by Lili Valente
At least, not soon enough to keep Macy from wasting away to nothing in her quest to keep her family together.
Finally, I’d been forced to make the hardest choice of my life, to face facts and to do what was right, even though it hurt like hell. I kissed Macy goodbye one frigid February morning. That afternoon, I placed the call reporting that she and her sister had been abandoned.
It broke my heart to watch Macy get into the social worker’s car, but I’ve never regretted it. Not that day or in all the days after, when my letters to the girl I loved were returned unopened and the phone number the caseworker gave me rang and rang without anyone picking up.
I did what I had to do, the only thing I could have done if I loved Macy as much as I claimed to. I loved her enough to ask for the help she was too proud to ask for herself, and to give her a shot at a happy life.
I’d loved her enough to give her up.
I made peace with all that years ago. Still, when I see a woman with glossy braids trailing down her back, I can’t help but think of Macy’s silky black hair. And when I drive past the old Clayton place, with its empty windows staring down at the road in silent, faded sadness, I can’t help but wish things had been different.
But I’m not a regretful person by nature. It’s been ten years since I said goodbye to Macy. I’ve learned to live with the knowledge that I’ll never see her again, never know if she’s forgiven me or if she’ll curse my name until the day she dies.
There comes a point in life where you have to let go of the past.
I haven’t thought about the one who got away this much in a long time, which makes the moment I wrench open the driver’s door—revealing a dazed-looking Macy, coughing as she clutches at her seatbelt—all the more surreal.
“D-Dean?” Macy blinks up at me, clearly as shocked as I am.
The realization that she’s gotten even prettier in the past decade hits hard, even as I reach across her, popping the clasp on her seatbelt. “Come on, we have to get you out of here.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine,” she says, holding up a hand. “I’ve got money. I can walk back to town and get a tow, I don’t need—”
“You need to get out of the car,” I say, my pulse racing as the wind whips harder, making the tree above us groan. “Now. Right now.”
“But I—”
“Now, Macy,” I bark, grabbing her arms and hauling her bodily out of the car and across the snow-covered ground.
She yelps, struggling as I drag her through the drifts. “Have you lost your mind? And what on earth are you wearing? That—”
Her words end in a gasp as the tree’s complaining becomes a banshee wail. It soars in slow motion through the snow-flurry-filled air to slam down on top of the car with an ominous whump, smashing the roof into the seats.
The silence afterward is as deafening as the crash, the knowledge of how close we came to being trapped, maimed, or worse swelling inside me until the world starts to spin.
Macy glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “The tree…”
I release her with a sigh. “Yeah. The tree.”
She swallows hard. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, still shaken. My adrenaline is running so high I can barely feel the cold, though my Santa coat isn’t thick enough to keep me warm in twenty-degree temperatures.
“Oh wow. Wow.” Macy runs a trembling hand through her hair, brushing away the flakes settling on the ebony strands. “I almost died. I almost died in Lover’s Leap, and you almost died with me.” Her breath rushes out as she mutters under her breath, “Who saw this coming when they got up this morning?”
I exhale sharply, smiling in spite of the close call. “Not me. That’s for damn sure.” I rest a hand on her shoulder, the kitten softness of her blue sweater feeling strange out here in the woods and the miracle of touching her again even stranger. “But it’s okay. You’re okay, I’m okay, it’s all good.”
“All good,” she echoes, nodding too fast. “You’re right. You’re fine; I’m fine. You didn’t die trying to save my life, and we’re both going to be okay.” Her forehead wrinkles as she looks up at me, her eyes shining with wonder. “I can’t believe you did that. Risked your life. For me.”
“Well, I didn’t know it was you until I opened the door,” I say with a laugh, realizing it’s the wrong thing to say the second the words pass my lips.
What the hell am I thinking?
I should have said “Of course I’d risk my life for you, Maze. Once you love someone the way I loved you, it never goes away. Even if you hate me, I’m always going to care about you. I’m always going to want to know you’re happy and healthy and out there making your dreams come true.”
Or maybe something a little less crazy, like “I’ll always be there when you need me,” or just “Anytime.”
But instead, I opened my mouth and dumbness came out, and now her bright-blue eyes are shuttering against me.
“Right.” Her lips thin into a tight line. “Of course you didn’t know it was me. Sorry. I guess I’m still pretty shaken up.”
“No, I’m sorry.” I rack my brain for the perfect words to tell her that I still have foot-in-mouth disease. Macy knows that about me. I always say the wrong thing at the wrong time, ever since we were kids. Hopefully, once I remind her that I’m conversationally impaired, we can laugh about it and get back on track to being friends again.
Or maybe more than friends…
The thought is inappropriate, impractical, and has no place in the current stressful situation. But I can’t help myself.
She’s still so beautiful, so familiar, so…Macy.
One look into those blue eyes and all the old feelings come rushing back, making me think I haven’t put as many things in the past as I’ve assumed.
I can’t tell her that, of course, but I can at least make up for being an idiot.
