Chapter Nine
Spencer
I don’t know what’s more dangerous: being stranded in the mountains in the dead of winter or falling for someone.
I’ve never touched anyone the way I’ve touched Amanda.
My fingers gravitate to her, just like every other part of me.
As they wander over her soft skin, I watch her movements to see which touch turns her into putty in my hands.
Which ones she leans into, which ones bow her back or rock her hips.
I also use her breath as a guide. When it catches or increases, I take note and continue.
She says she loves me. She can’t. Whether I do or don’t is irrelevant.
But I don’t say it. I can’t let her down that way.
But I’ve shown it, and it’s something I can’t control.
I’ve shown it by the fire, and by carrying her into the hot spring and worshipping her body like the fucking goddess she is.
She reciprocates every touch, every feeling.
She not only plays off my body, learning what turns me on, but she’s learning how to chip away at my defenses.
Which is relieving, yet terrifying. Her eyes bore into my soul, and I let her in.
If I can take her pain away from being separated from her son, if only for a few minutes, I will gladly do so.
The wolf I saw in my dreams was real. It left us a rabbit, which I skinned, and we cooked it over the fire.
As much as I’d like to live in this cave with Amanda forever, we know we have to keep moving.
No one is coming for us, but this cave is our safe haven.
We have shelter, fire, and healing elements of a hot spring.
But we are down to a few bites of food. We pack our tarp and light the torch before standing in the mouth of the cave.
“We’re going to make it,” she says while grasping my hand and gazing into my eyes. “One mountain at a time.”
“Just one more mountain,” I say, wrapping my arm under her and dipping my chin to kiss her before we begin our descent.
I lift her winter hat and brush my lips over her forehead and squeeze my eyes shut.
There is something in the air today, something that doesn’t feel right.
I have had these off premonitions before on days when I’ve had surgeries with complications or fatalities.
I chase out the thought. Not today. Today is one more mountain, and we will survive.
“Let’s make it back to Tyler,” I say as the lump rises in my throat.
I watch her eyes fill with tears, and she nods.
The sun has its usual glare as it bounces and reflects off our barren surroundings.
The snow is like an endless sea of white.
We walk the perimeter of the snow-covered frozen lake to the cabin that we tried to reach before.
It’s an abandoned post of some kind, with worn furniture, layers of dust, evidence that it has been decades since a human inhabited it.
Inside, there is an old, non-working radio and various books, which we pack into the tarp to be used as kindling.
There are a few canned food items, but they have all expired.
So, we continue up the mountain. I still carry a torch, as it has served us well.
Midway up the slope, we set up our tent under the tree line and start a fire.
Tonight, it’s eerily quiet, and when Amanda and I hold each other, it’s more than just for body heat, but maybe it always has been.
We talk about Tyler, as usual, but also about the favorite parts of our childhood and what our new dreams are when we return.
How this has changed our outlook on life and what is important.
How to never take another day for granted, and hold those we love close, and tell them.
The problem is, Amanda is the only person I love, and I haven’t said those words to her yet because I don’t love myself.
We begin a new day in the blinding sun, crossing over the next peak, pausing at the top as our hearts plummet to the endless pearly summits before us.
I’m no longer awed by their beauty. They are now jagged, snow-covered teeth from hell.
I still carry the feeling of unease from yesterday, but we forge forward.
Amanda’s leg is stronger every day, but she still needs my assistance, a service I will always honor.
Anything she ever needs, really. Our mood is more somber than usual, always a bit more dejected at the beginning of a descent after seeing only a sky of snowcapped ridges.
We rest under a pine tree and share the last of a protein bar and drink water.
We resume our journey down, and I ask, “What is the first thing you are going to do after we get back? After seeing Tyler, obviously.”
“Eat a cheeseburger.”
“Ha, well, that’s a given. Have you ever been to Sketch Burger?”
“No. Where’s that?”
“Not too far from me, just outside Brookline. It’s like this tiny hole-in-the-wall place, and they make the best burgers you’ll ever eat. I’ll take you there sometime.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do? After our burgers, of course.”
“I’m going to see how the patient is doing from the surgery I couldn’t fly home for, and all of the others I had scheduled when I was away here.”
“I want you to meet Tyler.”
Panic tenses my muscles, but I hide it well.
“I would love that.” I grin, and she beams a huge smile in return that lights up her whole face.
It’s not that I don’t want to meet him, it’s just that, away from these mountains, I’m back to reality, back to the me from before.
That me is not what I want, but I fear it’s who I am, but I want Amanda.
A snap up the mountain stops us both in our tracks, and we whip our heads around.
We can’t see past the pine trees gathered and parading up the mountain.
There’s a low rumble in the distance, reminding me of thunder or a large truck moving.
Adrenaline fires through me, and my chest tightens. “Avalanche!”
The whites of Amanda’s eyes gleam as her face falls.
“We’ve got to get up a tree!” I clutch her back and run with her alongside me.
“Faster!” The tarp with our supplies tied to my bag bounces behind us.
All these trees are older pines, and their branches don’t start until seven feet or so off the ground.
The nearest one is about twenty yards away, down the mountain.
The rumbling is closer, like a freight train on our heels.
My chest is tight, and my heart thunders.
I drop the torch, and we plummet down the slope.
Amanda trips, and I pick her up and throw her arm over my shoulder, gripping her hip from the other side and lifting so she’s pushing off only her good leg.
Our downward momentum sends us colliding into hard tree bark.
Shit. She can’t reach the lowest branch without my help. “Climb!” I say as I bend my knee, offering my thigh as a step, and take her hands.
“You have to climb, too!”
“Please, now!”
“No! Not without you!”
“Amanda.” I use the same tone as when I freed the wolf, the same one I use to calm the nerves of patients and their families.
“Please, climb. I will be okay.” Her face grimaces, but she nods, then places her good foot on my thigh, presses up, and hugs the tree as I push the back of her legs, and she grabs the lowest branch.
Cold sweat breaks on the back of my neck.
“Faster!” God, I need her safe. I push her foot from the bottom.
“Swing your leg over and hang on!” She’s up a good eight feet in the air.
The thunder approaches and breaks through the trees behind us like sea foam gliding on the crest of a wave. Except this is no gentle wave.
“Spencer!” screams Amanda.
I bear hug the tree and drive my feet into it and climb.
Our eyes meet one final time as the hiss of the ice crystals spraying and Amanda’s screams are the last things I hear before the impact hits me like a truck.
I’m ripped off the trunk with a sickening crack to my ribs.
Ironically, it’s like being battered down by a wave in the ocean, flipped and turned, not knowing which way is up or down.
Pain floods my body as I cup my hands in front of my face to create a pocket of air just before I slam against something hard, and then it goes black.