Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Charlie was trying to save people from an avalanche. Digging with her bare, frozen hands. Calling their names. But the snow kept falling, burying them deeper, and her hands wouldn't work right, and she couldn't breathe. At the same time somehow, people were trying to dig her out of the snow.
Charlie's throat was dry and her voice came out rough. “Tell Kyle. Next time, beacons on all the principals.”
“Well, I would, but I don't work for him.”
Ben's voice cut through the dream like a lifeline.
“Ben?”
“Wake up, Charlie.”
I’m dreaming.
I’m not buried. I’m not dead. I’m safe.
Charlie's eyes flew open.
Fluorescent lights. White ceiling. The antiseptic smell of a hospital, though surprisingly, it was almost drowned out by the smell of flowers.
Ben saved me.
Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Everything hurt from a distance, thanks to pain meds—her shoulder, her ribs, her leg, her hands—but she was breathing. Real air. Fresh air.
“Easy, Princess. You're okay. You're safe.”
Ben was there, his hand warm around hers. His face was drawn, exhausted, but his eyes were full of relief.
Charlie blinked against the too-bright lights.
Ouch. But I'll take it. Along with all that sweet, fresh air.
She squeezed his hand. “You found me,” she croaked.
“Always.” His voice cracked. He lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “God, Charlie. I thought—”
“I know.” She did know. She'd felt the same terror when the avalanche hit, and again when the oxygen ran out.
The terror of thinking she’d never see him again.
“But you found me.”
Ben reached for a giant plastic cup with a wide straw and brought it to her lips. She sipped on the cold water and it tasted like ambrosia.
“Twenty-eight minutes.” Ben's jaw was tight. “You were under the snow for twenty-eight minutes. Without that oxygen canister—” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “Viv's oxygen saved both of you.”
Charlie's heart clenched. “How is Viv?”
“She's ready to make a superhero show all about you, that's how she is.”
“I was just doing my job.”
Ben squeezed her hand. “Viv is fine. Hypothermic, bruised ribs, shaken up, but fine.”
“So a superhero series?”
Ben's smile was genuine this time. “I think her exact words were 'a six-foot-tall badass female bodyguard who scares avalanches.'“
Charlie huffed out a laugh, then winced. “Ow. Don't make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
Charlie took inventory of herself. Her left shoulder was bandaged and immobilized. Her ribs were wrapped tight. Her left leg was elevated in some kind of brace.
“How bad do I look?” she asked.
“You look beautiful.”
She knew he was biased, but at the same time, he looked like he wanted to memorize every detail of her face, so she believed him.
Ben's expression turned serious. “Gunshot wound to your left shoulder.
The bullet hit your beacon first, so the vest caught most of it, but fragments from the beacon casing caused lacerations.
You needed surgery to remove the shrapnel and repair the damage to a tendon.
Three cracked ribs. Moderate frostbite on your left foot and minor on your fingers.
You'll make a full recovery, but it'll take time. Hypothermia. You were at ninety-two degrees when we pulled you out.”
Charlie absorbed that.
It could have been so much worse.
“Rowan?” she asked.
“Rowan's fine. Hypothermic and bruised, but he got lucky—ended up closer to the surface and he had an oxygen can. He says he’s forever in your debt for saving his fiancée, by the way.” Charlie smiled, then she grew serious.
“Duke?”
Ben's expression darkened. “Duke's battered but alive. His armor protected him from the worst of it. He rode a tree like a surfboard and ended up close to the edge, in shallower snow.”
Charlie took a deep breath and steeled herself.
“And…Maddie?”
“Dead.” Ben's voice was flat.
Charlie closed her eyes. She saw that triumphant smile all over again. “She never even tried to save herself. Just... stood there and let it take her. Maddie had wanted to die as long as Duke died with her.”
“It turns out,” Ben said quietly, “she wasn't lying about Duke. He did use her. Told her he loved her. Strung her along while she did his dirty work.” He paused. “Doesn't let her off the hook for what she did, but... Duke's no longer seeing his costar, though he probably won't lose his new role.”
Charlie opened her eyes. “It would be funny if there were an anonymous online campaign—”
“Elissa's already on it.” Ben's smile was grim. “She's very creative when she's angry.”
“That she is.” Charlie felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Her eyes drifted closed.
“Sleep, Princess,” Ben said softly. “I'll be right here when you wake up.”
“Love you,” Charlie whispered.
“Love you too. Always.”
