I stumble over my feet, falling onto the snowy ground again.

  I hear myself breathing fast, and, oh no, I notice a growing pain in my right ankle.

  I can’t move, and my heart’s thumping like crazy. What the hell was that noise?

  It sounded like a gun. Who was the crazy dead shit shooting in this storm? More importantly, what or who was their target?

  Dylan

  It’s such a fucking female thing to do.

  Now Emma’s decided, against what should be anyone’s better judgment, to run off into a raging blizzard instead of staying in the safety of the cabin.

  Emma acted without thinking, and now I’ve got to go and save her. Typical.

  If she’d stopped to think about her actions for even a goddamn microsecond, this could’ve all been avoided.

  The wind is as fierce as I’ve ever felt it up here, which is not fucking good.. Most of my face is covered, but where it’s exposed, I can feel the icy cold biting into my skin.

  With my head down and my arm up as a shield against the forces of Mother Nature, even walking is a slow, perilous challenge. Each step I take brings me waist deep into the snow.

  I stop for a second and consider going back to the cabin to grab my snowshoes. I’d be much faster on snowshoes, but I’d lose valuable time and whatever progress I’ve made already.

  Fuck.

  This girl is so much more fucking trouble than I’d thought she’d be. For the umpteenth time, I regret rescuing her and bringing her to my domain. I should’ve dropped her off along the way at maybe some luxury hotel or a shopping mall.

  Really, I did what I had to. There weren’t any serious fucking options but to bring her here, and now there are definitely no other options but to find her—wherever she is.

  The faint footprints I’ve been trying to follow have been wiped completely out by more snow. This is going to be fucking impossible.

  She could be anywhere. There are thousands of acres of wilderness out here.

  “Emma!”

  The wind carries my voice away, and I know it’s pointless. Wherever she is by now, she won’t hear me...

  Instead of continuing the way I’ve been going, I turn slightly and head south. Even in this storm, I know the area pretty well.

  There’s no real logic to my changing direction. I mean, she could’ve gone in any fucking way, but I need to stay focused. I have to follow my instincts.

  I had been going uphill, but I figure she couldn’t have kept going up there in this storm. This shit’s bad enough as it is without trying to trek up the slope.

  Hopefully, she would’ve started heading down a flatter terrain. Problem is, level ground here eventually starts sloping downward. Sometimes sharply.

  Up ahead, I see what might be a footprint. By the time I get there, the wind and snow have destroyed almost all evidence of what it once was.

  Still, I study it for a few minutes.

  It’s definitely a footprint. And it’s from a boot.

  One of my boots.

  The same boots Emma was wearing when she left.

  Inwardly, I breathe a sigh of relief. If she’s been here, and she’s headed south, there’s still hope she’s safe.

  If she’d gone in another direction, she may have fallen off a ledge by now.

  An image of her exquisite body, sprawled out over some icy rocks, blood oozing out of her skull, her expression vacant, and all the color drained from her face suddenly assault my mind.

  I blink rapidly a few times to rid myself of the gruesome image.

  With renewed vigor, I follow what might be a trail of her footprints.

  If only the storm eased off a tiny bit, the search would be a lot easier, although she’s unlikely to run into any unwelcome company in this kind of weather.

  Neither poachers nor bears venture out into blizzards like this.

  I grimace.

  Okay, so I’ve gone and found some promising evidence of where Emma could be, but I’m a long fucking way from being out of the woods.

  I still need to fucking find her. I continue slogging down the trail of possible footprints.

  With each passing second, I start to worry more and more. If I don’t fucking find her soon, I won’t have any chance of finding her alive.

  By now, my own gear is saturated. Snow is dripping down my back, and even my feet are wet. None of my waterproof gear is designed to withstand the forces of nature to this extent—at least not for this long.

  I shiver a little and stop. I’m losing the trail of footprints. Now, it’s just pure fucking snow in front of me.

  I scan the ground around my feet, and something to my right grabs my attention. The snow looks a little depressed there.

  Am I seeing things out here? Is there such a thing as a fucking footprint mirage in the snow?

  Whatever it is, it looks like there’s another depression a few more inches away.

&n
bsp; Bang!

  Before I can even take a step in that direction, a gunshot rattles the trees. It came from somewhere behind me.

  What the fuck?

  I spin around as a high-pitched scream pierces the air. If someone’s hurt Emma...I swear I won’t rest till they’re dead.

  Have those evil bastards tracked her all the way out here?

  My foot catches on something, and I tumble. Fuck, I’m on a slope, which I should’ve fucking known was here.

  I feel myself falling, and I know there isn’t shit I can do about it. I roll, bracing for impact, and eventually come to a quiet stop.

  Fuck.

  Now I’ve lost the trail altogether. My heart is beating wildly in my chest as I get to my feet.

  I’m about to turn around and start my way back uphill when I hear something.

  It’s a sound that grabs my attention immediately, yet it’s soft and quiet.

  “Emma,” I call, and listen. “Emma is that you?”

  Obvious sobbing meets my ears.

  “I’ve fallen and...” she calls out, and stops.

  I try and follow the sound of her voice.

  “Keep talking, Emma,” I urge her. “I’m nearly there.”

  Just then, I nearly trip over a huddled figure. Relieved, I bend down and wrap my arms around her.

  Emma sobs uncontrollably into my chest. I stroke her wet hair, holding her.

  I want to scream with joy and relief, but I stay calm for Emma’s sake.

  That gunshot is still ringing in my ear, and I don’t know if we’re in danger.

  “Are you hurt?” I whisper into her ear.

  She pulls away from me. “I tripped and fell on my ankle,” she says, pointing to her right leg.

  I let go of Emma and take a quick look at her ankle. From what I can see, she sprained it, but it didn’t look serious.

  “If I help you up, do you think you can walk?” I don’t care if she can’t. I’d be happy to carry her.

  She nods. “Did you hear the...was it a gunshot?”

  I nod.

  “Who...do you think...” she doesn’t finish the question, but I don’t have the answer.

  I shrug. “Let’s get out of here,” I suggest.