Chapter Six
ELIZA
Matt's urgent shout tears through my dreams. “Eliza! Avalanche!”
My eyes snap open, my heart already racing. For a split second, confusion rules. Avalanche? Here? Now? The words make little sense, my sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up.
Then reality crashes in, adrenaline flooding my system. I'm out of bed in an instant, stumbling as my feet hit the cold floor. My mind whirls, grasping for the safety protocols I've known since childhood but never had to use. Years of drills and warnings from my brothers become painfully relevant.
“Matt!” I call out, my voice shaky but growing stronger as memory takes over. “The bathroom! It's the tiniest room, no windows!”
Matt bursts into the room, his face taut with urgency. In the dim light, I can see the fear in his eyes, but there's determination there too. “Let's go!”
We rush through the main room, the distant rumble growing louder by the second.
The vibrations make the floor move beneath my bare feet, and I'm struck by the sheer power of nature.
Avalanches are always a possibility when living in the shadow of the mountains, but experiencing one is something else.
We reach the bathroom as the world seems to explode. Matt pushes me inside and follows, slamming the door shut. “Get in the tub!” I scramble in and he joins me, positioning himself over me—one arm braced against the wall, the other holding me close.
The roar is deafening. The cabin shudders violently around us, and I'm certain the walls will give way any second.
Terror grips me, the kind that makes my chest feel tight, like I'm drowning.
I cling to Matt, burying my face in his chest. This could be it—this could be how we die.
His heartbeat is rapid but steady against my ear, a lifeline in the chaos, and I hold on to it, desperate for anything solid in a world that feels like it's crumbling.
Time drags on, but finally, the chaos subsides.
The roaring fades to a distant rumble, then to an unnerving silence, broken by our ragged breathing and the occasional creak of settling timber.
Relief floods through me, my body still trembling from the adrenaline.
As my grip on Matt loosens, I realize how close we are—the steady heat radiating from his body, his calming steadiness.
What started as fear now gives way to a flutter of something else, something surprising that I can't quite push aside.
“Are you okay?” Matt's words rumble low in his chest.
We stay like that for a long moment, neither of us willing to move, neither wanting to break the fragile safety we've found in each other’s arms. Despite the terror of the moment, I can feel every inch of Matt’s body pressed against mine, the brush of his breath on my skin.
Matt shifts, loosening his grip but not letting go. In the dim light, his face shows the same relief I’m sure is written on mine. “We should check the damage,” he says, his voice grim.
We cautiously make our way toward the bedroom, every step feeling like a risk.
My heart pounds with each shift of the floorboards.
The cold bites at my bare feet, making every step harder.
I glance at Matt, his expression tense, and I instinctively reach for his hand.
His fingers close around mine, offering comfort and reassurance.
The rest of the cabin seems untouched—furniture in place, no signs of the avalanche’s fury.
When we reach the bedroom, my heart skips a beat. The window on the far side is shattered, snow spilling in and covering half the room. The dresser on one side remains untouched, but a wave of cold dread washes over me as I stare at the snow-covered bed where I was sleeping moments ago.
I release a shaky breath as the reality sinks in. Matt stays close, his support, grounding me as I try to grasp how lucky I am.
“The lodge,” I whisper, fear gripping my heart. If the cabin took this kind of damage, what happened to the main building? I can't wait until morning—I need to know. The thought of not knowing, of what we might find when it's too late, gnaws at me. “We have to check it now.”
Matt meets my gaze, understanding in his eyes. “Let's get dressed first. We'll need to bundle up.”
We put on warm clothes from the untouched dresser, along with thick socks and our boots. Matt hands me my coat from the closet, and I zip it up with trembling fingers. The simple act of getting dressed feels surreal in the face of what's happened.
“Ready?” Matt asks, his hand on the door.
“Let's go,” I reply.
When we step outside, the moonlight reflecting off the fresh snow creates an eerie brightness. The landscape is transformed, a sea of white where well-known landmarks once stood. Panic rises as I scan for any sign of Finn's lodge. The land I've known my whole life is suddenly foreign.
“No,” I say. “We can't have lost it. It has to be here somewhere.”
“Let's not jump to conclusions,” he says. “Come on.”
We push through the snow, which reaches mid-thigh in places. Each step is a battle against the cold and fresh powder. My muscles ache from the effort, and my breath comes in sharp, visible pants in the frigid air.
As we trudge on, something catches my eye across the lot. “Matt, look,” I say, pointing. My stomach sinks as we approach the snowmobile he rode in on—now wrapped around a tree, its blades bent and the front crumpled. The force of the avalanche must have tossed it like a toy, leaving it useless.
Matt exhales, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Well, there goes our quickest way out of here.”
The sight of the mangled snowmobile is a harsh reminder of the danger we're still in, but it also strengthens my resolve.
We've made it this far, and we're not giving up now.
As we push through the snow, a bitter thought hits me.
