Chapter Eight
ELIZA
Three snowmobiles crest the hill, their riders easily visible in the clear morning light.
As they approach, I recognize the forms of Kane, Rhys, and Reid.
Relief sweeps over me at the sight of my brothers, but I can't ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. I'm aware of how their arrival will change the dynamic between Matt and me.
Kane is the first to reach us, dismounting his snowmobile with ease. “Eliza!” he calls, his long strides closing the distance. Moments later, I’m wrapped in his firm embrace.
As he pulls back, I ask, “Where's Nash?”
“He's got uncle duty with Hailey,” Kane replies. “We didn't know what we'd be facing up here, so he stayed back to help with her.”
I'm filled with emotions—relief at seeing my family safe, comfort in the reassuring strength of my brother's arms, and a surprising wave of vulnerability as the stress of the past days catches up. I return the hug tightly, realizing how badly I needed this connection.
As Kane pulls back, his eyes scan my face and his brow furrows. He tilts my chin, examining the scratch on my cheek. “What happened here?” he asks, concern clear in his voice.
I touch the scratch, having almost forgotten about it in the chaos of recent events. “It's nothing serious,” I assure him. “A minor injury from the roof collapse. We've been through a lot, but we're okay.”
Kane's expression shows relief and lingering worry. “We're so glad you're safe. When we couldn't get through after your call with Finn...”
“The path was blocked,” Reid explains, joining us. “It took a while to clear all the fallen trees.”
“I'm fine,” I assure them. “We both are.” I glance at Matt, who's hanging back, looking uncomfortable.
Kane nods at Matt. “Nice to see you again, Matt. Glad you were here to help.”
Rhys claps Matt on the shoulder. “Knew you'd be useful to have around,” he says.
“What's the damage like?” Reid asks, always the most practical of my brothers. “We saw some on the way up but couldn't tell how bad it was.”
“Maybe we should head inside,” I suggest, noticing the way Matt withdraws into himself. A flicker of worry rises in me—I don't want him shutting me out, not after everything we've been through. “It's a bit of a long story, and I could use something warm to drink.”
Once inside, I catch my brothers taking in the scene—the makeshift bed by the fireplace, the general disarray.
My stomach drops as I realize I'd forgotten about the shattered glass still scattered across the kitchen floor.
Their eyes linger on it, and I wonder if they're piecing together how rough the night had been.
“What happened here?” Kane asks, gesturing toward the mess.
“An accident this morning,” I explain, moving to grab the broom. “I'll clean it up,” I add, not mentioning Matt's panic attack, feeling protective of his privacy.
As I sweep, Matt fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove to boil.
“How about some hot cocoa?” he suggests, rummaging through the cupboards.
My brothers share a look but don't push for details yet.
Instead, Kane and Rhys wander toward the bedroom.
I can hear them talking to each other as they take in the damage—the broken window, the snow piled high inside.
Kane steps closer, inspecting the window frame, while Rhys pokes at the snowdrift that's crept into the room.
As I finish recounting our ordeal, Kane leans forward, his tone firm. “Well, we're here now. We can take you both back to Mom and Dad's where you'll be safe. You've been through enough.”
Matt glances at me, then back at Kane. “Thanks for the offer, but I'm staying. There’s a lot of work that needs to be done here, and I’m going to help with the repairs.”
Rhys raises an eyebrow. “You sure? You’ve already been through hell, man.”
Matt’s voice is steady. “I’m sure. I can’t walk away from this. Getting the lodge back in shape is a priority, and I’m here to help. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
A brief silence follows as my brothers take in his words. They exchange a look, and I can see the shift—respect, maybe even a little surprise—in their eyes. Kane is the first to speak. “Alright then. We could use the extra hands. We'll make sure Eliza gets back safely.”
His words, though well-intentioned, ignite a spark within me. “No,” I say, surprising even myself with the steel in my voice. “I'm not going anywhere.”
Kane's eyebrows shoot up. “Eliza, be reasonable. This is more than running the lodge. It's dangerous up here, and there's a major reconstruction project ahead.”
“I know that,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the anger bubbling up inside me. “But Finn left me in charge of a functioning resort, and I intend to see it back to that state. I'm staying to oversee the repairs.”
The words spill out before I even realize I've decided. I hadn't considered staying until this moment, but now it feels clear. The lodge is my responsibility, and seeing it restored comes first—even if it means balancing that with studying for my test. I can't walk away.
“Eliza,” Reid interjects, “you don't have to prove anything. We can handle this.”
I shake my head, feeling a surge of determination. “This isn't about proving anything. It's about taking responsibility. I'm not a child anymore, and I'm not running away because things got tough.”
A moment of tense silence falls over the room. I feel Matt's support beside me as I stand my ground, meeting each of my brothers' gazes.
Rhys's expression shifts into one of surprise. “Well, would you look at that. Our little sister is all grown up and taking charge.”
Kane sighs. I can see the conflict in his expression—worry warring with a grudging respect. “Alright,” he says. “If you're sure about this. But we're not leaving you up here to handle it alone. We'll help with the repairs.”
Relief washes over me, though I try not to let it show. “Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot.”
As the day progresses, we move through the lodge and cabins, assessing the damage and making plans for repairs.
By evening, we've made some progress—clearing debris, shoring up weak spots—but the enormity of the task ahead looms over us. Throughout it all, Matt seems to pull back, letting my brothers take the lead. It’s a stark contrast to the way we worked together before they arrived, and I can’t help but miss our easy partnership.