A self-deprecating joke is forming on my lips when a heavy schwump sounds from the road above, followed by the shush of packed snow unpacking itself with help from gravity and the steep slope leading down into the ravine.
Macy’s eyes go round, and my pulse surges back into overdrive. As if responding to a starting gun, we both turn and begin hauling ass down the slope.
Neither of us says a word. We don’t have to.
We were born and raised in these mountains, and we know the sound of an avalanche-in-the-making when we hear one.
Chapter 5
Macy
Avalanche, avalanche, avalanche!
My thoughts helpfully wail the obvious as I push myself to run faster. But the snow is up to my waist, soaking through the fabric of my leggings, chilling the muscles I need to run. I’m breathing faster but running slower, all while the deceptively benign-sounding hush of sliding snow gets closer and closer, the avalanche threatening to bury me alive, ensuring I never make it out of Lover’s Leap.
I’m in the best shape of my life, but no amount of muscle can make up for the fact that I’m only five-foot-three and waist-deep in thickly packed snow.
So when Dean reaches back and shouts, “Take my hand!” I don’t hesitate.
I grab on and hold tight, letting him pull me along through the drifts until we reach a stretch of flatter land beside a creek. There, the water is frozen, but it hasn’t been for long. The rocks next to the creek bed are still mostly snow free, hinting that the water was flowing not long ago, before it contracted into crystal on the stones.
We hit the bare rocks, and I let go of Dean’s hand, pumping my arms hard at my sides, while Dean follows suit. We literally run for our lives, sprinting beside the frozen water for ten feet—twenty, fifty—until finally the rush of sliding snow grows quiet and we stumble to a stop, leaning over to brace our hands on our knees as we suck in air.
Dean looks up, cursing at the snow covering the mountain and the road above. “Rest in peace, white truck.”
I swallow against the metal taste rising
in my mouth. “What the hell was that? It’s too early in the season for an avalanche.”
“I think it was the tree.” Dean stands, swiping the sleeve of his weirdly tight—and completely sexy—Santa suit across his upper lip. “It must have hit the mountain above the road when it fell and dislodged the snowpack.”
I wrap my arms tight around my torso in a feeble attempt to hold in my body heat. I’m too ramped up from the run and the near-death experience to be cold right now, but I’m going to be. I left my jacket, mittens, and hat in the car, along with my purse and cell phone.
Cell phone!
I turn to Dean. “Are you getting cell service?”
He shoots me a grim look. “I don’t know. I left my cell in the truck.”
My teeth dig into my lip as my anxiety spikes hard and fast. “Shit. What are we going to do?”
“Well…” Dean sighs as he squints up at the wall of snow. “There’s no way we’re getting back up to the road over all that.”
“Maybe we can go around and climb up to the highway somewhere else?”
He shakes his head. “Not going to happen. At least, not fast enough. The only place we’d have a shot of getting up the incline without rock-climbing equipment is at least a forty-minute hike, and then we’d have the walk back to town after that. If we’re out here that long, we’ll get hypothermia. Neither of us is dressed for the weather.” He props his hands low on his hips, drawing my attention to the way the red fabric hugs certain areas.
Certain intimate areas…
Geez, what is up with this Santa suit? It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination and is clearly not suitable for viewing by children. Or anyone with a heart condition. Or by ex-girlfriends who are suddenly reminded of just how incredible this man looks without clothes on.
I glance up quickly, a flush heating my cheeks. The last thing I want to do is get caught staring at Dean’s crotch or any other part of his body. Though with this get up, it’s hard to avoid.
The tight velvet coat stretches across his shoulders, making them look impossibly broad. The black, silver-buckled Santa belt cinches tight around his waist, confirming that his abs are as flat and toned as they were when he was a teenager. And as he turns to pace a few steps away, the view from the back is enough to make my mouth go dry.
I close my eyes, mentally chastising myself.
This is ridiculous. Dean and I both nearly died twice, and we aren’t out of the woods—literally or figuratively—yet. Now isn’t the time to admire how round and firm his backside looks in his Santa suit.
Then when is a good time? If you’re going to die of exposure, might as well enjoy the view on the way out…
“Not helping,” I mutter to the inner voice.
“What’s that?” Dean turns back to me, one eyebrow cocked.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “Just ticking through our options. Maybe we can follow the creek to the river, cross over, and hitch a ride into town that way?”
“Good in theory, but the river isn’t completely frozen. I was down there last week for ice fishing, and we didn’t even need our picks. I could smash through the ice with the heel of my boot. And even if it were frozen, that’s still a decent hike to the other side of town, and we could end up walking it all. There won’t be many cars out on the road in weather like this.” He motions to his left, into the forest where the trees grow thick and close. “I think we should head down the trail this way a mile or so.”
He lifts a hand, cutting off my protest before it can form. “There’s a ranger station near here. A new one, built just a few years ago. The Rangers were pulled out in advance of the storm, but I know the combination to the back door. The staff gave it to me in case I ever get into trouble with one of my cross-country skiing tour groups. So we’ll be able to keep warm while we call for help and wait for rescue.”
