Chapter Thirty-Two
Ava
The ranger station smells like coffee and wet wool and too many prayers held too tightly in too-small lungs.
I pace the tile in tight, frantic loops, shaking my fingers out like I can keep my heart from collapsing inward. They’ve already sent one team out. Another is gearing up. Snow slams sideways against the windows, the world outside nothing but white motion and cold punishment.
Every second stretches thin. Every breath tastes like guilt.
I should have walked with her. I should have never let her go alone. I should have—
The door bursts open.
Wind explodes inside, and there—through it—he is.
Jax.
He fills the doorway. Snow clings to his hair, his lashes, his beard. His skin is frighteningly pale. His coat—gone.
And in his arms, cradled against the bare layers of his shirt—
“Violet.” The name tears out of me. My legs move before my brain does. I’m running.
He drops to his knees as soon as he’s inside, like the strength that brought her home doesn’t exist a second longer. Violet’s arms slip from around his neck, limp with exhaustion, her face gray with cold.
“I got her,” he groans, voice shredded. “She’s… low.”
“I’ve got her now,” I say, hands already on Violet, checking her color, her breathing, her pulse thrumming too fast but too weak at once.
The ranger on duty rushes in, medical bag already open. Together we lift Violet from Jax’s arms. As soon as she’s gone, he tips forward like his body doesn't know what to do without a reason to keep standing.
“Jax—” My chest squeezes. “Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head once, violently. “No. Just… take care of her.” His knees skid on the wet floor, palms hitting hard. He’s shaking so badly I can see it from here.
“You gave her your coat,” I whisper, horrified and undone by the same realization.
He lifts his eyes to mine—glassy, unfocused, wrecked. “She needed it more.”
Ellie and I maneuver Violet toward the cot, heaters already blasting. Ellie sets up a warm IV line, rattling off numbers and orders, and I answer on instinct, my training kicking in through the terror.
But my gaze keeps drifting back to him.
Jax stays where he fell—on his knees in melting snow—watching Violet like he can hold her together by will alone.
“Come on,” Ellie says softly to me, “she’s going to be okay if we treat fast.”
I nod. I breathe. I keep my hands steady as I check Violet’s blood sugar, as we get warm blankets around her, as we raise her legs because cold pulls the blood out of the heart.
Her lips barely part. “Mom?”
“I’m here.” I curl over her, pressing a kiss to her icy forehead. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”
Her gaze slides to Jax—still hunched, still shivering, eyes fixed on her like maybe she’s the only good thing left in the world.
“He saved me,” Violet whispers, voice slurred but stubborn. “Don’t… let him fall.”
My heart cracks wide open.
I turn back to him.
“Jax.” I kneel in front of him, cupping his frozen face in shaking hands. His skin is ice. His breath comes in shallow bursts. His pupils swim.
“You’re freezing,” I breathe. “Let me help you.”
He blinks like he can’t quite understand the words. “Focus… on her.”
“I am,” I say, fierce. “And now I’m focusing on you. Because she needs you to live, too.”
That gets through.
Barely.
He slumps forward, forehead nearly hitting my shoulder before someone catches him—the large hands of Ranger Tom lifting him from the floor like dead weight.
“We need to get him warm,” Tom says. “He’s hypothermic.”
They haul Jax onto the cot opposite Violet. Blankets, heat packs, a monitor clipped to a blue-tinged finger. His whole body trembles uncontrollably, jolting like each shiver is its own battle.
Violet tries to lift her head. “Is… he gonna be okay?”
I’m suddenly beside her again, smoothing her hair back, kissing her temple.
“Yes,” I promise, even though I’ve never prayed harder in my life. “He’s going to be just fine.”
Jax’s lashes flutter. His lips move, barely a whisper:
“Is she… okay?”
A laugh breaks out of me—a wet, broken thing I’ve been holding back for hours.
“She’s going to yell at you for scaring her,” I say gently. “You’ll deserve it.”
His eyes slip closed. Relief loosens his whole body like someone finally allowed it.
I look between them—my daughter breathing deeper under warm air, color sliding back into her cheeks… and Jax, a man who would walk into the teeth of this mountain without hesitation if it meant one more heartbeat for her.
A man who has been half-dead inside for years, still trying to save everyone but himself.
And I know right then—if this storm came for us again tomorrow, he would do it all over.
And I would not let him do it alone.