You’re not the only one whose life was destroyed over it.
Maybe not like his, but clearly neither of them had emerged unbroken.
And he was tired of looking over his shoulder, of trying to piece together his life.
I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.
Yes, that’s what he wanted to say, wanted to cross the distance to her, pull her into his arms.
Start over, like the pristine grace of a fresh snowfall.
She shook her head. “Let’s just get Ollie down, and then I promise I’ll never bother you again.”
Right. Priorities.
Still. “You’re not a bother, Ella,” he said, and picked up Oliver.
Her eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m completely a bother.” She picked up the tail end. “Let’s go.”
He urged his board forward and started down again slowly through the trees. The sun bled through the shaggy pines, fingers of shadow pressing on the powder between glimpses of golden light. Such silence sliding through the trees like this—nothing but the swish of their boards. He loved freeriding, getting lost between the trees.
Maybe, someday, he could start over.
Oh, who was he kidding? The accident and the lawsuit shattered his pro career. No sponsor would take him now . . .
And yet, a little voice he couldn’t help hearing whispered, So? He liked his life with PEAK Rescue. Liked saving lives. No, he couldn’t change the past, make Ella break her confidentiality, and resurrect his career. He could only choose what he did next.
What if he just . . . forgave her? No one was forcing him to hold this grudge, to hate her for not sacrificing herself for him.
She cared for him. And just a couple hours ago, he was sure he loved her.
He felt the change in the wind even before they reached the ridge. Sharp and frigid, it thundered up his jacket, turned his overheated body into a shiver.
They came out to the ridge, the snow sweeping off it into the drop below. This time, Ella came up slowly, as if sensing the danger.
The sun had risen and now turned Crystal Point and the Going-to-the-Sun Range a glorious, snow-capped lavender. But the wind buffeted his helmet, his jacket, raising the collar. No way PEAK would be able to bring the chopper in.
He made the call anyway. “PEAK HQ, this is Watson, come in. Over.”
Almost instantly he heard Jess’s voice. “Watson, PEAK HQ. We’ve been trying to reach you. The chopper is a no-go. We’ve sent Ty and Pete in on snowmobiles. Over.”
“When?”
“Two hours ago. They’re planning on meeting you at the base of Bishops Cap. Over.”
“Wilco. Are you in radio contact?”
“Roger.” She gave him the frequency.
“We’ll ski along the ridge, then down the northern edge of Bishops Cap. If I can’t get ahold of them, tell them to look for us on the eastern wall.”
“Wilco. How’s Oliver?”
“Not good. He had a seizure. How’s Bradley?”
“Your dad operated on him last night. Says he’ll be fine.”
He glanced at Ella, who was standing away, listening, her arms wrapped around her waist.
“Okay, we’ll see you in a few. Watson out.”
He slipped the walkie back into his pocket. Met Ella’s gaze. “You can do this.”
She nodded.
Then he knelt by Ollie, took off his glove, and took his pulse.
Regular, if not a bit fast, but it bothered Gage that Oliver hadn’t woken up. Maybe if he had more than EMT training, he’d know what to do.
He put his glove back on. “Let’s go. Pete and Ty are on their way on snowmobiles.”
She moved over to the back of the stretcher.
“Listen, we’ll take it slow along this ridge—it’s pretty steep, but we’ll skirt the trees. It’ll come out on Bishops Cap.”
She nodded. “I’m with you.”
He hated how much he wished that were true.
He picked up the stretcher, his shoulders burning, but started the slide across the ridge, along the cornice. His thighs burned as gravity and the wind fought to push them over the edge.
He heard Ella breathing hard behind him and realized that she was probably in agony, holding onto the rope as if to slow them down.
This wouldn’t work once they reached Bishops Cap. The steep, nearly straight-down face would push the stretcher down on top of Gage, regardless of his strength. And Ella couldn’t hold it back.
Unless . . .
He had it worked out by the time they topped the cornice at the peak of Bishops Cap. A painfully steep drop, edged on one side by runnels of granite, and along the other side by another deep bowl. The snow glistened pure and unblemished, deceptive. When Gage had taken his epic run, he’d run the bowl fast, cutting hard the entire way down. But he’d never manage that with their makeshift stretcher.