7. Willow
7
WILLOW
I shift uncomfortably in the cramped shelter, my broken leg throbbing with a dull ache. The cold seeps into my bones despite my thermal layers, and I can't help but shiver. Reid crawls in beside me, his large frame taking up most of the remaining space. I'm acutely aware of his presence, his body heat radiating in the confined area. It's kinda surprising he's not causing the shelter to melt.
Gratitude wars with wariness inside me. I'm thankful for Reid's rescue efforts, impressed by his skill and determination in finding me. But I can't shake the defensive walls I've built around myself. I'm not used to relying on others, especially not since my fall from grace in the skiing world.
As Reid settles next to me, our arms brush and I instinctively tense. He notices and raises an eyebrow.
"I usually prefer dinner before getting this close to someone," I quip, trying to diffuse the tension with humor.
Reid huffs out a breath that could almost be a laugh. "Sorry, fresh out of candlelit meals. Guess you'll have to settle for another protein bar." His gruff response holds a hint of amusement.
I take the offered protein bar, our fingers briefly touching in the exchange. The accidental contact sends a jolt through me, and I quickly look away, focusing intently on unwrapping the bar. I'm not sure if it's the adrenaline of the situation or something else, but I'm suddenly very aware of Reid as a man, not just a rescuer.
The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken tension. I take a bite of the protein bar, chewing slowly to occupy my mouth and mind. Reid shifts beside me, his shoulder pressing against mine in the tight space. I can feel the rise and fall of his breath, the steady rhythm oddly comforting amid the howling storm outside.
I chance a glance at Reid, taking in his strong profile, the stubble shadowing his jaw. He meets my gaze, his dark eyes intense and unreadable. For a moment, the rest of the world falls away, and it's just us, two people sheltering from a storm, connected by a strange mix of circumstance and undeniable attraction.
Reid shifts beside me. "You doing okay? Need some more water?" He holds out a canteen, and I take it grudgingly, our fingers brushing in the exchange. I hate feeling helpless, but I can't deny the thirst scratching at my throat.
"Thanks," I mutter, taking a swig. The water is cold and refreshing, a stark contrast to the stuffy air inside the shelter. Reid watches me intently as if assessing my condition. His gaze feels different from the scrutiny I'm used to—the coaches, the media, my father, all eyeing me for any sign of weakness or flaw. But Reid's eyes hold a genuine concern that catches me off guard.
"How's the leg feeling?" he asks, nodding towards the splint.
I shrug, trying to play off the pain. "Oh, you know, just a casual broken bone. No biggie." My attempt at humor falls flat, and Reid frowns.
"Let me know if it gets worse, okay? We'll get you out of here as soon as the storm clears." His words are firm, leaving no room for argument.
I nod, a lump forming in my throat. It's been so long since someone cared about my well-being beyond my ability to perform on the slopes. I think back to the endless training sessions, the doctors and physical therapists who poked and prodded me, all to keep the Olympic machine running. My father's relentless push for perfection, his love seemingly conditional on my success.
But here, in this cramped snow shelter, Reid's concern feels different. It's not about what I can do but simply about keeping me safe and alive. The realization is both comforting and unsettling.
"We should try to get some sleep," Reid suggests, interrupting my thoughts. "Gonna be a long night."
I nod, feeling exhaustion seeping into my body. We awkwardly shift, trying to find a comfortable position in the limited space. My broken leg makes it nearly impossible, and I can't help but let out a hiss of pain as I accidentally jostle it.
"Here, let me..." Reid reaches out, gently helping me adjust my leg. His hands are strong but surprisingly gentle, and I feel a flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with the pain.
"Thanks," I whisper, my voice suddenly hoarse.
Reid settles back beside me, his body a solid presence in the darkness. "Get some rest, Willow. I'll keep watch." His words are a gruff promise of safety.
"Goodnight, Reid," I murmur, closing my eyes and trying to will myself to sleep.
But despite my exhaustion, my mind won't settle. The events of the day replay in my head—the exhilaration of the off-piste run, the terror of the fall, the pain of the broken leg, and now, the confusing jumble of emotions stirred up by Reid's presence.
The darkness is all-consuming, the storm outside howling like a wounded beast. I lie awake, acutely aware of Reid's every breath. The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken tension and the weight of our individual struggles.
"Are you awake?" I whisper, my voice sounding small in the cramped shelter.
A grunt of acknowledgment comes from Reid's direction. "Yeah. Can't sleep?"
