“Almost there,” I promise, though the wind shreds the words as soon as I speak them.
His head rolls weakly. A sound slips from him—something like a groan or a denial, I can’t tell.
“You’re okay,” I lie. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”
By the time the ambulance comes into blurry view, my breath is ragged and spots dance in my vision. But I don’t stop. Not until I muscled him into the passenger seat, propped him upright.
“Hey,” I say sharply, tapping his cheek. “Open your eyes.”
His lashes tremble. Barely. But they do.
“That’s it,” I say, relief flooding me. “Stay awake.”
I sprint around to the driver’s side, throw myself in, and fire the engine.
“Dispatch,” I shout into the radio, “Hypothermia, possible concussion, barely responsive—en route to ranger station.”
Static answers me. The storm is eating the signal alive.
But the ambulance roars forward anyway, crawling down the unplowed road. The man beside me sways with each jolt. His head slumps. I reach over with one hand and shake his shoulder.
“Don’t,” I warn. “Don’t go under. I need you with me.”
His eyelids lift in a slow, ragged flutter. The eyes beneath are startling—a sharp, storm-swept blue that would be striking if they weren’t so glassy with cold.
“Reckless…” he whispers, voice cracked. “EMT.”
I snort despite myself. “You walked into an avalanche zone. I think you win ‘most reckless.’ Congratulations.”
His mouth twitches. Could be a grimace. Could be a smile. Could be his body quitting on him entirely.
“Should’ve… left me,” he manages.
“Not an option,” I fire back. “I have a kid who would judge me forever if I let you turn into a snow-flavored corpsicle.”
His eyes flicker again—brief, sharp, broken. The kind of look people get right before saying something that scares you.
“Don’t,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens. “Don’t what?”
“…care.”
My hands grip the wheel so hard the leather creaks. “Too late for that,” I say quietly. “Comes with the job.”
He slips back into silence. A heavy, frightening one.
I reach the ranger station just as my nerves start to fray. The building glows like a lighthouse through the storm. Never in my life have I been so grateful for the sight of a structure.
Inside, Ranger Tom and the station medic rush toward us, faces tense.
“What were you doing out there?” Tom asks as we lower him onto a stretcher.
The man shivers violently, jaw clenched. “Walking.”
I bark a laugh—too loud, too brittle. “Walking? In a whiteout? Near avalanche terrain? Are you kidding me?”
His gaze lifts to mine, and for the first time I see the truth beneath the frost—something dark and hollowed-out, as if he’s made entirely of old grief and half-buried ghosts.