I’m tempted to tease him about being the best Boy Scout ever, the way I would have when we were kids. But then I remember that I hate him—or at least don’t like him very much—and that he never intended to save me, Macy, his ex-girlfriend. I’m simply the recipient of a generic good deed.
I’m not special to Dean, and I would be smart to keep my guard up and my jokes to myself.
“All right.” I wrap my arms tighter around my rapidly cooling body. “Then let’s get going. The last report I heard said the storm is only going to get worse.” I glance up at the bare aspen limbs, dark against the ash-gray sky. “And it won’t be long until the sun goes down behind those clouds and it starts to get really cold.”
“Still a mountain girl at heart, I see.” Dean’s full lips curve up on one side, the sexy half smile so familiar it makes my heart ache.
Dean is all grown up—bigger and broader and every inch a man—but when he smiles like that, it’s so hard not to think of the past, when we were young and in love and no problem seemed too big so long as we could tackle it together.
But one problem had been too big. And instead of talking it through and finding a solution, Dean had thrown me to the wolves.
The thought lends a chilly note to my voice as I say, “No, I’m a city girl these days. L.A. all the way. I can’t wait to get back to a place where the roads don’t ice, there are no avalanches or snow up to my eyebrows, and I won’t have to worry about freezing to death in the middle of the forest ever again.”
Dean’s smile fades. “Understandable. And you’re right. We should get moving. If we don’t run into any more trouble, we can be at the ranger station in fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes.
It isn’t a lot of time, but I intend to use every moment to firm up the walls of my heart and remind my stupid libido that it doesn’t matter if Dean is walking, talking, jingle-bell-rocking sexy in that stupid Santa suit. He’s also a betrayer who never even bothered to ask for forgiveness. He’s had ten years to write a letter or make a call, but all I ever got from him was a wave goodbye.
Jaw set and willpower ratcheted up to full strength, I tromp through the snow behind Dean, concentrating on the cold wind cutting through my clothes, the way the temperature drops sharply as we trudge into the shadows beneath the trees, and the painful throb of my sinuses as they ache in the freezing air.
I embrace the suffering of my physical body, hoping it will banish the awareness of the sexy-as-sin man my first love has grown up to be and quiet the voice in my head insisting that Dean and I aren’t finished with each other.
Not by a long shot.
Chapter 6
Dean
The ranger station is dark and shuttered, the large windows of the main room covered over with plywood to protect them from falling tree limbs or snow drifts so deep and heavy they can smash through the glass. The invisible sun has dropped lower behind the clouds, but it’s the thick evergreens growing in this part of the forest that are responsible for the sudden dip in temperature.
Here, under the pine boughs, perpetual twilight reigns. On a summer day, the shade provides a welcome break from the heat. On an autumn afternoon, it can be a little creepy to move out of the crisp fall air and into the murky light. Today, with the winter storm howling through the trees and the shadows deepening to full-blown gloom, the ranger station looks like something out of a horror movie, a place where ditzy college kids go to die by serial killer or abominable snowman attack.
“So, which one of us is the ax murderer going to take out first, do you think?” I ask, using my boot to clear the snow away from the backdoor’s stoop.
Macy, whose lips have gone an unhealthy shade of blue, shivers in response. “Don’t make jokes. It’s t-too cold for jokes.”
“Right.” I flex my fingers, trying to get my blood flowing. “Hang on. Just a few more minutes and we’ll have a space heater and all the hot cocoa you can drink.”
Or at least I hope we will. It’s awfully dark in there, even taking into consideration the fact that the staff was summoned home early this morning, as soon as the Parks Department realized how bad the st
orm was going to get. I’m glad Tillie, who’s been stationed here for the past year, is safe in town, tucked under fleece blankets in her living room while she and Miller watch Elf for the fifteenth time, but it would be nice to see some sign of life inside.
There isn’t so much as a sliver of light visible through the window set into the door.
If the power is out, I suppose we’ll have to improvise with blankets and firewood to keep warm and hope electricity is restored by morning. Even if the phone is working and we can contact emergency services, chances are we’ll have to sit tight until the storm passes. As long as we aren’t in immediate danger of freezing to death and neither of us is hurt, it’s safer for everyone involved if we wait out the worst and the team comes to fetch us tomorrow.
Which means spending the night with Macy.
Macy, who is all grown up, more beautiful than ever, and giving me a shoulder colder than the icicles clinging to the awning overhead. She didn’t speak a friendly word to me the entire hike, shutting down every attempt at conversation with terse answers that made it clear she still hates me like butt sores on top of butt sores.
The realization makes me sad. Not guilty—I did what I had to do and tried my best to make amends afterward—but still…I can’t help wishing things were different. I’ve missed her, this woman whose hand still feels so familiar in mine, despite the decade we’ve spent apart.