“Why do you ride it if it's so dangerous?” I ask, turning into him.
He's quiet for a long moment, before finally answering. “Because the danger's the point. When you're up there, fighting to stay alive, fighting the mountain… nothing else matters. No expectations. No legacy to live up to. It’s just you and the snow and the possibility you might not make it down.”
My brow arches. “Sounds like a death wish.”
“Maybe.” He turns, finally looking at me. “Or maybe it's the only time I feel alive.”
Understanding settles deep. We’re more alike than I can ever admit to him.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it's a call.
“I should—”
“Ivy.” The way he says my name stops me cold. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has ever had the power to stop me the way my name on his lips just did.
He continues. “Whatever you're running from, whoever you're hiding from… you don't have to do it alone.”
If only he realized what I was hiding. Who I am.
My heart rattles against my ribs. “Everyone's alone, Ash. Some of us just hide it better.”
His jaw flexes, his eyes a thunderstorm of ice. “That's the most fucked-up thing you've said yet.”
I shrug. “Reality usually is.”
His fingers find my hair, threading through the strands with a tenderness that catches me off guard. “Not all of it.”
I snort, curling my legs beneath my ass. “Prove it.”
“You're here.” His thumb skims the curve of my ear, and my skin prickles. “With me. Right now. That's not sad—that's fucking perfect.”
My phone blares again, the screen flashingBlocked. Only one person calls this way.
“I have to take it.” I pull back and instantly hate how obvious his absence is. “Work shit.”
“At this time?” He challenges.
“Deadlines don't sleep,” I say lightly, but the lie tastes bitter. Before him, I never cared. Lying was a language I was fluent in, but with him, right now, it feels strangely foreign.
I'm in the kitchen when his voice stops me, low and rough.
“Ivy.”
I pause, glancing back. He hasn't moved from the couch, the firelight carving shadows into his face—sharp cheekbones, the stubborn set of his mouth as he scrolls through his phone.
“Yeah?” I whisper, because in this moment, he can’t see the vulnerability that’s scratching at the surface.
Without looking up, he murmurs, “don't take all night.”
I step into the shadows of the kitchen and answer the call. “This better be worth my time.”
“Three hours.” Emeric's voice cuts through the line. “Three hours since you landed and not a single update.”
“I was busy,” I say, eying the large mountain in front of me.
“I heard.”
I blank through the conversation, before his words come back through.
