Chapter 14
Hanlon
“Hey Mom,” I say, answering the phone on speaker and setting it on the edge of Stone’s desk while we work on restocking the first-aid kits that go on the snowmobiles.
“Hanlon, honey, hi! How are things?”
It’s the same question she asks every time she calls one of us, and Stone and I share a quick smile.
“Things are good, Mom. How are you and Dad?”
“We miss you terribly, but it makes us feel better to know you’re out there with your brother.”
My eyes flash back to Stone, but there’s no smile this time.
“Uh, yeah. Speaking of, we’re kind of in the middle of something. Did you need anything, or were you just calling to chat?”
“Oh! Is Stone there with you? Hi, Stone!” she yells loudly.
“Hey, Lana,” Stone replies easily.
“I won’t keep you boys. I just wanted to let you know that Dad and I really tried, sweetheart, but we can’t get out there for Christmas. I’m so sorry.”
Disappointment knocks me in the chest. I may be an adult, but I love my parents, and I’m not afraid to admit that I miss them. I didn’t see them all too often when I was on campus, even though it was close, but somehow the physical distance makes it feel like a longer period of time without them.
Shortly after I hang up, Logan rushes through the front door of the office, breathing hard.
“Sapphire Butte just radioed, they got a call for a couple of backcountry skiers that checked out yesterday and didn’t come back.”
Stone looks at me. “Gear up. We’re gonna need the help.” Turning back to Logan, he asks, “Any avs reported in the area?”
“None.”
Stone’s solemn nod tells me that whatever we find is probably going to be gruesome. Exposure claims victims fast out here.
This also means we have to take the helicopter. I’ve gotten a little better at handling the flights, but not much.
“Spine board?” Stone asks Logan.
“Got it. AED has fresh batteries. I’ve got the blankets, water, and probes; just waiting on you guys.”
Stone looks back at me. “Let’s roll.”
This is the first medical emergency I’ve seen. There was a lady who broke her wrist and a guy who busted his collarbone in the terrain park, but one of those happened on my day off, and the other one was given to Jeremy and Deacon.
Stone grabs his gloves and shrugs into his jacket. I mimic what he does, my nerves about the helicopter clouding my thought process a little.
I take the seat in the back next to Stone, having given up on trying to get comfortable in the front.
Logan wastes no time lifting the helicopter into the air. Swallowing hard, I prepare for the lurch that comes with the forward motion, and suddenly, there’s a hand on my knee. I don’t open my eyes, but I focus on the pressure where Stone is lightly squeezing.
Once we’re airborne, headed toward our destination, he removes his hand, and I have to really fight myself not to grab it and put it back.
Talking in the headset, Stone walks me through the procedure again. It’s one thing to study a manual, but it’s another thing entirely to be looking for a human whose life depends on you.
“We’ve divided the search area into four quadrants,” he says.
“We have one, Sapphire Butte has one, the Forest Service has one, and the county’s Search and Rescue team has the fourth.
Time is of the essence here. We’re going to fly overhead and get a layout of the land.
If there are no obvious signs of our missing skiers, Logan will find a place to land, and we’ll start at the top of our grid and work our way down. ”
“I don’t understand; don’t they have beacons?” I ask, knowing that wearing an avalanche beacon is required when you check out.
“I’m sure they do, but do you know how many people simply turn them on and think they’re good to go?
You have to make sure your signal is transmitting.
Half the time, people leave them on receive instead of transmit by accident.
Or they forget to check the batteries. Or they leave them behind because there are no advisories for where they’re going.
There’s a whole slew of reasons the beacons don’t help as much as they should. ”
After a grueling flyover and two hours of carefully sludging through the snow, we manage to find remnants of ski tracks that weren’t covered by this morning’s snow and follow them into a thicket of trees where we see two skiers sitting with their backs against the trunk.
The temperature last night dropped to negative twelve, so these guys are in peril.
I watch, awestruck, as Stone radios in our coordinates to get the other teams here as fast as possible. Then he gets to work assessing the skiers.
Having to gently tap one on the shoulder, he yells, “Sir! SIR! Can you hear me?”
The man’s lips are cracked and bleeding, and his movements are slow. I resonate with that feeling and hate it. It’s like you have no control over your own body. You want to move, but you just can’t.
