“Fine.” Chase abruptly throws his phone down on the couch. “Whatever.”
Maybe I should offer to stay. Maybe I should let them have some time together.
But there’s no way I’m letting Chase’s weird mood get in the way of me getting these photographs. I came here to work with him. I’m going to keep working with him.
And I’m never, ever letting my libido get me in trouble again. No matter how many perfect bodies and beautiful blue eyes come my way. No matter if the guy makes me laugh. No matter if when we’re alone together and silent everything is perfect.
Hanne and JJ don’t say anything out loud, but they keep us separated in the heli. Hanne doesn’t even complain about my bulky bag bumping into her legs. Instead she and JJ exchange dirty jokes over the headsets as Chase and I stare out over the snow.
Around us the mountains spread their wings, and I have no one to talk to about them. The wind-clutched spires. The sheer faces. The soft, hollowed bowls of endless powder.
Does he notice how beautiful it is, this breathtaking landscape of rock and ice and sky?
Or has all the light been sucked from it. Like it has for me.
The natural jump is amazing—a huge drop into perfect powder snow. The pilot looks from it to me as I’m getting my stuff ready to jump out.
“Fifteen years I’ve been doing this, and I still think you’re all crazy.”
My face feels tight as I smile. “I guess we are, yeah.”
I set up off to one side as the others go tramping up, their boards braced over their shoulders or held under their arms. It must be hard going through the powder. It takes a while for the pant of their breathing to fade. I don’t watch them go. I have my light meter to get out, my camera and my lens.
From this distance Hanne shouts rather than using the radios.
“You all ready down there?”
I take one last check of my gear, finding her leaning head through the viewfinder. “Yeah, it’s looking good.”
“JJ’s up first,” Hanne shouts back, “because he never learned how to share as a child.”
They’re beautiful. My heart still skips a beat, just like it did the first time I watched them ride. Here they are facing a drop that could kill them, and they throw themselves into the air as if they know they’ll live forever.
Or as if the risk is worth it, for that beautiful moment of flight.
I know them so well now. JJ’s graceful arch. The bright flash of Hanne’s hair popping out from beneath her helmet as she twists through the sky.
The brute power of Chase’s riding takes my breath away, but it’s different from how it was before.
Another day I would have felt bad for making them do this. They have a long walk up to the launch point, after all—coming to a stop far below me and then slowly trudging their way back up. But each time I see Chase stamp past, his face hidden by his goggles and neck warmer, I feel surge of anger.
I’m not giving up on my dream just because we argued. I’m not. I’m not going to be one of those people who lets themselves be a pushover rather than stand up for what they want.
Chase would do anything for his calling. I would, too.
I’m not the only one on edge. Chase’s riding is sloppy, the perfect rhythm of his carving broken. I’ve watched him board countless times. I know how his body moves, naked and primal, alone in the dark. I can see as well as any coach would that he’s not at his best.
Maybe it’s not a surprise when the jump goes wrong. After twisting through the air, Chase thuds down too hard onto the snow. His body fights against his landing rather than absorbing the shock. He takes most of the hit with his legs, and it looks like he’s made it—and then he’s catching a bad edge and flipping head over heels.
The whole world slows, and there’s no air in my lungs.
I’ve seen Chase falling a hundred times in dark turns of my dreams. I’ve watched him hurtle down glaciers and fall with breaking overhangs. I’ve woken breathless after horrors that leave me shaking.
This is worse than my nightmares. The mountain plays with Chase like a cat. The flailing rag doll of his body thumps round and round, an uncontrolled cartwheel down the face. Against the steep slope his reaching arms can’t find purchase before his board digs in, over and over, jerking brutal force through his legs and slamming him about again.
When it ends there’s only stillness and silence.
“You okay, man?” JJ hollers from up above.
Hanne’s already dropping in, apparently deciding the best way down is over.
And I’m running.
Despite having thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment around my neck. Despite the feet-deep powder that makes every movement a slog. Despite the argument. Despite everything.