I shake my head before realizing he probably can't see the gesture in the darkness. "No, my mind won't shut off." I hesitate, debating whether to voice the question nagging at me. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "Yesterday, when we first met. You seemed... I don't know, grumpy? Do you not like your job?"
Silence follows my words, and for a moment, I worry I've overstepped. But then Reid sighs, a heavy sound that speaks volumes. "It's a long story," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I served in the military, saw some things that... well, they change you. Coming back to civilian life, it's been a struggle. Mountain Angels, it's a way to use my skills, to feel like I'm still making a difference. Even if the name of the place is a fucking embarrassment, and I spend 99% of my time tending to twisted ankles."
I can't help but smile.
"I get that," I murmur. "For me, it was the Olympics. I trained my whole life and pushed myself to the limit. One injury, and it was all over. My dad, he... he couldn't accept it. Still can't."
As we talk, the walls between us seem to crumble. We share stories of our pasts, the triumphs and the losses, the scars both visible and hidden. In the darkness, it's easier to be vulnerable, to let our guards down, and connect on a level that goes beyond the surface.
"You know," I say softly, "I never thought I'd find someone who understands what it's like. The pressure, the expectations, the feeling of being trapped by your success."
Reid shifts beside me, his voice low and rough. "Yeah, it's a heavy burden to carry. People see the surface, the medals, the rescues, but they don't see the cost."
"Exactly. And when it's all taken away, it's like... who are you without it? Just a washed-up athlete with a broken leg in a snowy cave," I say with a self-deprecating laugh.
"Hey," Reid says firmly, his hand finding mine in the darkness and squeezing it. "You're more than your medals, Willow. And you're sure as hell more than a broken leg."
His words catch me off guard, and I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "Thanks, Reid. That... that means a lot."
We lapse into silence, but it's comfortable now, filled with a new understanding. Reid's thumb gently rubs circles on the back of my hand, and I'm surprised at how much comfort I find in the simple gesture.
"You know," I say, breaking the silence, "if someone had told me yesterday that I'd end up sharing my deepest fears with a mountain rescuer, I would've laughed in their face."
Reid chuckles a low rumble that I feel more than hear. "If someone had told me I'd be stuck in a snow shelter with an Olympic medalist, I would've told them to lay off the whiskey."
I grin, feeling a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the close quarters. "Guess life has a funny way of surprising us, huh?"
"Yeah," Reid agrees, his voice softening. "Guess it does."
Unconsciously, we shift closer, our shoulders touching, our breath mingling in the confined space. Despite the cold and the pain in my leg, I feel a sense of hope, an understanding and companionship that I didn't know I needed.
"Well, this is certainly an unconventional Valentine's date," I joke, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "Not exactly the stuff of romance novels."
Reid laughs. "Hey, I'm not that grumpy," he protests, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "And who needs candlelight and roses when you've got protein bars and thermal blankets?"
I laugh softly, shaking my head. "Guess I can't complain about the accommodations, given the circumstances."
Reid's chuckle rumbles through his chest, and I feel it more than hear it. "Just don't go giving me a bad review on Yelp. I have a reputation to uphold."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I reply, a smile tugging at my lips. "You're not so bad for a mountain rescuer with a grumpy streak."
"High praise," Reid says dryly, but I catch the hint of amusement in his tone.
As the conversation naturally winds down, a comfortable silence settles over us. The howling wind outside seems muffled now, less threatening. Reid shifts beside me, and I feel his arm gently wrap around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his warmth.
I stiffen for a moment, surprised by the gesture. But as the heat from his body seeps into mine, I find myself relaxing into his embrace. It's a strange feeling, being held like this. I can't remember the last time I allowed myself such vulnerability, such closeness.
As I listen to Reid's steady breathing, I feel a host of emotions swirling inside me—mostly confusion —confusion about how my perception of Reid has shifted so dramatically in such a short time. The gruff, irritable mountain rescuer I met yesterday has transformed into someone I feel oddly safe with, someone who understands the weight of expectations and the pain of loss.
And despite our dire situation—stranded in a snow shelter with a broken leg and a raging storm outside—I feel a strange sense of comfort. It's as if, in the midst of this crisis, I've found a kindred spirit—someone who sees beyond the medals and the media persona, someone who accepts me as I am, flaws and all.
As exhaustion finally overtakes me, I let my eyes drift shut. The last thing I'm aware of is the steady rise and fall of Reid's chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep. And as I slip into unconsciousness, I realize that for the first time in a long time, I don't feel quite so alone.