“My knee,” he manages to say. “I twisted it on some rocks. I can’t put weight on it.” His voice is raspy from the dry air and lack of water.
“We’ll get it taken care of,” Stone says. “Hanlon, I need you to check that man’s vitals,” he says, nodding toward the other slumped-over figure.
Medicine isn’t my strong suit. I have a weak stomach, and I’m honestly not great under pressure. That’s why I want to be an avalanche forecaster and not part of the ski patrol. But I’m smart and remember most of what Stone has taught me, so I do as he asks.
Checking for a pulse, I place my small mirror under the man’s nose. When it fogs with his breath, relief floods my veins.
“We have a strong pulse and respirations.” I remove his glove to check his fingers and pinch the skin on the back of his hand. “Probable dehydration and possible early onset of frostbite in the middle, ring, and small fingers.”
“Very good,” Stone praises. “Call it in. Just like that.”
Because we aren’t physicians, we technically can’t diagnose, so we have to be careful how we phrase things.
Again, I follow Stone’s commands and look over to see him applying a splint to the other man’s knee, wrapping it with an Ace wrap to keep it secure.
“Help me get him on the sled.”
By the time Stone and I get the first man situated, the other crews have arrived on the scene and are tending to the second man with the frostbitten fingers.
Stone has thrown his thick fleece-lined beanie in the snow; exertion has made sweat drip down his temples, and the way he’s in command of the situation while also speaking gently to the injured man, offering reassurances, is hot as fuck.
Competence is sexy.
Especially when it’s coming from a six-foot-tall, chiseled god who looks like he was born from the mountain itself. His trimmed beard gives him a look of sophisticated ruggedness, and I really need to get a grip on myself.
Search and Rescue take off toward the hospital with the skiers while the rest of us offer each other fist bumps and congratulations on a successful rescue mission.
As Stone and I climb back into the black-and-blue Ricochet Ridge helicopter, Logan shakes his head and signals something to Stone that makes Stone grab my hand instead of my knee.
My heart rate spikes as I study him with furrowed brows.
“You’re not going to like this takeoff,” he says in a serious tone.
“What? Why?” I ask, panic lacing every syllable.
“Just keep your eyes closed and squeeze my hand.”
The helicopter tips downward and begins sliding.
“Ohmyfuckinggod, what is happening?”
“Relax, Han. I’ve got you,” Stone says.
Shortly after our helicopter takes a nice little ski, we start lifting, but we also drift to the right, which isn’t good because there’s a mountain there.
A solid, immovable mountain.
I squeeze Stone’s hand, and his thumb brushes over the back of mine.
“Gotta get her higher, Logan,” Stone says in the headset.
“Working on it. The updraft will stall my blades if I get her there too fast,” he replies.
I squeeze harder, wondering how many times each season Stone finds himself in these situations.
Suddenly, the helicopter drops, and I swear to God it falls a hundred feet before the rhythmic sound of the blades above us steadies out, and we’re banking hard to the left.
“Nicely done,” Stone says to Logan.
“I keep telling you I’m good with a stick,” Logan jokes, making me feel slightly better.
Easing up on the pressure I have on Stone’s hand, but not fully letting go, I finally open my eyes in time to see Logan making a hand-job motion in the air.
“After whatever the fuck that was, I’ll give you a handy just for getting us back safely,” I tease.
Stone groans into the microphone at his mouth. “God, Han, don’t encourage him.”
“Actually, yes, Han, do all the encouraging. I’d love to feel—”
“Logan, I’ll push you out of this fucking bird and land it myself,” Stone barks, making Logan laugh.
The banter feels nice, like I’m part of the group.
But Stone holding my hand feels even better.
No. No, no, no. This. Can’t. Happen.
I can’t have a crush on Stone! Just because we’ve found neutral ground doesn’t mean anything’s changed.
It certainly doesn’t mean he’s changed. And even if he had, he’s my brother.
Step or not, we grew up together…at least we did for eight years.
I call his father Dad. We will be in each other’s lives for the rest of them.
Carefully, I pull my hand out of his and give him a tight smile when he turns to see why I’m pulling away.
“I’m doing okay,” I lie.
I’m not okay with any of this. Truth be told, the prospect of going down in this helicopter is a helluva lot less terrifying than realizing I have a crush on Stone Addario.