A tear trickled down his cheek. When gravity pulled it toward his ear, he realized he’d landed on his back facing, generally, upward. He needed to reel in his dread and take control. Think his way to a calmer state of mind.
Fearful of disrupting the air pocket he’d created, he slowly strained to reach inside his jacket and hit the inReach device, sending out an emergency signal to nearby search and rescue workers. He then checked to make sure his transceiver was still set to send, hoping Buddy could get to him and dig him out before he ran out of air.
He didn’t know whether he’d been covered by one or ten feet of snow. Feet above the head meant more blood flow to his brain—a bit of good luck. He knew, statistically, he had an 80 percent chance of surviving if he was dug out within fifteen minutes. After that, his chances plummeted. Forcing the terrifying notion away, he snatched at every breath he could. Calm down. Think. Keep it together.
With great care, and using as little energy as possible, he began to slowly chip away at the wall of the air pocket, desperate for light and oxygen.
This couldn’t be how it ended for him. Buddy had been taping him, so he must’ve seen roughly where Wyatt might’ve landed. Buddy had a transceiver, shovel, and probe. Even if the inReach device failed, Mari would have called search and rescue already. He just had to hang on. Hang on and have faith.
When Wyatt closed his eyes in the hopes of blocking out his circumstances, he pictured his brother’s face during their earlier argument. Ryder had been right—yoga hadn’t helped.
Emma caught herself whistling while she managed some of the accounting. She normally hated Excel spreadsheets, but the marketing call had buoyed her spirits so much, she couldn’t help but smile. Her impending book launch seemed more real than it had been up to this point.
Being unable to share this part of her life with anyone had sapped something from the experience. Of course, Emma had always shunned the spotlight. And now, if readers hated her story, at least her failure would be private.
Emma saved the updated spreadsheet, filed the receipts, and left her mom’s office to head to the kitchen. The dinner she’d planned required a little extra work up front, so she had to start early. When she passed by the front desk, she saw Andy running down the stairs, pale and wide-eyed.
“Em?” Andy’s gaze darted around the lobby and toward Ryder’s room. She hadn’t seen him so shaken since the earliest days following his arrest. “Where’s Ryder?”
“At the clinic with Avery. Why?”
“I just got off the phone with a buddy on ski patrol. Search and rescue’s been called over to Fork Creek Pass.”
Emma frowned, slow to make the connection Andy sought.
“It’s Wyatt. He got caught in an avalanche.”
Her stomach wrenched before one hand covered her mouth and the other grasped the check-in counter for balance. People always underestimated Mother Nature’s force, somehow believing they could “swim” their way through the fast-moving snow. Perspiration broke above her brow as she considered Wyatt somewhere out there, alone, afraid, desperate.
Once she collected her thoughts, a slew of questions erupted. “How long ago? Is he buried deep? Did they pinpoint his location?”
“The initial notification just came in.”
Emma gripped Andy’s arm without thinking. “How long can he survive under the snow?”
“Depends on other injuries and how he landed, how deep he is. Lots of factors, but generally 10 to 15 minutes. I bet the film crew is already on it, so maybe he’s getting pulled out as we speak.”
Memories from the morning rushed forward to torment her. She and Ryder had sabotaged Wyatt’s confidence and concentration. What if that disagreement was the last conversation they ever shared? How would Ryder go on if he lost his brother? How much guilt would he carry into the future after refusing to accompany him today?
“Can’t you find out more? Call your friend! I want to be able to give Ryder good news when he returns. Please, Andy.” Her tone earned her one of Andy’s cocked brows.
“He said he’d text when he had news. I’m not going to pester him with calls. We need to be patient.”
Patient? Her head throbbed to the point of exploding. Andy’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Em, I didn’t mean to shake you up this bad. I just thought you should know. Let’s just pray we don’t have to call his mother with bad news.”
“Don’t say it!” She batted his hand off her shoulder. “Don’t even think it, Andy. No one is dying today.”
Turning on her heel, she beelined to the kitchen, needing a distraction. Needing to work and keep busy.