The only thing that matters is reaching him.
“Chase!”
It’s my voice. My voice, echoing around the slopes.
Please move. Please move. Please move.
Thank god, he does.
It’s not much. Just a shove out of the snow and a flop round onto his ass. But it’s enough to see that he’s moving just fine, that everything works. My heart leaps against the cage of my chest. As I stumble over the last bit of snow Chase tugs up his goggles, pulls down his neck warmer and leans over to spit red onto the snow.
When he looks up at me there’s so much rage on his face that I’m stopped in my tracks.
Blood drips steadily from his nose, coating those lips I’ve kissed, clinging sickly red to his teeth.
“Take a photo,” Chase snarls.
It might come from another world, the sound of Hanne swooping to a stop behind me and kicking off her board. It doesn’t matter. All that’s real is the way Chase looks at me, and the thump of my knees against the snow as I collapse beside him.
I’m so close I can see the heave of Chase’s chest through that thick jacket. The bright fire in those blue, blue eyes.
It hasn’t gone out.
“Take a photo, Brooke. That’s the only reason you’re here, isn’t it? To take fucking pictures. So go on. Do it.”
“Chase …” My voice cracks, aching.
“They make big money, don’t they? The crash reels. Everyone wants to see a bit of pain. Go on. Take it.”
I want to reach out for him. I want to brush the blood away from his face and kiss him. I want to hold his unbroken body, keeping him safe in my arms.
“What the fuck are you here for, Brooke,” Chase growls, “if it’s not photos.”
The camera hanging at my neck fills all of the space between us.
What am I here for? I thought I knew. It was for work. And then it was for something else I couldn’t really admit to myself. And now …
I feel like I’m watching a stranger. Someone whose armor is strong enough to withstand all of this pain. Someone who notices yes—it’s an amazing shot. The red blood. The white snow.
Anger tightens Chase’s jaw and rasps at his heavy breaths. But there’s more than that. Something trembles at his split lip and cracks in his voice. It’s in the way he stares at me as if nothing else exists. A truth, raw and bleeding, that he wants me to see.
He’s alive. Bloody and battered, shaking with rage. But fighting. Defiant, not defeated. Still reaching for something. Still yearning.
Still here.
I thought he—
Click.
Hanne collapses onto him. “Why the fuck are you talking to her like that?” She spits out her glove after using her teeth to tear it from her fingers. A jerk of her jaw turns her face to me. “And why are you doing what he says?”
Chase ducks his head away from Hanne’s solicitous fingers. He doesn’t want to be touched by her. He wants to look at me. His voice is colder than anything the mountains could manage.
“I hope you got what you wanted.”
25
I’m not going to cry.
Alex sounds like a pigeon on the phone, a low croon of worry that goes on and on. “Oh
, hon, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come to Canada? I’ll come to Canada. Just tell me where. I’ll kick his ass.”
I try to take a deep breath, pressing my fingertips to the bridge of my nose. With my eyes tight shut I can’t see what a mess I am in the bathroom mirror. “Don’t. I’m fine. I can’t—I have to do well at this. Dinkler isn’t going to be happy that I bashed up his big earner.”
“You didn’t do anything. He did it to himself. Anyway, he had it coming.” I can hear Alex slamming around her kitchen on the other end of the line. She must be taking out her frustration on her gleaming, high-end cookware. “And they film in clothes like a mummy, anyway. It’s not like anyone will see.”
The stupidest thing is that I’m not even only angry. Not even only hurt. I’m worried, too. I’m thinking about Chase downstairs with the ice pack on his face, and JJ and Hanne watching him in stony silence. I’m thinking about his continued shouting outburst at Hanne. The shoving fight with JJ.
Most stupid of all I’m worried for him, and hurt that he’s hurt, and I don’t even know what I did wrong.
