Chapter 19
Nineteen
BAILEY
The helicopter’s roar drowns out everything else as rescue teams swarm our little cabin. Their voices blend, medical jargon mixing with urgent commands. Someone shines a light in my eyes while another person takes my pulse. Reality crashes in with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
The medic’s fingers probe my ankle, sending sharp needles of pain up my leg. Deep breaths. Focus on the helicopter’s blades, the wind they kick up, anything else. Anything but the fact that this rescue means our time is over.
“This might hurt,” the medic warns, wrapping something tight around my leg.
Might hurt? No kidding. Fuck.
But I keep my face blank, counting the rivets in the helicopter’s side panel. One, two, three...
“You’re hurting her,” Sebastian snaps at the medic. His jaw clenches, that perfect composure cracking as he takes a step forward. The protective edge in his voice makes something in my chest twist.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, but he’s already in defensive mode, shoulders squared like he’s facing down wolves again.
The medic’s latex gloves squeak as he pulls back, annoyed. “Sir, you need to let us treat her.”
“You could be more gentle.” Sebastian’s voice has that edge to it, the one that probably makes his employees scramble and his board members cower.
I grab his hand, forcing him to meet my eyes. “It’s okay. He’s doing his job. I’m okay.”
The splint clicks into place. My vision whites out for a second, but I don’t make a sound. Years of dealing with sensory overload taught me how to disappear inside my head when things get too intense. Right now, I’m imagining I’m back in Vegas, buying a new lucky snow globe.
Sebastian’s watching. His eyes never leave me, even through the chaos. He knows I’m in pain. Even now, he reads me better than anyone should be able to after five days.
“Ma’am, we need to get you on the gurney. That leg needs immediate attention.”
“I can walk.” My voice comes out strange, too sharp, too brittle. “It’s just a sprain.”
They argue, but I stand my ground. No way am I being strapped down and carried out like some fragile thing. That’s not how this ends.
Out of the corner of my eye, Sebastian talks to another medic. His hair’s a mess, shirt wrinkled—so different from the pressed businessman I met at the airport. So fucking beautiful it makes my teeth hurt.
I crane my neck, trying to catch another glimpse. Sebastian’s getting a bandage on his arm where the wolf caught him. The way his jaw clenches tells me it hurts more than he’s letting on.
“Miss Monroe, please hold still.” The medic dabs something that stings on my forehead.
Five days. It’s only been five days since I met him.
Since everything changed. But it feels like forever.
The thought bubbles up a laugh, which earns me concerned looks from the medical team.
If they only knew the joke—how quickly you can go from hating someone to memorizing the way their breath hitches when you kiss them.
None of this was real, anyway. Just a survival story. A blip in time. A perfect mistake made in a bubble that’s now bursting in spectacular fashion as reality rushes in.
Sebastian takes a step toward me. “Bailey, I think we should—”
“Did you know there’s a snow globe museum in Vienna?” The words tumble out too fast, my mind racing ahead of my mouth. “Like, a whole museum of snow globes. Hundreds of them. Some are bigger than my head.”
He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. The same hair I tangled my fingers in last night. “That’s not what I want to talk about.”
“They have one from the 1800s. The snow’s actually ground rice. How wild is that? Ground rice! Rich people back then were so extra.” My mouth operates on autopilot, spewing useless facts to fill the space where truth might slip in.
“Bailey.”
“And in Barcelona, there’s this tiny shop that makes custom ones. They’ll put anything inside. Even tiny replicas of lost snow globes that got sacrificed to save stubborn CEOs from wolves.” My words trip over each other, desperate to outrun whatever he wants to say.
“Please—”
“Look, a shooting star!” I point at the helicopter’s searchlight sweeping across the sky. “Quick, make a wish. I wish for more cookies. And some supplies that aren’t from the Stone Age. And—”
“Stop.” He catches my hand, still pointing at nothing. “Just...stop.”
I pull away, forcing a grin. “Sorry, can’t stop. Doctor said I might have a concussion. Could be permanent. Might never stop talking. You should run while you can.”
“Bailey, we need to talk about—”
“Your hair?” I interrupt because deflecting is my superpower. “Because, honestly, it’s the first time I’ve seen you look human. Kind of like a stressed porcupine.”
He runs his fingers through said hair, making it worse. The gesture is so familiar now that it hurts.
“Bailey.” The way he says my name makes my stomach flip. “I’m serious.”
