The Final Run
Sloane
The air at Elm Hollow Mountain is vibrating.
It’s not the wind rolling down from the snow-covered peaks, and it’s not even the sharp January cold that seeps into your bones. It’s the static electricity of the finale.
We’re gathered at the base of the main ski slope—but the pristine snow is gone.
Aunt Tina—helped by a production crew that clearly hasn’t slept in two weeks—has built the Maze of Love.
It’s a massive labyrinth of three-meter-tall ice walls, snow-dusted synthetic hedges, and mechanical obstacles, all lit by red and pink strobe lights pulsing like an overworked heart.
It’s huge.
It’s intimidating.
And it’s the only thing standing between us and the end of all this.
“Welcome to the Final Frontier!” Tina yells through the megaphone.
Tonight, she’s outdone herself. She’s wearing an enormous, over-the-top pink gown dripping with tulle and ruffles.
Pedro is perched on her shoulder, sporting a tiny pink bow tie.
“The final challenge is called Find the Heart!” Tina announces, her voice echoing through the silent valley.
“You’ll have to make your way through the maze.
Inside, there are three stations. At each station, you must complete a couples challenge to earn a key.
Three keys will open the chest at the center of the maze. ”
She pauses dramatically, glancing at the glowing leaderboard with our names shining at the top.
“I know what you’re thinking. Sloane and Cohen have a massive lead. Lucy and Lars are close. Everyone else is doomed.”
She laughs—a delightfully evil sound.
“Wrong! Because this is the finale, my darlings! And in the finale… points are worth FIVE TIMES AS MUCH! There are 500 points inside that chest! Which means that anyone”—she looks pointedly at Joe, who straightens—“can still win this!”
A shocked murmur ripples through the couples.
I feel Cohen’s hand tighten around mine.
He’s wrapped in a black performance suit that highlights every single muscle, his hair pulled back but already messy from the wind.
He doesn’t look like a reality show contestant.
He looks like a warrior before battle.
He turns to me. In his hazel eyes, there’s a fire that warms me more than the down jacket I’m wearing.
“Ready, Angel?”
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly. “If we lose—”
“We won’t,” he cuts in, with an arrogant certainty that makes my knees weak. “Not tonight. Tonight, we take everything.”
He kisses my forehead—quick, fierce.
“Stay close to me. And run.”
“THREE… TWO… ONE… LOVE!”
A cannon blast shoots red confetti into the black sky.
We sprint.
Nine couples surge into the narrow maze entrance like a flood. Chaos erupts instantly.
Elbows. Shouting. Slipping.
Chad and Kiki try to climb an ice wall (forbidden). Tiffany stops to scream because snow has gotten into her boots.
Cohen and I run in perfect sync. He keeps hold of my hand, pulling me through turns, shielding me from shoves with his solid body.
“Right!” he yells, veering sharply.
We turn the corner and come face-to-face with the First Station: The Strength Trial.
A smooth wooden wall, three meters high. No handholds.
“Climb on my shoulders,” Cohen orders without hesitation.
He braces himself against the wall, knees bent.
I climb onto him. His muscles are rock-hard beneath my hands. He grabs my ankles, shoving me upward with raw strength that makes my head spin.
I grab the edge, haul myself up, and swing over, landing on the mat on the other side.
“Go!” I shout.
He jumps, grips the edge with pure upper-body strength, biceps straining under the suit, and pulls himself up with a grunt. He lands beside me with a heavy thud.
We grab the first key from its hook.
Behind the wall, I hear Joe shouting.
“Push, Sarah! Can’t you do anything right?!”
“You’re heavy, Joe! I can’t!”
I laugh—a short, sharp, wicked sound.
We’re ahead.
We race down the next corridor. Ice crunches under our boots. Our breath bursts out in white clouds.
Second Station: The Truth Trial.
No physical effort here.
A judge with a tablet stands inside a blue-lit ice chamber.
We have to answer a question about each other. If we get it wrong, it’s a two-minute penalty.
The judge looks at Cohen.