“All that shoveling we did the past two days .
.. it's all gone. We'll have to start over.”
He lets out a frustrated groan. “I know. I was thinking the same thing. All that work, wiped out in minutes.”
The thought is disheartening, but we press on. After some time, I stop to take a breath, my exhale forming clouds. “I should have considered the possibility that this could happen.”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “The avalanche? How could you know? I thought they … happen sometimes.”
I shake my head, leaning into the next difficult step. “It's not random. Remember how warm it was after all that heavy snow?”
“Yeah, it was nice after the storm,” he says, understanding dawning on his face as he helps me over a deep drift.
“Exactly. That rapid warming can destabilize the snowpack,” I explain, drawing on years of mountain safety lessons.
“Add in any little tremor or loud noise, and you've got the perfect conditions for an avalanche. This was a natural disaster waiting to happen. It could have been anything that triggered it. A gust of wind. A falling tree branch.”
As we approach the top of a hill, my heart pounds. This is it—the moment of truth. The lodge should be visible from here, if it’s still intact. I grip Matt’s hand tighter, steeling myself for what we might see.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.” Together, we take the last steps to the top of the rise, about to face whatever the avalanche has left in its wake.
And then I see it. The lodge, still upright, though partially buried in snow. Relief floods through me so strongly that my knees buckle. Matt wraps his arm around my waist, supporting me.
“It's okay,” I breathe, hardly daring to believe it. “It's still there.”
Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink rapidly, hot drops rolling down my cold cheeks. A sob catches in my throat—equal parts relief, fear, and overwhelming gratitude.
“By some miracle, the avalanche mostly missed us,” I say. “It went down the path of least resistance, right between the buildings.”
Matt keeps his arm around me. “We got lucky. Really lucky.”
We make our way down to the lodge, moving a little easier now that the snow isn’t as deep.
Matt’s hand is still in mine. As we approach the lodge, my heart lifts when I see the roof — it’s held up remarkably well, despite everything.
There’s no additional damage that I can see.
I let out a breath and exchange a look with Matt.
His eyes reflect the same joy and relief I feel.
Against the odds, the lodge has survived, and so have we.
We check the other cabins, relieved to find them no worse than before.
They'll need more shoveling, but they're still standing.
As we make our way back to our cabin, a wave of exhaustion washes over me, my muscles heavy and my legs shaky.
The rush of adrenaline is long gone, leaving me drained and unsteady on my feet.
Inside, Matt walks to the fireplace. “Let's get this going. It's freezing in here.”
As he works on the fire, I sink onto the couch, overwhelmed by the night's events. “I can't believe we made it through that,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “What next?”
“I've always heard it's not wise to borrow trouble.” Matt joins me on the couch, his thigh pressing against mine. The contact is comforting, and I resist the urge to lean into him. “You've got one hell of a guardian angel looking out for this place.”
I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “I guess Finn knew what he was doing when he built here.”
As the fire grows, casting a warm glow across the room, I'm struck by how different Matt is from my brothers. He's steady when facing each challenge with me, not shielding me from it.
Despite the fire, I can't stop shivering, the tension from the night's events catching up with me. Matt notices, his brow furrowing as his eyes narrow in concern.
“We should camp out here in the living room tonight.” He glances at the bedroom. “I'll grab some blankets.”
He disappears into the room, returning with an armful of bedding he's shaken free of snow.
The snow that had settled on it was powdery, so it brushed off easily without soaking through.
Together, we arrange a makeshift sleeping area on the floor in front of the fireplace.
The domesticity of the act, coupled with the intensity of what we've been through, creates an intimacy that makes my heart gallop.
As we settle down, Matt's nearness sharpens my awareness. The fire crackles, casting shadows that dance across the walls. Despite everything, a feeling of safety wraps around me.
“Eliza?” Matt's voice is soft in the dimness.
“Yeah?”
There's a pause, and I can almost hear him wrestling with his words. “I'm glad you're okay,” he says. “When I heard the avalanche coming ... I've never been so scared in my life.”
His admission catches me off guard. I roll onto my side, facing him, and find him already watching me, the firelight dancing in his eyes. The way he looks at me steals my breath.
“I'm glad you're okay too,” I whisper. “I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here.”
An unspoken connection passes between us. There's a pull in the air that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. The urge to close the distance, to seek comfort in his arms, and to find out if his lips are as soft as they look, overwhelms me.
But then Matt clears his throat, breaking the spell. “We should get some rest,” he says, his voice rough. “Tomorrow's another day.”
I roll onto my back, trying to ignore the disappointment that floods through me. I stare up at the ceiling, the shadows flickering in time with the crackling fire. Sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind churns with thoughts of the day and the strange new dynamic between us.
Eventually, exhaustion wins, pulling me under. I drift into an uneasy sleep, full of dreams where snow traps me and Matt's voice calls from beyond reach.