“Hi, Serious. I’m Bailey.”
The medic calls my name, saving me from whatever Sebastian was about to say. Whatever truth was about to crack my wall of jokes. I’ve never been so grateful for medical intervention.
The helicopter’s interior smells like antiseptic and metal. They’ve seated us across from each other, close enough to touch but separated by an invisible wall of medical equipment and rescue personnel. Sebastian stares out the window, his profile sharp against the dawn sky.
The light catches on his hair, turning it golden. His hands are clasped tight in his lap, knuckles white with tension. I wonder if he’s thinking about the ring. About Rebecca. About second chances and perfect plans. About how to erase these five days and return to his immaculate life.
He’ll probably call her when we land. Rich people are good at fixing things, at smoothing over cracks until everything looks pristine again.
She’ll cry, he’ll forgive. They’ll have their perfect wedding with perfect flowers and a perfect life.
The thought twists in my gut like a knife, but perhaps that’s just the altitude.
His eyes meet mine for a split second before darting away.
There’s a smudge of dirt still on his jaw from our last firewood run.
By tonight, he’ll be clean-shaven and wearing another expensive suit.
Every trace of our time together washed away.
Cabin Sebastian replaced by CEO Sebastian.
Wolf-fighting Sebastian erased by boardroom Sebastian.
But I’ll remember the way he looked collecting pinecones for our little Christmas tree. How he hummed off-key while fixing the roof. The exact shade of blue his eyes turned when he kissed me.
I collect snow globes, but I also collect moments that break my heart.
The helicopter medic hands us each a portable charger. We turn on our phones, and the first phone to buzz is Sebastian’s, making us both jump. His screen lights up with notifications, missed calls flooding in as we hit cell coverage. His real life, reclaiming him one alert at a time.
Fifty-seven missed calls. I count them because I can’t stop myself. His mother’s name appears most often, followed by his assistant, and...Rebecca. My stomach turns, acid rising in my throat.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out, I’m greeted by an avalanche of texts from Mom that start with mild concern and progress to capital-letter hysteria.
Mom
Bailey, are you on your way?
Did your flight get delayed?
BAILEY MONROE, ANSWER YOUR PHONE
Gabriel says your flight should have landed HOURS AGO
BAILEY, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU’RE IGNORING ME AGAIN
Please let us know you’re okay. Dad’s worried too.
I wince, guilt twisting through me. They think I’ve flaked again.
Can’t blame them. It’s not the first time I’ve missed a family gathering.
First time was because of bad weather. Second time, work.
This time... Well, at least I have a dramatic story to tell.
One where I edit out the parts about falling for someone I should never have met.
Mom
Bailey, there’s news about a cargo plane losing contact in Alaska. Please tell me it’s not yours.
Bailey, honey, PLEASE respond if you get this.
The news said a B-177 hasn’t checked in.
Isn’t that your callsign? I’m calling the airline.
Gabriel’s trying to reach Alaska Air Traffic Control.
Nobody will tell us anything because of the storm.
They just keep saying they lost contact and can’t send a search team until the weather clears.
Bailey Marie Monroe, if you’re ignoring these messages, I will ground you for life, and I don’t care that you’re 28. Please, baby, just let us know you’re alive.
The timestamps show an increasingly frantic progression over the past five days. Fifteen missed calls from Mom. Eight from Gabriel. Even Dad called three times, and he hates phones.
Gabriel’s messages are less emotional but no less worried.
Gabriel
Hey, Mom’s freaking out about some plane news. Check in?
Seriously B, answer your damn phone.
Called rescue services. Storm’s too bad for search teams. This better be you losing your phone again. Mom hasn’t slept in 36 hours. Neither have I. Please be okay.
My throat tightens. They knew. They’ve been panicking for days, not just annoyed like usual when I miss family gatherings. They’ve been calling rescue services, airlines, anyone who might know anything about a missing pilot in Alaska.
I tap out a quick response to Mom.
I am COMPLETELY FINE. Yes, it was my plane, but we survived a crash landing. Safe now, getting rescued. Minor ankle sprain but otherwise perfect. In a helicopter heading to the hospital. Can’t talk—too loud. Will call ASAP. I’m SO sorry you were worried. Love you so much.
Then to Gabriel:
Alive and kicking (well, limping). Tell Mom I’m okay. We crash-landed but survived by being awesome wilderness badasses. Getting checked out now, but I’m fine. Thanks for trying to find me. Owe you big time.