“Question for Cohen: What is Sloane’s greatest fear?”
My heart stops.
I think of the obvious answers—spiders, failure, losing the agency.
Cohen looks at me. He’s sweaty, chest rising and falling fast, but his gaze is steady, anchored to mine.
“Not being enough,” he says, his voice rough and certain. “Not deserving to be loved for who she is, only for what she does for others—and not being able to do enough to make the people she loves happy.”
I can’t breathe.
He didn’t give a surface-level fear.
He gave the truth.
The one I confessed while crying on the porch.
The one no one else has ever understood.
The judge nods. “Correct.”
“Question for Sloane,” the judge continues, turning to me. “What is Cohen’s favorite place?”
I look at him.
I think about the stadium. About exclusive clubs.
But then I think about how he holds me at night. About how he only truly relaxes when we’re shut away from the rest of the world. About how he’s bloomed over these months, revealing parts of himself he may never have shown anyone before.
“Here,” I answer, my voice steady. “With people who don’t ask anything of him except to be himself.”
Cohen smiles.
It’s a slow, stunned smile—worth more than a thousand victories.
“Correct.”
We grab the second key.
We’re stepping out of the station when Lucy and Lars come running in. Lars has literally smashed through part of a hedge to save time.
“Move!” Lucy yells, more competitive than I’ve ever seen her.
We run.
My legs start to burn. The cold slices down my throat.
Third Station: The Balance Trial.
A narrow beam suspended over a pool of icy water and mud. We have to cross it together, holding hands, without falling.
We step onto it. The beam sways.
“Look at me,” Cohen says. “Don’t look down. Just look at me.”
I lock onto his eyes. They’re my anchor.
We move step by step, perfectly synchronized, our breaths mixing. Cohen walks backward to guide me.
We’re halfway across when Joe and Sarah reach the station.
How are they already here? They were behind everyone.
I catch Joe in my peripheral vision. He’s furious. Desperate.
“Move!” he shouts at Sarah, shoving her onto the beam parallel to ours.
His aggression makes the structure vibrate. Our beam wobbles dangerously.
I slip.
“Sloane!”
Cohen’s hand shoots out. He grabs my waist, hauling me into him with a force that knocks the air from my lungs, restoring my balance with his own weight.
For one suspended second, we’re hanging over the void, wrapped around each other.
“I’ve got you,” he growls. “I won’t let you fall.”
We reach the end. We take the third key.
“TO THE CENTER! TO THE CENTER!” Cohen shouts.
We sprint like maniacs, lungs burning in the cold. We burst into the final clearing.
The chest is there—twenty meters away—on an ice pedestal gleaming under the stars.
But we’re not alone.
From the opposite exit, Joe emerges.
Alone. Sarah is nowhere to be seen.
He spots us. Sees that we’re faster. That we’re about to reach the chest before him.
So he does the only thing a small man like him knows how to do: he plays dirty.
Instead of going for the chest, he veers sideways and plants himself across our path, arms spread to block us physically, breath ragged, eyes wild.
We slam to a halt to avoid plowing into him.
“Move, Joe!” I shout, trying to get around him—but he mirrors me, cutting me off.
“This doesn’t end like this, Sloane,” he pants, soaked in sweat. “I’m not letting you win. Not after everything you did to make me look like an idiot.”
Cohen steps forward, threatening—but I stop him with a gesture.
I need to understand. I need to look Joe in the face and see what’s really behind that mask.
“Me?” I ask, incredulous, anger rising fast. “I made you look like an idiot? You cheated on me, Joe! You destroyed everything! Why are you so obsessed with me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Joe laughs—a harsh, ugly sound.
“Because you were supposed to know your place!” he shouts, spitting the words. “You were supposed to shut up, forgive me, and stay with me, like they all do! But no—you had to think you were better. You had to walk away.”
He steps closer, ignoring Cohen’s size, blinded by resentment.
