Chapter 17
Alex
Windermere A&E is heaving, even at this hour. Crying toddlers. A man clutching his wrist. Someone coughing like it’s their new part-time job. The fluorescent lights hum overhead. It’s all a far cry from the silence on the ridge, but right now I’m grateful for the noise because it means she’s safe.
Emma sits beside me in the waiting area, wrapped in a thick hospital blanket that she’s pulled tightly around herself like armour.
The poncho she arrived in is folded neatly on the chair next to her.
She’d finally taken it off once the nurse handed over the blanket, cheeks pink with embarrassment, muttering something about not wanting to drip all over the floor.
I didn’t care about the floor. I cared about the way her hands were still shaking.
Nick leans against the wall opposite us, streaked with mud, arms folded, looking oddly dependable for a man who earlier in the morning nearly got thrown into a cupboard.
Gerald checked her over himself once we got down, agreed she needed hospital assessment, and then disappeared to handle paperwork.
Between the three of us insisting she get looked at properly, she never stood a chance.
The only ground she managed to win was refusing an ambulance.
The compromise was Nick driving Tommy’s BMW while I sat in the back holding her icy hand the whole way to Windermere.
Now she’s pink again, not from cold but from sheer mortification.
“I feel ridiculous,” she mutters, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “I’m taking up space other people need.”
“You nearly went hypothermic,” I remind her gently. “You’re exactly where you should be.”
She snuggles deeper into the blanket, still unconvinced. “I’m fine now.”
“You will be fine,” I correct softly. “Small difference. Important one.”
Emma shifts closer, just a fraction, enough that her shoulder brushes mine beneath the blanket. Then she tilts her face up and gives me the gentlest kiss. Soft. Grateful. Something that hits far deeper than the adrenaline still ebbing through my veins.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I swallow, because if I try to speak too quickly, I’ll embarrass myself. “You don’t need to thank me.”
But she’s already turning her head towards Nick. “And thank you. For the drive. And… everything.”
Nick lifts his brows as if he’s deeply offended by the lack of ceremony. “What, no kiss for me?”
I growl before I can stop myself. Proper, territorial noise from somewhere prehistoric.
Nick cackles immediately. “Relax, Hercules. I’m joking. If she tried to kiss me right now, I’d probably faint from shock.”
Emma laughs, a small, breathy sound that makes the entire miserable A&E waiting room feel less grim.
Before I can fire something back at Nick, his phone rings. He steps away, answering as he moves towards the corridor, already shifting back into problem-solving mode.
Emma leans against my shoulder again, the blanket rustling softly. I rest a hand over hers, keeping it warm, keeping her close, and trying not to think about how close I came to losing her in the mist.
And how impossible that thought already feels.
Nick returns a minute later, pocketing his phone.
“That was Tommy. He needs his car back before the forecasted weather gets worse, so I’m dropping it in Fellside and head home.
” He jerks his chin towards the entrance.
“Phil’s on his way with your florist friend.
Tommy thought Emma might want a familiar face. ”
Emma gives him a tiny grateful smile. Nick responds with an awkward half-wave, then turns to go.
I slip out after him, catching him just outside the automatic doors. The evening air is damp and cool, the smell of rain settling over the car park. “Nick,” I call.
He stops immediately, shoulders tensing as if expecting another fight.
I shake my head. “I just wanted to say… thanks. For today. For helping me get to her.”
His expression twitches, something flickering behind the brusque exterior he always hides behind. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, “couldn’t exactly let you charge up a mountain on your own like some deranged goat, could I?”
I huff a laugh. “You still came. You didn’t have to.”
He shifts his weight, glancing off to the side. “Look… about earlier. At the centre.” His jaw flexes, the apology warring with pride. “I was out of line. Properly out of line.”
I let him apologise. It’s rare he tries.
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder. “You and I… we don’t exactly get on. We never have. But that doesn’t mean I want to be…” He grimaces. “A twat. Not like that. Not about her.”
I take a slow breath, the tension I hadn’t realised I was still holding finally easing. “She means a lot to me.”
He nods once, sharp, like the truth of it actually lands. “Yeah. I could tell.”
There’s a pause. The good kind, surprisingly.
Nick exhales through his nose. “You’re a good bloke, Alex. Annoying as hell sometimes, but good. And she’s… well, she’s something special.” His voice softens on the last words, as if even he can’t help it.
