Epilogue
Alec
Even after summiting the highest glacier in Iceland, the best thing I’ve seen in three days is Clementine standing in that small boat, waving like her arms might fall off.
The water gleams around her, all fractured light and color. Deep navy ripples speckled with white ice, flashes of pale turquoise where the glacier lurks just beneath the surface.
She’s wrapped in a massive pink puffer coat that swallows her whole, a cream beanie sliding halfway down her forehead. The wind whips her red hair into a wild halo around her face, and her grin—bright and uncontainable—cuts through the gray sky like a flare.
The climb was clean. Perfect, even.
The ice samples are secure, the camera crew is thrilled, and I should be thinking about data logs or tomorrow’s debrief. Instead, every step down the glacier, all I could think was, Three more hours. Two. One.
Until her.
When the white boat bumps against the glacier’s edge, I barely wait for it to steady before climbing aboard.
My legs shake, but then Clementine launches herself at me, and I catch her on instinct alone.
She hits my chest hard enough that I stagger back into the boat’s railing.
Her arms lock around my neck, and she makes this sound between a laugh and a sob that does something catastrophic to my composure.
“Three days is too long,” she says into my neck. Her breath is warm against my frozen skin. “I’m never letting you do that again.”
“Yes, you are.” I bury my face in her hair. She smells like woodsmoke and the lavender soap she packed, impossibly soft things in this harsh place. “You’d lose your mind having me brood around you day in and day out.”
“That’s true.” She pulls back just enough to look at me, and her hands come up to frame my face. Her smile falters. Her gloved thumb traces my bottom lip, and I flinch. “But your skin wouldn’t be bleeding from the ice burn.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” She’s studying me now, really looking, and I can see the exact moment she catalogs everything wrong. Her fingers ghost over the new cut on my cheekbone, the raw patches where my goggles rubbed, the split in my lip that keeps cracking open. “Your face—”
“Will heal.” I catch her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm through her glove. “Clem, I’m okay.”
She makes a frustrated sound and digs through her coat pocket, producing a small tin of lip balm. “Hold still.”
“Clementine, I haven’t brushed my teeth in three days—”
“I don’t care. I like your smell. Also, I’m pretty sure my nostrils froze solid two weeks ago.
Can’t smell a thing.” She’s already uncapping the tin, dabbing balm on her finger.
“I’ve been going crazy down here, Alec. Knowing you were up there.
So, you’re going to shut up and let me take care of you. ”
There’s something fierce in her voice that makes my chest tight. I go still and let her work, her touch featherlight as she traces my bottom lip. The balm stings, but her concentration makes everything else disappear.
“There,” she whispers, capping the tin. Then she leans in and kisses me so softly I barely feel it. “A little better.”
“Much better,” I whisper against her lips and kiss her once more.
Behind us, my team is celebrating, shouting, laughing. Someone’s already cracked open a bottle of something. But they might as well be on a different planet.
We take a seat as the boat cuts through the glacial water, and she tucks herself under my arm. The adrenaline is finally wearing off, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion and the kind of contentment that only comes from knowing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
“I have to be honest.” She tilts her head up to look at me, yelling over the wind.
“What’s up?”
“I would’ve appreciated a warning about how boring glacial research is when you’re not allowed to touch anything.”
“You could have helped with the equipment checks.”
“James wouldn’t let me near the drills after I asked if I could use one to make snow cones.” She grins. “Apparently that’s ‘not what a hundred-thousand-dollar ice core drill is for.’”
I laugh, wincing when it pulls at my split lip. “I’ll need to have a firm talk with James about that.”
“I agree.” She nods firmly. “I did teach half your research team how to stretch properly—did you know JoJo can’t touch her toes?
It’s tragic.” She’s ticking things off on her fingers now.
“That, and I reorganized the entire camp kitchen, because whoever was in charge of it clearly never learned the alphabet. And I may have convinced Harry to let me use the satellite to call Gran back at the lodge.”
“You called Margaret from Iceland?”
“She wanted to know if you were still alive. And also to tell me that Gerri finally nailed her pirouette.” Her whole face lights up. “Alec, she cried. Gerri actually cried. She said she’s been trying to do a real spin since 1987.”
I shake my head, grinning. “You’ve created a monster with those classes.”
“I’ve created a dance troupe.” She sits up straighter. “We’re calling ourselves the Silver Swans. We’re performing at the lodge’s New Year’s party, and I already warned your mother that it’s going to be emotional, because Dorothy has a solo and she’s already stress-eating about it.”