“And now what?” He jerks his chin toward Cohen with contempt. “You think you fixed everything by ending up with him? Wake up, Sloane. He’s a man. He’s an athlete. Of course he’ll cheat on you. That’s what we do. It’s our nature.”
His gaze turns slick, cruel.
“Don’t kid yourself. The moment these lights go off, he’ll go looking for someone less… demanding than you. And you’ll end up alone again, wondering what you did wrong.”
His words hang in the frozen air.
And for a moment—just a moment—I’m afraid he might be right.
That I’m the problem. The too much one. The woman who doesn’t deserve loyalty.
But looking at him now, I see nothing but a pathetic man trying to drag others down into his own filth.
“You’re the one who’s broken, Joe,” I say calmly. “And I pity you.”
“Pity?” he snarls, lifting a hand as if to grab my arm.
He doesn’t get the chance.
Cohen moves.
It’s not impulsive. It’s fluid. Precise. The motion of a man who has run out of patience and diplomacy.
He steps in front of me—a wall of muscle and controlled fury—and stops Joe’s arm midair.
“Don’t touch her,” Cohen says. His voice is low, a thunderous rumble that seems to vibrate through the ground. “And don’t you ever project your garbage onto either of us again.”
He tightens his grip on Joe’s wrist, forcing him to bend.
“You cheat because you’re a worthless asshole of a man. Sloane is the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t even dream of looking for anything else.”
Cohen turns slightly, meeting my eyes. They’re on fire.
“Because when I have her, I have everything. She’s my championship, Joe. You’re just a warm-up match that went on way too long.”
Joe—red with rage and humiliation—tries to break free and shoves Cohen.
Fatal mistake.
Cohen doesn’t budge. He shifts his weight and, with flawless form, drives his shoulder straight into Joe’s chest.
A brutal, decisive hit.
Joe goes flying, his feet lifting clear off the ground, and crashes into the snow beside the pedestal, gasping for air.
“Sloane! NOW!”
Cohen doesn’t even look at Joe sprawled on the ground. He reaches for me.
I grab his hand.
We sprint together toward the pedestal.
We slide the three keys in. Our hands are shaking with adrenaline, our breaths mingling in the cold.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The chest swings open.
Inside is the Cupid Trophy—a solid gold bow.
Our hands close together around the cold handle.
We lift it into the air just as the first fireworks explode above us, painting the snow red and gold.
“WE HAVE OUR WINNERS!” Aunt Tina’s voice booms from the speakers.
Others start to arrive. I see Lucy and Lars running toward us, beaming.
But the world narrows to just the two of us.
Cohen lets go of the trophy. It drops into the soft snow.
He turns to me. He’s sweaty, breathless, hair plastered to his forehead—and there’s a light in his eyes that erases every doubt I’ve ever had.
He cups my face in his hands, with a joyful desperation that steals my breath.
“I love you, Sloane,” he says.
His voice is clear. Strong. It cuts through the fireworks, the cheering—everything. He doesn’t care who hears. He doesn’t care that Joe is getting back to his feet in the shadows.
I freeze. My heart stops—and then starts racing twice as fast.
“What?”
“I love you,” he repeats, looking straight into my soul. “I love you like crazy. You’re my favorite disaster. You’re my victory. And I don’t give a damn about the cameras or the fear. I wanted to tell you calmly—but I couldn’t hold it in for another second.”
Tears rush to my eyes, hot and fast.
All of Joe’s lies. All my insecurities—they burn up and disappear.
“I love you too, you idiot,” I sob, laughing as I wrap my arms around his neck. “I love you so much it hurts.”
Cohen smiles, and that smile lights up the night more than the fireworks.
“Then kiss me, Captain.”
I do.
And it’s not a kiss for the show.
It’s a kiss that tastes like kept promises.
He lifts me off the ground, pulling me against him like he wants to fuse me into his body, and I cling to him, knowing there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.
I hear camera flashes. I hear our friends cheering.
But it’s all just noise.
The only real thing is the steady beat of Cohen’s heart against mine.
And I know—this is the greatest victory I could have ever hoped for.