We crowd around the small table in Matt's cabin for a simple dinner, eating in the warm glow of the fire.
Partway through the meal, Reid leans toward me.
“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low, “I've cleared out one of the undamaged cabins next door. Why don't I help you settle in over there? It’ll be more comfortable than bunking with Matt.”
I hesitate, glancing over at Matt. “What about Matt?”
Matt looks up, catching the tail end of the conversation. He shrugs. “I'm fine here. I've got everything I need.”
Part of me wants to argue, to insist I'm fine where I am too, but the last thing I need is my brothers getting the wrong idea about Matt and me. I can already see the concern in Reid's eyes, like he's trying to protect me. “Oh, um, sure,” I reply. “Thanks.”
Later that night, I toss and turn in my new bed, sleep eluding me. The cabin feels too quiet, too empty. After everything that's happened, being alone is unsettling. I miss Matt's closeness, the comfort of knowing he was in the room.
I pace the cabin, debating with myself. Should I go to Matt's?
What would he think? And what would my brothers say if they knew?
But they've already gone home—Kane to take care of Hailey, the others back to their own lives.
The idea of spending the night alone, with memories of the avalanche replaying in my mind, makes my decision for me.
Without a second thought, I'm on my feet, slipping on my boots and jacket. The short walk to Matt's cabin feels longer in the dark. I stop at his door, my hand hovering, ready to knock. What if he turns me away? What if he thinks I'm being clingy or weak?
But then I remember the way he looked at me earlier, the pride in his eyes as I stood up to my brothers. Composing myself, I rap lightly on the wood.
There's a moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps. The door opens, and Matt stands there, looking surprised.
“Eliza? Is everything okay?”
Feeling shy, I muster the courage. “I ... I didn't want to stay alone,” I say. “Can I come in?”
Matt's expression softens, and he steps back, opening the door wider. “Of course,” he says. “Come on in.”
As I slip past him, our arms brush, and I feel that telltale spark of electricity. The cabin is warm, the fire still burning low in the grate. It feels more like home than the empty cabin I left.
“I'm sorry,” I say, hugging myself. “I ... after everything that's happened, being alone felt...”
“Hey,” Matt interrupts, “you don't have to explain. I get it.”
And I can see in his eyes that he does. The avalanche, the destruction, the constant stress—it's a lot to bear alone.
“Do you want some tea?” Matt offers, already moving toward the kitchen. “I think I saw some chamomile earlier.”
I'm grateful for the normalcy of the gesture. As Matt busies himself with the kettle, I settle on the couch, tucking my feet under me. The comforting scents of the cabin—pine, wood smoke, and something uniquely Matt—help ease some of the tension from my shoulders.
“So,” Matt says, handing me a steaming mug, “want to talk about it?”
I wrap my hands around the mug, the comfort seeping into my bones, soothing in its simplicity. “I don't know. Every time I close my eyes, the avalanche is coming toward us. I hear the roar, feel the panic...” I trail off, my gaze distant.
I hesitate, wondering if I should even tell him this. I've seen how his own trauma grips him, how the memories pull him under, and the last thing I want is to burden him with my fears. But I can't keep it bottled up, and somehow, it feels safer saying it aloud to him.
Matt sits beside me, close enough to offer comfort but careful not to crowd me. “I know the feeling,” he says. “After the rig accident, I couldn't sleep for weeks without reliving it.”
I look up at him, our eyes meeting. There's an understanding there, a shared experience of trauma that forges a bond stronger than words can express. “How did you cope?”
Matt lets out a soft chuckle. “Not very well, at first. But eventually, I figured it out. I'm still figuring it out.”
As the night wears on, our conversation drifts to lighter topics—childhood memories, funny stories from college, our favorite books. The tension eases from my shoulders, and I relax into the couch, into Matt's side.
It's well past midnight when I feel my eyelids droop. Matt stands up, stretching. “The bedroom's mostly fixed. The window is boarded up, and the snow's been removed and cleaned up. The bed's ready for you,” he says, gesturing toward the bedroom. “I changed the sheets earlier.”
I look at him, hesitant. “Matt, I can't take your bed again. I've already imposed enough.”
He shakes his head, offering a small smile that makes my heart skip a beat. “It's no imposition,” he says. “I'm used to sleeping in worse conditions from my time on the rig.”
I bite my lip, torn between my desire to stay close to him and my guilt over kicking him out of his own bed. “Are you sure? I feel bad about this.”
“I'm positive,” he assures me.
A mischievous thought crosses my mind, and before I can stop myself, I say it. “Or ... we could both sleep on the floor in front of the fire again. Or you could share the bed with me.”
And there it is, out there. The moment the words leave my mouth, a blush creeps up my neck.
I wasn't joking. I meant it. Now, the room feels charged, and I can't help but wonder how he'll take it.
I didn't intend to make things awkward, but there's no taking it back. All I can do is wait as I look at him.
Matt raises an eyebrow, but there’s something else in his expression—interest, even if he’s trying to hide it.
A playful smirk tugs at his lips, though his eyes reveal something deeper.
“We’ve survived an avalanche, a storm, and who knows what else,” he says, his tone light but edged with hesitation.
“But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t survive your brothers if they caught me in bed with you. ”
I laugh, the tension easing from the room. “Fair point,” I say. “But they're not here, so who's to know?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Tempting, but I think I'll stick to the couch—I'd like to live to see the morning.”