3. Willow
3
WILLOW
I zip my ski jacket and grab my phone, dialing Mom's number. As it rings, I double-check my gear, making sure I’m ready for my first real day of freedom.
"Hi, honey!" Mom's cheerful voice greets me. "How's the cabin? Did you sleep well?"
"Hey, Mom," I reply, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I adjust my gloves. "Yeah, the cabin's great. Slept like a log, actually. Must be the mountain air."
"That's wonderful, sweetie. So, what's on the agenda for today?"
I hear the slight concern in her tone, but I brush it off. "I'm hitting the trails. Figured I might as well take advantage of the fresh powder."
"Okay, just be careful out there. You know how I worry."
"I know, Mom. I'll be fine. Promise." I assure her, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
"What time do you expect to be back?" she asks, always with an eye on safety.
I glance at the clock on the wall. "Probably around 4pm. I'll give you a call as soon as I'm back at the cabin, okay?"
"Sounds good, honey. Oh, your father wants to-,"
"Sorry, Mom, I gotta run, or I'll miss the shuttle bus to the slopes," I interrupt, not wanting to deal with Dad right now. "I'll talk to you later, okay? Love you!"
Before she can respond, I end the call, feeling a twinge of guilt for cutting her off. It's not the first time.
Not wanting to think about my dad right now, I snap my goggles in place and grab my gear, slinging my skis over my shoulder. With a deep breath, I step outside and breathe deeply. Snow crunches beneath my boots as I hurry down the path towards the bus stop.
But as I round the corner, my heart sinks. The bus is already pulling away, its taillights disappearing into the distance.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, frustration bubbling inside me. First the car, now this? It's like the universe is conspiring against me.
I stand there for a moment, weighing my options. I could wait for the next bus, but who knows when that'll be? Or I could start walking up to Snowy Summit. It's not that far, right?
With a sigh, I adjust my skis on my shoulder and begin the trek up the mountain road. Snow is still falling, and I pull my scarf tighter around my face to ward off the chill.
I've only been walking for a few minutes when I hear the rumble of an engine behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the familiar Mountain Angels van approaching. Great, just what I need.
The van pulls up beside me, and the window rolls down, revealing Reid's face. He's got a rare smile on his lips, which only serves to annoy me further.
"Looks like you're having a streak of bad luck," he comments, his tone somewhere between amused and sympathetic.
"Oh, you think?" I retort, my words dripping with sarcasm. "What gave it away?"
Reid chuckles, unfazed by my attitude. "Need a lift?"
I hesitate for a moment, pride warring with practicality. As much as I hate to admit it, I could use the ride. "Fine," I relent, reaching for the door handle. "But only because I don't want to miss the fresh powder."
"Whatever you say, Willow," Reid replies, that infuriating smile still on his face as I climb into the passenger seat.
As we pull out onto the road, Reid clears his throat. "So, uh, I looked up what happened. With your injury and everything." He glances over at me, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. It must've been tough."
I bristle at his words, my defenses snapping into place. "I don't need your sympathy," I retort, my voice sharper than I intended. "That's why I came to Hope Peak. To get away from all the people who think they know me, who think they understand what I'm going through."
Reid raises an eyebrow, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Fair enough. I was just saying..."
"Well, don't." The words come out harsher than I mean them to, but I can't seem to stop myself. "I don't need people to be nice to me. I need to be left alone."
An uncomfortable silence settles over the van, broken only by the hum of the engine and the crunch of snow beneath the tires. I stare out the window, watching the trees flash by, trying to ignore the heavy tension in the air.
After what feels like an eternity, we finally pull into the resort parking lot. I grab my gear and hop out of the van, slamming the door behind me. "Thanks for the ride," I say, my tone clipped. "I hope this is the last time I'll be seeing you."
Reid's lips twist into a wry smile. "Likewise," he replies, his voice cool.
As he drives away, I'm left standing there, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Part of me feels guilty for snapping at him like that. He was just trying to be kind, after all. But another part of me, the part that's still raw and hurting, can't help but push people away. It's easier that way. Safer.
I watch the Mountain Angels van disappear around the bend and then make my way to the ticket window, trying to shake off the lingering irritation from my interaction with Reid.
"One-week pass, please," I say to the attendant, mustering a polite smile.
As I wait for my pass, I can't help but notice all the couples around me, holding hands and gazing at each other with sickeningly sweet expressions. It hits me then - it's Valentine's Day. Somehow, in the midst of everything, I'd completely forgotten.
I think back to the brief moment of connection I'd felt with Reid before I'd gone and ruined it with my defensive attitude. Just my luck, the one attractive guy in this town, and I've already pushed him away.
Shaking my head, I grab my pass and head towards the lifts. I'm here to ski, not to dwell on my love life (or lack thereof).
As I ride the lift up to the top of the black slopes, I try to focus on the anticipation building inside me. It's been too long since I've felt the rush of flying down a challenging run, the wind whipping past my face and the world narrowing down to just me and the mountain.
But as I reach the summit, my attention is caught by a commotion nearby. A man is down on one knee, holding out a ring box to a tearful woman while another couple tries to capture the whole scene on their smartphones. The woman being proposed to nods, and her new fiance sweeps her into his arms, both of them laughing and crying.
I look away, feeling a pang of something I can't quite name. Loneliness, maybe. Or regret.
I push the feelings down, turning my gaze to the untouched expanse of snow beyond the groomed runs.
Before I can second-guess myself, I push off, heading off-piste into the wilderness, away from civilization. The snow here is deep and untracked, and I have to work to keep my skis from getting bogged down. But as I find my rhythm, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.
Out here, there are no expectations, no pressure to be anything other than what I am. The only sound is the whisper of my skis against the snow and the rush of my breath in my ears.
I navigate the terrain with practiced ease, my body remembering the motions even after all my time out. The exhilaration of the descent fills me, chasing away the dark thoughts that have been plaguing me for months.
For the first time in a long time, I feel truly happy. Not the forced, public-facing happiness I'd projected for so long, but a genuine sense of joy and freedom.
I'm grinning from ear to ear as I weave through the trees, the untouched powder spraying up around me with each turn. There's nothing quite like being the first to lay tracks on a fresh slope. It's like the mountain is my own private playground.
But as I navigate a particularly steep section, the weather takes a sudden turn for the worse. The light flurries that had been falling steadily since I got off the lift have transformed into a heavy snowfall, the flakes so thick I can barely see more than a few feet in front of me.
I squint against the onslaught, trying to make out the contours of the terrain ahead. That's when I see a dark shape looming out of the whiteness. I try to swerve, but it's too late. My ski catches on the hidden stump, and I feel a jolt of panic as I lose my balance.
Time seems to slow as I tumble forward, my arms pinwheeling uselessly as I try to regain control. But the snow is too deep, too soft, and I plow headfirst into a drift.
I'm disoriented, unsure which way is up as I somersault through the powder. My leg twists beneath me, and a searing pain shoots up my thigh. I cry out, but the snow muffles the sound.
Finally, I come to a stop, my head spinning and my heart racing. I try to push myself up, but my leg gives out beneath me, sending me crashing back down into the snow. The pain is excruciating, and I know without a doubt that something is badly wrong.
"FUCK," I scream.
The snow is falling even harder now, the wind picking up and whipping the flakes into a frenzy.
A sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach as the reality of my predicament sinks in. I'm in serious trouble, and no one knows where I am. If I don't find a way to get help soon, I might not make it off this mountain alive.