His dress shoes were no good in this weather. Cold water was already seeping into his socks. But he kept moving, one foot in front of the other, heading toward those distant lights. Snow still clung to his lashes and stung his eyes when he blinked. His chest hurt from the seatbelt, his shoulder ached from forcing the door. It occurred to him for the first time that he could have been hurt much worse. He could have re-injured his neck—the very thing the doctors had warned him about. But he was okay. That’s all that mattered.
So he kept walking.
After what felt like forever, he checked his watch. He’d been walking for almost half an hour and had maybe covered a mile. Maybe. His feet were completely numb now. His face smarted from the cold and wind. But the lights of town were visible ahead, still distant but there. He could make it.
Keep moving. Just keep moving.
Roan’s vision was starting to blur. The cold was getting to him now, seeping into his bones. His legs felt heavy, uncoordinated. But he kept going anyway, muttering to himself, talking to God and then to Reese.I’m coming. I’m coming.
Then the wind hit. Hard enough to steal his breath. Snow slammed down in a sudden whiteout, thick and merciless, swallowing the road in seconds. The lights of town vanished behind the curtain of white, gone so fast it felt like a trick.
Roan stopped short, disoriented. One moment he’d been walking toward lights. The next, there was nothing. No road. No shoulder. No sense of where he was at all.
“Come on,” he muttered, panic creeping in, despite his effort to keep it at bay. “Come on.”
He took another step forward, then another. The ground felt uneven beneath his feet. Wrong somehow. He should stop. Wait for the whiteout to pass. But if he stopped moving, he could freeze to death. So he kept walking, one hand out in front of him, trying to feel his way forward through the blinding snow, his feet so numb he couldn’t feel the ground anymore. His entire body shook with a violence that made his teeth chatter.
Then his foot came down on nothing. He pitched forward, arms windmilling, and suddenly he was falling. Sliding down an embankment he hadn’t seen. He hit ice—probably a frozen retention pond—and the ice cracked. The shock of the freezing water knocked the air from his lungs as he plunged through the broken ice, the weight of his coat and suit dragging him down. A thousand sharp knives stabbed at him.
No. No, no, no.
He kicked hard, fighting against the cold and the weight and the shock. His head broke the surface and he gasped for air, his lungs screaming. The cold was unbearable. Every nerve in his body was on fire with it. He grabbed for the ice, trying to pull himself out, but it kept breaking under his hands. The edges were too thin. He kept slipping back in.
Move. He had to move. Had to get out. Had to get to Reese.
God, help me. Show me the way out of here.
He kicked again, propelling himself toward where he thought the shore was. His hands finally found mud and frozen grass. He hauled himself up and out of the water, crawling on his hands and knees until he was clear of the pond.
He collapsed onto his side, gasping, his entire body convulsing with cold. His coat was soaked through. His shoes were full of water. Ice was already forming on his jacket. Was he supposed to surrender? To admit defeat. Was this his fate? To die on the side of the road while Reese waited for him? When the boys needed him?
He closed his eyes, ready to give in and let go. But then, a vision came. His dining room glowing with Christmas lights. Reese across from him, her face lit with laughter, eyes soft and bright. Oh, she looked beautiful. Marcus and Cody were there too, robust and healthy.
“Roan, come home,” Marcus said.
“We’re all waiting. Don’t give up,” Cody said. “You have to give Reese her ring.”
Still in the dream, his gaze shifted. A baby girl sat in a high chair to his left, hands sticky, cheeks flushed, dark lashes framing eyes that looked like his mother’s. And Reese’s smile. Aimed right at him.
“Dada.”
The cold slammed back in, brutal and unforgiving, tearing the vision away.
This was bad. This was really bad. Hypothermia couldn’t be far away. He knew the signs from his stunt work. He was already shaking uncontrollably. His thinking was getting fuzzy. He needed to get warm. Now. But he was still at least a mile from town. Maybe more. The snow was still coming down hard, but not quite as blinding as before. He could see vague shapes now. Trees. The road, maybe. He forced himself to his feet, his legs barely holding him. Everything hurt. His chest, his shoulder,his head. But worse than the pain was the cold. It was inside him now, in his bones, slowing everything down. He stumbled toward what he hoped was the right direction.
If he stopped, he’d die out here. One foot in front of the other. That was all he had to do. Just keep moving. Stopping meant giving up. Even if it killed him, he was going to try to get to Reese. He took another step. And another.
His legs buckled, and he caught himself against something—a tree? A signpost? He couldn’t tell.
Get up. Keep moving.
He pushed himself forward into the blinding snow, each step smaller than the last, his body shutting down from the cold. Somewhere ahead was Reese. Somewhere ahead was warmth and safety and the life he wanted. He just had to keep moving. One more step.
Just one more.
15
REESE
