12. Reid
12
REID
A s the sound of the approaching helicopter cuts closer, I spring into action, my mind shifting gears from the intimate moment Willow and I just shared to the rescue I need to complete.
"They're almost here," I say, my voice taking on a business-like tone. "We need to get you ready for transport."
Willow nods, her eyes reflecting a mix of relief and something else I can't quite decipher.
I check her splint one last time, ensuring it's secure. My hands move with practiced efficiency, but I can't ignore the electricity that seems to linger on my skin from our earlier contact. I shake my head, willing myself to concentrate.
I leave Willow in the shelter and set off a series of flares, their bright red light cutting through the swirling snow. Within minutes, the steady thrum of the helicopter blades fills the air, searching for a space to set down. As the chopper lands, kicking up a flurry of white, I feel a mix of relief and something akin to dread settling in my gut.
The rescue team emerges, and I immediately launch into a briefing on Willow's condition, my voice clipped and formal.
"Willow Jones, 24, former Olympic skier," I report to the rescue team, my eyes focused on their leader. "She has a suspected fracture in her right leg. I applied a splint, but she needs medical attention ASAP."
The team nods, absorbing the information. "Good work, Reid," the leader says. "We'll take it from here."
I step back, allowing them space to work. They approach Willow with a stretcher, and I hear her sharp intake of breath as they carefully move her. I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to go to her.
Instead, I busy myself with packing up the shelter, my movements methodical and precise. I can feel Willow's eyes on me, but I don't meet her gaze. I can't. Not now.
"Reid?" Her voice is soft, almost lost in the wind.
I pause, my hands stilling on the first aid supplies. "Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything."
I nod, still not looking at her. "Just doing my job."
The words feel hollow, a lie. But I let them hang in the air, a barrier between us.
I finish packing and stand, shouldering my gear. The rescue team has Willow secured in the stretcher and ready for transport. I know I should go with them to ensure a smooth handoff at the hospital. But suddenly, the thought of being in that confined space with her, with this unspoken thing between us, feels suffocating.
"I'll meet you at the hospital," I tell the team leader. "I need to report back to base and let them know she's safe."
The team leader shakes his head. "Sorry, Reid. We have orders to take you both off the mountain. You're coming with us."
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips. Arguing is futile. With a sigh, I climb into the helicopter, settling into a seat as far from Willow as possible.
As we lift off, I busy myself with paperwork, filling out the rescue report with meticulous detail. I can feel Willow's eyes on me, burning into my skin, but I don't dare look up. I can't face the hurt I know I'll see there. I should have prepared her for this. Told her I’d have to be professional when help arrived.
The helicopter hums, the only sound breaking the heavy silence between us. I focus on the pen in my hand, the scratch of it against paper. I fucking hate paperwork, but I'll do anything to distract me from the ache in my chest.
"Reid?" Willow's voice is tentative, barely audible over the roar of the blades.
I don't respond, pretending I can't hear her over the noise. I hate myself for it, for the cowardice that keeps my eyes glued to the papers in front of me.
I sense her shift, leaning towards me. "Reid, please. Talk to me."
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on the pen. I want to look at her, to take her hand and tell her that what I feel for her is real. But the words stick in my throat, trapped by the walls I've spent so long building. If Viggo hears how unprofessional I've been, I'll lose my job. And then what will I be left with?
The flight stretches on, each minute an eternity. Willow's confusion and uncertainty radiate off her in waves, crashing against my resolve.
I risk a glance, just a fraction of a second. But it's enough. I catch the shimmer of tears in her eyes, the way she's pulled into herself, her arms wrapped tight around her middle. The sight is a punch to the gut, stealing my breath.
I want to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and kiss away the pain I've caused. But I can't. Not here, not now. So I turn back to my paperwork, the lines blurring before my eyes.
The helicopter begins its descent, the hospital coming into view below. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. I know I can't leave things like this; I can't let Willow walk away thinking this meant nothing.
But I don't know what else I can do.
The helicopter touches down on the hospital helipad, the roar of the blades fading as we power down. A small crowd gathers near the entrance, and I recognize Willow's family from the photos I saw of her after her accident.
As the medical team carefully unloads Willow's stretcher, her mother rushes forward, tears streaming down her face. She grasps Willow's hand, whispering words of comfort I can't hear over the din of the hospital staff's chatter.
Willow's father stands back, his posture rigid. But even from this distance, I can see the relief etched into the lines of his face. He nods at me, a silent acknowledgment of my role in his daughter's rescue.
I busy myself with unloading my gear, trying to ignore the lump in my throat as I watch the reunion unfold. Willow's talking to her parents, but her eyes keep darting to me, a silent plea in their green depths.
I turn away, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. I know I'm hurting her, but I can't risk everything I've gained since leaving the military, as much as it's killing me.
The medical staff begins to wheel Willow inside, and I can't stop myself from watching as they go. Just before they pass through the doors, Willow looks back at me one last time, her eyes searching mine for something, anything.
I give her a curt nod; my jaw clenched so tight it aches. It's all I can manage, all I can allow myself. Then I turn my back, busying myself with my gear once more.
With the rescue complete, I drive back to headquarters, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions. The elation of the successful rescue is tainted by the bitter taste of my cowardice. I can't shake the image of Willow's face as I turned away from her, the hurt and confusion in her eyes seared into my brain.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally find someone who makes me feel alive, who sees past my walls, and what do I do? I push her away, too afraid of losing my job and my own fucking feelings to take a chance.
I hate myself for it, for the pain I know I've caused her. She deserves better than this, better than me. I'm a mess, a broken soldier who doesn't know how to let anyone in. I've spent so long building up these defenses I don't know how to tear them down.
But even as I tell myself it's for the best, that I can't risk my job and reputation for a woman I barely know, I can't ignore the ache in my chest. The way my heart raced when I held her, the electricity that coursed through my veins when our lips met. It felt right, like something clicking into place after years of being adrift.
I pull into the Mountain Angels parking lot, the familiar sight of the headquarters doing nothing to calm my racing thoughts. I know I need to report in to debrief with Viggo and the team. But the thought of facing them, of pretending everything is fine when my world feels like it's been turned upside down, makes my stomach churn.
I sit in the truck for a long moment, my head resting against the steering wheel. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. But all I can see is Willow, her green eyes pleading with me to stay, to give this thing between us a chance.
I want to go to her, apologize for my behavior, and beg her forgiveness. But I can't—not yet. I need to get my head straight and figure out what the hell I'm doing. I can't be the man she needs, not like this.