“I love you,” Alex says, pressing each word into the phone like she can make me feel them. “You’re the most fantastic, wonderful, insane, workaholic, fantabulous person I’ve ever met. Don’t let this get to you, B. You’re better than this bullshit.”
I don’t feel better than anything. Is that really what he thinks of me?
Underneath my clothes I can still feel his mouth burning on my skin. The marks of his hunger pressed with his fingers on my hips and his mouth on my thighs.
I remember lying there, just breathing with him, and the way his fingertips would graze lightly over my skin. The softest of caresses.
I have no fucking idea what Chase Austin thinks. Not ever.
The next day we’re meant to be going up in the heli, but when Dinkler comes back from the local guides’ cabin after breakfast there’s a grim look on his face.
“I don’t like the look of the weather,” he says as he goes for one of the plates the chef has already loaded with local lox and scrambled eggs. “We won’t take the helis up today.” He tilts a wry smile toward Chase’s black eye. “Maybe it’ll be good for you to take a break from big lines.”
Chase pauses mid-chew, staring for an uncomfortable moment before his eyes drop back to his plate. “Been hurt much worse.”
It’s true. He has. But if the weather isn’t perfect, we’re not going onto the massive faces of Bella Coola’s most extreme mountains. We all have a weird sense of risk, it’s true—I can’t count how many operations and screws and plates everyone in this room must have. But we understand bank balances. Filming—especially with two helis involved—is insanely expensive. We’re not wasting a day in the air if it’s not 100% guaranteed we’ll be able to get good footage out of it.
Hanne slips into the seat beside mine, her shower-wet hair slithering over my arm as she leans to grab the orange juice. “Why don’t we take the snowmobiles out? Go get some shots lower down.” She flicks her eyes between JJ, Chase, and me. “Just ’cause we’re not filming doesn’t mean we have to stay here.”
JJ nods. After a shrug Chase joins him. Hanne’s eyes fix on me again.
“You in, Brooke?”
Do I really want to spend more time with Chase?
But more importantly, do I really want to get the Illuminations photo?
It takes me a second to realize Chase is just staring at me over the table. I force myself to hold his gaze. He’s not going to intimidate me.
“Risk’s up today,” he says.
None of us have to ask him what he’s talking about. We all check the avalanche risk reports religiously—from the guides, from the lodge’s owners, from the local weather station, from our own reading of recent snowfall and weather conditions.
Hanne throws him a look. “She’s a big girl, Chase. She can decide what she’s comfortable going out in.”
“Looked good to me,” JJ says with a shrug. “Would you wanna come, Ryan?”
Ryan shakes his head. “Nah. Brooke can get all we need. I’ll stay here with Dinkler and make plans for tomorrow.”
I finish my food as fast as I can before heading out to get my gear. Most of it is downstairs, but my avalanche bag is up in my room. After so much practice I complete the actions without thinking: bag over my shoulder. Deployment handle checked. My avalanche beacon moved from my desk to my pocket.
When I tug the door open, Chase is standing right outside it.
I can’t read what’s on his face. For a few shallow breaths we simply look at each other, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Yeah?” My voice cracks too much to be cool.
Chase looks at me, his jaw set hard, and finally steps away with a wave of his hand.
“Nothing.”
It’s the most beautiful day I can imagine. The sky is perfectly blue, the winds that threatened the heli not visible to the naked eye. The mountains stretch endless around us. We’re more or less below the tree line, down by the drainage basin for one of the area’s sparkling-clear rivers. Snow-shrouded pines cluster in snowy bowls and are scattered sparser over the slopes. The powder is waist deep after the last few days’ snowfall, soft as down and white as confetti.
Once we’ve parked up the snowmobiles it’s a bit of a trek to where we want to film. It’s better to walk, taking our time to discuss any avalanche risk factors we see. We trudge through the snow together, Hanne throwing the odd snowball and Chase trailing far behind all of us.