My chest tightens. “She is.”
He kicks lightly at the tarmac. “So… I’m sorry. And if I can help… you know, in future… just ask.”
This is probably the most sincere five sentences he’s ever strung together.
I nod. “Thanks. Really.”
He smirks faintly, as if emotional honesty is physically painful. “Right. Enough of that. Before you start hugging me or some shit.”
I laugh. “Trust me, that was never on the table.”
He nods once, brisk, then starts walking toward Tommy’s BMW. Halfway there, he pauses and glances back.
“She’s tough, you know,” he says. “Most people would’ve fallen apart up there in that weather. She didn’t.”
My chest warms. “Yeah. She is.”
He gives the smallest shrug, as if he’s said more than he intended, then disappears into the driver’s seat and pulls away.
For a moment, I stand in the cooling air, watching the taillights fade. It’s the first time in decades that a conversation with Nick has ended without one of us wanting to throttle the other. Maybe today didn’t just rescue Emma.
Maybe it salvaged something else too.
When I get back to the waiting area, Emma is still curled in her chair, blanket wrapped around her like armour.
Her hair is damp around her temples. Her cheeks are blotchy from cold and crying.
But when she sees me, something in her loosens visibly, like she’s been holding a breath she didn’t know she’d taken.
I sit beside her, close but not crowding. I let the silence settle until it feels less sharp.
“Emms,” I say quietly, “can I ask what happened? Not because you owe me an explanation. Just… because I want to understand.”
She keeps her eyes on the edge of the blanket, picking at a loose thread. When she finally speaks, her voice is small.
“I heard people talking about us. At the bakery.”
I stay still, steady. Let her set the pace.
“They said I wasn’t your type. That you must have lost your mind. That you’d drop me the minute you came to your senses.” She breathes out slowly. “And my mum said something similar. That I shouldn’t get carried away. That I shouldn’t expect much, because men like you don’t… pick women like me.”
My hands tighten, but I don’t interrupt her. She deserves space to say every word.
She swallows. “I knew it was cruel, but I still believed them. Not because of you, but because it felt familiar. They were saying things I’ve heard my whole life.
” Her eyes glisten. “So I went walking to clear my head. Only… my head wasn’t clearing.
It was getting louder. And then I looked up and realised I’d walked myself into a place I didn’t understand. ”
She pauses. A tear slips down her cheek. Another. She doesn’t bother brushing them away.
“I hated that you had to come for me,” she whispers. “I hated feeling helpless. I hated proving them right.”
I shake my head gently. “You didn’t prove anyone right.”
She doesn’t react at first. She just stares at her hands, blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. Then something in her expression shifts. Like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.
“You know what’s strange?” she says slowly. “Up there… when everything was foggy and I couldn’t breathe… the voice in my head wasn’t the bakery women. Or my mum. It was yours.”
“Mine?”
She takes a shaky breath. “You telling me to stay still. You telling me I’m safe.
You calling my name. And it made me think…
how can anyone who doesn’t know me decide my worth?
How can two bored women who don’t even know my surname get to dictate what I deserve?
” She frowns slightly. “Why have I spent years believing people who never cared about me… and doubting someone who clearly does?”
Something warm unfurls low in my chest.
She shakes her head at herself, almost in disbelief. “I think… I think they were wrong. All of them. Maybe they always were. Maybe the only people whose voices I’ve ever listened to were the ones who shouldn’t have had any power in the first place.”
Her eyes lift to mine, steady despite the tears.
“And maybe I almost threw away something good because of it.”
I swallow. Hard.
“So when I ask why you did all that for me today,” she continues, “I already know the answer. It’s because you wanted to. And because you meant it. And maybe… maybe I’m allowed to believe that now.”
She wipes her cheeks with the edge of the blanket, breathing out slowly as if releasing years of tightness from her chest.
She leans into me then, carefully, as though testing whether the moment will hold.
It does.
It holds easily.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. No speeches. No corrections. Just being there. The way she deserves someone to be there.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” I say.
She nods against my shoulder. “I’m glad you came.”
And for the first time since the phone rang, the fear in me finally settles into something gentler. Something hopeful.
Whatever comes next, she’s not fighting those voices alone anymore.