Christmas Eve, Charlie sat curled up on Ben’s—no, their—couch, with her left leg propped on an ottoman and her shoulder still in a sling. She wore one of Ben's oversized sweaters and thick wool socks. Flo was pressed against her good side, warm and solid.
The Victorian was decorated like something out of a Dickens novel.
A real tree—a massive blue spruce that Ben had cut himself—stood in the corner by the window, covered in handmade ornaments and strings of cranberries and popcorn. Live balsam garlands draped the mantel and wound up the staircase banister. The whole house smelled like a magical forest.
Charlie had never bothered with a Christmas tree before. Never saw the point when it was just her.
This was beautiful, and she wanted it every year. Ben was going to have a fight on his hands if he so much as hinted at taking it down before Valentine’s Day.
Fine, maybe February first.
“Here we go.” Ben walked into the room carrying two flutes of bubbly, light-golden liquid. “Dry hard cider. Made it myself with champagne yeast.”
Charlie took a flute carefully with her good hand. She sniffed it and the bubbles tickled her nose just like champagne. “You made this?”
“Fall before last. It's been aging.” He settled beside her on the couch, careful not to jostle her arm or leg. “I was saving it for a special occasion.”
“Christmas?”
“Something like that.” He winked as he lifted his glass. “To life.”
Charlie clinked her glass against his. “To life.”
The cider was crisp and bright on her tongue, with just a hint of sweetness. Perfect.
As much as Charlie had wanted to spend Christmas with their family—and they'd all visited her in the hospital, showering her with flowers and art supplies and Moleskines and terrible jokes—she was grateful to be here. Just the two of them. Quiet. Safe. Home.
“I have something for you,” she said.
“Charlie, you just got out of the hospital—”
“It was finished before the avalanche. Shane brought it from my apartment where I was hiding it.”
“You mean the same apartment you’re giving up at the end of this month?” Ben grinned.
“The very same.” She nodded toward the large flat package leaning against the wall. “Can you get it?”
Ben retrieved the package. “I might know what it is, judging by the size and shape and your talents.”
“You might. Or, you might not know completely what it is.”
Ben raised his eyebrows, eyes sparkling. He carefully unwrapped it.
Then he went completely still.
It was the St. Vrain photo—the one of him and his brothers as teenagers, horsing around in the river. But Charlie had recreated it in colored pencil and charcoal, every detail perfect.
Except she'd also added Sean.
Standing in the background on the riverbank, watching his brothers with that quiet smile he had in photos. Like he was still there with them. Like he'd never left the river.
Ben's throat worked. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“Charlie,” he whispered. “This is—”
He couldn't finish. He set the drawing down carefully and pulled her into his side, his face buried in her hair.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. “Thank you.”
They sat like that for a long moment. Charlie pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Finally Ben pulled back. He wiped his eyes. “I have something for you, too.”
“Ben, you don't have to.” His fingers went automatically to the pendant at her throat. “My necklace is worth all the Christmas presents for the next hundred years.”
“I’m hoping you’ll feel differently about this one.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box—dark walnut, polished to a shine, with delicate filigree carved into the lid—the smaller twin to her necklace’s box.
Charlie's breath caught.
Ben opened the box.
Two rings sat nestled in light-blue velvet. Silver, delicate but strong, with tiny swords and filigree flowers wrapped around the bands. Small blue stones—the same color as her necklace—set into the centers of the flowers.
They were the most beautiful things Charlie had ever seen.
“I finished them the week before the avalanche,” Ben said. His voice shook slightly. “I was going to wait until Christmas morning, do this whole elaborate breakfast in bed thing, but—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I almost lost you, Charlie. And I'm done waiting.”
He slid off the couch and knelt in front of her. Then he took her good hand in both of his.
“Charlie King,” he said. “My strong princess. My lovely warrior. The bravest person I've ever known.” His eyes were bright. “Will you do this humble blacksmith the greatest honor and marry me?”
Charlie's vision blurred with tears. “Oh, Ben. Yes. God, yes.”
Ben slipped the smaller ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Of course it did—he'd made it for her so it was perfect.
She wiped her eyes with her free hand. “Put yours on. I want to see.”
Ben's smile was radiant as he slid the larger ring onto his own finger.
Yes. Perfect. They were absolutely perfect.
Charlie leaned forward and kissed him. Careful of her shoulder, but fierce in her certainty.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.
“I love you too, Princess. Always.”
Someone knocked at the door. Flo lifted her head and gave a soft whine.