Arlo
After breakfast on the way, we park near the helipad, the engines slicing through the morning stillness.
The air is thin and sharp, the kind that bites your lungs yet somehow feels clean enough to burn everything out of you.
Men in heavy jackets wait beside the helicopter, the blades still.
Isaak and Hunter handle the arrangements. The guide begins the safety briefing, straps, releases, avalanche beacons, emergency codes.
Adelaide and Isaak are already arguing over who’ll lead the first descent.
Their constant bickering grates on my nerves, but I tune them out and focus on Ophelia instead.
Her eyes, green in a way that shouldn’t exist outside a painting, catch the light, vivid against the white snow. Her cheeks are pale from the wind.
She looks good, but the sight of her still pulls something tight in my chest. Type 1 diabetes and throwing yourself out of a helicopter onto snow covered mountains isn’t exactly a safe combination.
She catches my expression before I can mask it.
“Don’t start,” she murmurs. “Let me live like a normal person. This is perfectly safe for me.”
My jaw tightens. “You’re sure you’re all right? You don’t feel faint? Did you check your blood sugar, your insulin?”
“I’m fine,” she says. “Just nervous. That’s normal.”
The helicopter lifts, its roar swallowing every sound. The world tilts beneath us, snow covered ridges and black stone tearing through the clouds.
The pilot banks, searching for a stable landing spot. When he finds one, the machine hovers a few feet above the ridge, blades chopping the air into a blur.
The guide signals. One by one, we crouch in the open doorway, skis in hand, and drop onto the snow below. The wind is savage, throwing ice into our faces.
As soon as the last of us lands, the helicopter rises again, banking away until it’s a distant hum swallowed by the mountains.
The sudden silence is startling, just the hiss of wind and the groan of snow beneath our boots.
We clip in quickly, checking bindings, tightening straps, adjusting beacons and helmets.
The guide’s voice comes through the radio in my ear, in short commands.
When he gives the all clear, Adelaide launches first, Isaak right on her tail.
Then it’s our turn.
The first descent is chaos and perfection all at once.
The snow gives under my skis, weightless and clean, the wind clawing at my face.
For a few minutes there’s no hate, no history, no memory of what she did. Just snow, gravity, and her. Reckless, alive and untouchable.
I push harder, chasing her down the slope. Ophelia glances back, her braid whipping behind her, and for a blink I catch her smile, bright and unguarded.
Damn it, she’s beautiful like this.
Free.
At the next drop, she turns, breathless laughter spilling into the wind. “First one down wins!”
“Ophelia—”
Too late. She’s already gone.
I curse, drop my goggles, and push off after her. The wind screams around me.
She’s fast. I cut across her path, too sharply and way too soon. When I glance back to warn her, I miss the turn.
“Shit.”
The slope pitches away. My edges catch, and the world goes white.
I remember the rule, if you lose control, make yourself fall. I throw my weight sideways, hit hard, and the jolt sears through my leg. My ankle twists, pain flaring bright and immediate.
Ophelia is beside me within seconds, dropping to her knees.
“Arlo… are you hurt? Oh my God, are you all right?”
Her voice cracks, and something in me flinches.
“I’m fine,” I grit out, even as the pain pulses.
“Do you need to call someone?”
“I said I’m fine,” I bite out, harsher than I mean to.
She flinches at my tone, and guilt seeps through the irritation, but I shut it down.
I drag off the skis and push myself upright. My ankle protests, but I manage.
We make our way slowly down the slope. She keeps pace beside me, refusing to leave even when I tell her to.
At the bottom, the attendant helps us unbuckle, and Ophelia spots the swelling before I do.
“Do you have ice?” she asks the man.
He nods and disappears into the small chalet, and we follow after him.
“I said I’m fine,” I say again.
She doesn’t even look at me. “No, you’re not. You’ve probably sprained it. You need ice before it gets worse.”
I sink into the nearest chair and pull off my boot just as the man returns.
She thanks him softly, then kneels in front of me, pressing the cold pack to my ankle.
The sting bites, immediate. I look down at her, at the way her hair falls across her cheek, the focus in her expression, and something inside my chest twists.
“You shouldn’t kneel, Ophelia,” I murmur, reaching out to tuck the loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Not unless I give you a reason to.”
She blinks up at me, startled, a flush rising to her cheeks as she catches my intent.
“But now,” I say quietly, my voice low, “my cock isn’t anywhere near your beautiful mouth. So get up.”
I reach for her, but she loses balance and ends up in my lap, her strawberry scent flooding my senses.
The ice stays pressed to my ankle. Her eyes find mine, and everything else falls away.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, breaking every rule I’ve set for myself around her, and not giving a damn.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t do anything.”
We sit like that until the spell breaks, the attendant’s voice slips through the air, asking if we need more ice.
I wave him off. Ophelia stands, and I follow. The ankle throbs, but it holds.
When we reach the car, she frowns. “You can’t drive like that.
“It’s my left foot,” I reply. “I’ll manage.”
“Still, maybe I should—”
“Ophelia,” I warn, and she falls silent, a small smile ghosting her lips.
I open her door despite her protest. She huffs but climbs in. Before she can reach for the seatbelt, I pull it across her and click it into place. Our faces are inches apart, her breath warm with the faint sweetness of strawberries.
She bites her lip, that same nervous habit that drives me mad. Everything in me stills. I reach out, drag my thumb across her mouth, and pull it free from between her teeth.
“Don’t,” I murmur, my voice low and warning. “That’s mine to do.”
She exhales a soft breath, and I close the door, limping around to the driver’s side.
A moment later, the engine hums to life, and the silence between us is louder than the road beneath the tyres.