The slope we decide to film on seems perfect. We still play it safe—two athletes well out of the line as one takes it, with me placed on a little outcrop in a clearing below. Hanne pulls a mini shovel from her backpack so that we can check the snowpack for weaknesses. Even when we get into place I keep my board on my feet and my avalanche bag on, ready to ride down to the next photography point once they’ve passed me.
JJ gives me a grin before they start hiking up, taking a roundabout route so they don’t mar the virgin snow. “See you soon.”
“Eeee,” Hanne leans forward to squee at me, excitement bright on her face. “This is going to be epic.”
Chase doesn’t even look at me. He’s already climbing up, checking the straps on his avalanche bag as he goes.
I lose track of time. One pass. Another. JJ and Hanne take their turns to move elegantly over the snow. It’s magical to photograph them. Chase is still tense, but even his less-than-perfect boarding is bewitching to watch. Time seems to lose its meaning as I slip into a state of perfect flow, my camera an extension of myself.
And then it happens.
At first it’s just a sound as I’m peering at JJ through my viewfinder. Something comes up through the snow to shake at my feet like a warning.
In the distance Hanne shouts something, but she seems so very far away.
Through the viewfinder I watch as the snow begins to move with JJ.
It’s slow at first. Just a beautiful white stream purifying the world behind him. Only gradually does it reveal itself as a wave that’s rising and growing, gathering its strength to break.
Milliseconds pass like hours, and the word has already coalesced in my stunned mind before Chase’s voice shouts over the radio at my shoulder.
“Avalanche. Go. For fuck’s sake, go.”
Outrun it. That’s what they say, isn’t it? All these years of practice lead to this voice in my head. Get to your escape route as fast as you can.
JJ hears the voice, too. He’s cutting across the slope, aiming for the tree-lined ridge we agreed on. Trying to reach it before the avalanche reaches him.
The avalanche. The one that’s coming for me, too.
I move in a dream. There’s no fear in those moments. Just my breathing, and the growing speed of wind over my face as I cut across the slope. And behind me, getting closer and closer, the roaring.
The hungry, hungry mountain.
“Pull your airbag.” Chase’s desperation crackles
in my ear.
It’s bad news, when you pull the bag. It means you’re getting caught. It means there’s no way out.
“Pull it, Brooke.”
So I do.
The avalanche takes me into its mouth, and I’m swimming in a darkness that has no up, no down, no end. My mouth is full of snow. Winter rips my gear away, tossing me like a cat with a mouse.
I thought I’d be afraid of it, but in that moment there’s no time for fear.
Just the knowledge: I’m going to die.
26
Ten minutes.
That’s what I hear later. Ten minutes when I was out cold.
It’s longer than that before I have memories. “Memories.” Snapshots of someone else’s life, spread out over a table. Grainy Polaroids that I don’t recognize.
I’m at Bella Coola hospital as the doctor tells me a break that bad will need to be seen by an expert.
I’m on a plane to Vancouver.
I’m having more scans of my head.
There’s an image of my arm, before and twisted, and after, with its visible cast and its hidden pins.
But there’s nothing of what happened in the avalanche.
Nothing before I woke up already walking and I was alone.
A nurse tells me the whole story, when I’m ready. It doesn’t really feel like mine. My story is in those Polaroids, disconnected and disjointed. But her version helps. It’s so simple: that I was taken alone in the crew helicopter to Bella Coola. That I was flown from there to Vancouver for specialist treatment. That I’m here now, in the trauma center, and that I won’t be this confused in a few hours. Promise.
It’s an easier story to follow than my Polaroids. But through the gaps fall all the things I care about.
The people I love.
A miracle, the doctor says.
And, They’re coming in the medevac.
And, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what I don’t know.
It’s less than sixteen hours since the avalanche, and yet it feels like forever.
I almost wish the nurse who helped me from the recovery bay had stayed. I feel so alone in my room in the middle of the night. I try to imagine the hospital bustling around me, but I can’t do it. The bright lights of the ER. The break rooms where late-shift nurses chat. They exist—they’re so close to me—but they feel like a dream.
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