“My mother knows about this?”
“Your mother wants to join. Actually, your whole family’s talking about flying in from California after Christmas.” Clementine is fully giggling now.
“I was only gone for three days.”
“Three very long days.” Clem bops my nose. Her laughter catches the wind. She fits so easily into my family—the calls, the updates, the way they all light up when she’s on screen. I spent months pushing them away after Finn’s accident, and somehow Clementine pulled them right back into me.
“Speaking of your family,” she continues, “Brooklyn wants to know if we’re coming to Monaco in May. Francesca’s racing there, and apparently, we can’t miss it.”
“Monaco.” I let my head fall back against the seat. “In May. That’s—”
“I know, it’s right after your Patagonia expedition, but Frankie specifically requested we come. She said she needs at least one family member who won’t embarrass her in the paddock.” Clementine pauses. “I think she meant you, but I’m choosing to believe she meant me.”
“She definitely meant you.” I hook an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “But yeah. We’ll go. I’ve never seen her race in person.”
“Really?” She twists to look at me. “Your sister is an F1 driver, and you’ve never watched her race live?”
“The timing never worked out. I was always on an expedition or—” I stop, realizing what I’m saying. “Or I was too focused on the next climb.”
Her expression softens. “Well, you’re going now. We both are.” She settles back against me. “Ezra’s supposed to be there too. Did your mom tell you?”
“Ezra?” That surprises me. “I thought he and Hazel were doing the whole wedding planning thing.”
“They are. Or they were. Or—I don’t know, actually.” Clementine frowns. “Your mom mentioned something about Hazel taking a job in Rhode Island? And Ezra maybe staying in California? It was all very vague.”
I make a mental note to call my little brother. Ezra and I aren’t particularly close. He’s always been more interested in being in a pool…while I’m the one hanging off mountains, but still. “That doesn’t sound good. I thought you said Harry only let you call your grandma.”
“Well, and your mom and sister. They were just checking in on you.”
“I’ll call them when we get back.”
She digs out her phone, icy eyes bright. “Finn sent you something. Said I was supposed to play it the second you got on the boat, but I got distracted by your busted face.”
“I swear to god, if Mozart is sleeping in his bed when we get back, I’m gonna be pissed,” I joke. Mozart is now over sixty pounds and thinks he’s the size of a chihuahua.
“Yura sent me a picture of Finn and him underneath the duvet, snoring.”
“Spoiled dog,” I mutter, though the truth is, the mutt’s grown on me. And Finn’s walking again. Hiking around Misthaven Lake without crutches with the dog every morning. That’s more than I could’ve asked for.
Clementine pushes play, and Finn’s voice crackles through the speaker. “You did it, you crazy bastard. Knew you would. I’m just sorry for the people who have to look at your ugly mug on camera instead of mine.”
I snort. “Jealous.”
“But since you went and summited without me, I figured the least I could do was commemorate the occasion. So, I wrote you a song.”
“Oh no,” I mutter.
What follows is the most off-key, ridiculous ballad about our friendship, complete with rhymes about “ice picks” and “sidekicks” and a truly terrible verse about my “frostbitten dignity.” The recording cuts in and out with wind interference, making it even more absurd.
By the end, I’m laughing so hard my ribs hurt.
“It’s perfect.” I wipe at my eyes.
The boat rounds the bend, and camp comes into view. The research station sits low against the landscape, all weathered wood and small windows, smoke rising from the main cabin, where the team is already celebrating. There’s a massive fire, and music drifts across the ice.
“God,” I breathe. “A real bed. Real food.”
“About that.” Clementine’s voice has gone sly. “I may have arranged something.”
“Arranged what?”
“You’ll see.”
“Boss.” It’s James, my lead researcher, grinning. “You look like death.”
“Feel like it too.”
“The data’s clean. Everything uploaded perfectly. You want to go over the—”
“Tomorrow,” I say, and the word feels foreign in my mouth. I’ve never delayed a debrief. “I need sleep. We’ll go over everything in the morning.”
James’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I clap his shoulder. “Great work, everyone.”
I don’t miss the look that passes between my team members—surprise, maybe a little concern—but I don’t care. I’m already walking toward the cabin, toward Clementine, toward something that feels more essential than any summit.
The door swings open before I reach it.