The messages send with cheerful swooshes that feel inadequate for the fear my family’s been living with. For five days, they’ve thought I might be dead in the Alaskan wilderness. And they were right—I could have been, if not for Sebastian.
My phone buzzes again, Mom’s response coming through as if she’s been holding her phone for five straight days.
Mom
OH THANK GOD!!! I’m sobbing. Your father’s sobbing. Gabriel’s pretending not to sob. CRASH LANDED??? ANKLE SPRAIN??? WHO ARE WE???
Call the SECOND you land!!! I love you so, so much.
Gabriel
Jesus Christ, B. Mom just collapsed in a chair, crying. Dad’s opening the good whiskey. WHO THE HELL IS “WE”? You better have one hell of a story. Don’t you EVER do this again.
I smile through sudden tears. They love me. They were terrified for me. For all my complaining about them not understanding me, they moved heaven and earth, trying to find me when they thought I was in danger.
I shoot back quick replies.
I promise I’m okay, Mom. “We” are me and a passenger. Long story. Love you tons, will explain everything.
Gabriel, tell Dad to pour me one too. I’ve earned it. And the “we” is complicated. Very complicated.
Sebastian’s phone keeps lighting up. More messages. More calls. More people who noticed he was missing. More lives waiting for him to step back into his perfect world.
My phone stays quiet except for another spam text about winning a cruise I never entered to win.
He glances at me, then back at his screen as it lights up again. I force a smile that feels like broken glass cutting my cheeks. “Looks like people missed you.”
The medical equipment beeps between us, a rhythmic reminder of reality. His phone buzzes again. And again. And again.
“You should return those calls.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “Let them know you’re okay.”
Sebastian’s fingers hover over his screen, hesitating. Another buzz makes him flinch.
The helipad comes into view, a bright orange X. My stomach lurches, and not from the descent.
Sebastian’s hand moves toward mine. I grab my phone instead, pretending to be fascinated by another spam text. “Look at that, I could win a free iPhone. My luck’s really turning around.”
His hand retreats. Good. Better this way. Better to make the break clean before he does.
“Bailey—”
“You know what’s funny?” I cut him off, my voice too bright, too sharp. “I thought Alaska would be boring. Just me, my cargo, and a moose sighting if I got lucky. Instead, I got wolves, hypothermia, and a crash course in how the other half lives. Well, crashes. Get it? Because we crashed?”
The medic gives me a concerned look. Probably thinks I have a concussion. Maybe I do. It would explain why my chest feels like it’s caving in, why breathing requires conscious effort.
“When we land—”
“When we land, call your mom first.” My words come faster now, tumbling over each other like falling snow. “She called the most. Though Rebecca’s a close second. Guess she noticed you were gone after all. Funny how that works.”
His jaw tightens. I keep talking because if I stop, he might say something real. Something that would make this harder. Something I might believe.
“You can still salvage your perfect Christmas proposal. I hear near-death experiences make great engagement stories. Much more interesting than ‘met at a charity gala’ or whatever fancy story you had planned.”
The helipad draws nearer. Sebastian’s hand twitches toward mine again. I start rummaging through my backpack, pulling out random items just to stay busy, to keep a barrier between us.
“Though you might want to clean up first,” I continue, my voice unnaturally cheerful. “Can’t propose looking like you just fought a wolf. Which you did. But that’s probably not the vibe you’re going for.”
The landing gear touches down with a jolt that rattles my teeth. Medical crews swarm the helicopter before the blades stop spinning, their fluorescent vests blinding in the morning light. Someone reaches for my arm to help me down.
I shake them off, gritting my teeth against the pain in my leg. Pain focuses me. Pain, I can handle.
Sebastian steps down beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush. The contact burns through my jacket, making my skin tingle. Making my heart ache with the memory of his skin against mine.
The crew moves, a choreographed dance of efficiency. Gurneys appear, paperwork materializes, questions fire from all directions. The noise and motion make my head spin. Or maybe that’s just the way Sebastian’s looking at me, like he’s trying to memorize my face.
His hand finds mine in the chaos, warm and solid and real. Too real. His thumb traces my knuckles, and I focus on the pain in my leg because it hurts less than this gentle touch.
“Tell me to stay,” he whispers, and for once in my life, I keep my mouth shut. Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do is let someone go before they realize they want to leave. Even if it means breaking your own heart on the way.