1
SLOANE
The maps stopped working twenty minutes ago, when my cell service died just as snow started falling like someone had flipped the switch for winter blizzard on the weather machine.
“This is fine,” I mutter to my empty car, watching the windshield wipers struggle against the wintry onslaught. “Everything is fine.” I try to push down the panic that is bubbling to the surface.
Everything was decidedly not fine.
I’d left Denver six hours ago with a broken heart, a bruised ego, and enough emotional baggage to fill the massive SUV I’d rented specifically for this escape. The plan had been simple … hole up in a remote cabin for two weeks, avoid all human contact, and piece myself back together before the holidays forced me to pretend everything was okay.
But the universe, apparently, had other plans.
The snow was coming down so thick that I could barely see the road. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees in the last hour, according to the dashboard display that seemed to mock me with each passing minute. And I was pretty sureI’d taken a wrong turn somewhere back near that sketchy gas station with the taxidermized bear. The one where the attendant gave me a look that said, ‘City girl, you are making a mistake’ before selling me overpriced beef jerky and terrible coffee. I should have listened to that look. I should have turned around right then. But no. Sloane Winters did not turn around. Sloane Winters pushed forward even when every sign pointed to disaster. It was basically my life motto at this point.
My hands ached from gripping the steering wheel, and my shoulders were hunched up near my ears, tension radiating down my spine. And the three cups of gas station coffee I had chugged were making their presence known in increasingly uncomfortable ways. Perfect. Just perfect. Because nothing said independent woman on a journey of self-discovery like potentially wetting yourself in a blizzard.
My phone buzzes, one precious bar of service flickering to life like a dying star. I grab it like a lifeline. Three missed calls from my sister, Maggie. Two from my mom, and a string of increasingly frantic texts from my best friend, Riley.
RILEY: Please tell me you made it to the cabin
RILEY: Sloane???
RILEY: The weather report looks INSANE
RILEY: If you don’t text me back, I’m calling the National Guard
I text back quickly. I don’t need the National Guard on my tail unless they are hot.
Sloane: Almost there. Service is spotty. I’m fine.
The service gods grant me exactly enough time to hit send before my phone gives up entirely, the screen going dark no matter how many times I jab at it.
Almost there was generous. Generous is putting it mildly. I have no idea where there is anymore. The cabin rental confirmation email was screenshot on my now-dead phone. And I’ve lost my navigation system too. I was relying on hope and the vague memory of the map I had looked at exactly once before leaving.
Fuck my life.
That seemed to be the theme lately. My fiancé Chett cheating on me with his assistant. Quitting my soul-crushing marketing job in a fit of rage. Driving into a mountain blizzard with no real plan.
This is where I’m at now.
The road, if you could even call it that anymore, curves sharply ahead. I slow to a crawl, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles have gone white. The SUV fishtails slightly, and my heart jumps into my throat. Okay. Perhaps this actually is a terrible idea. Maybe Riley was right. Maybe I should have stayed in Denver and dealt with my problems like a normal person instead of running away to the mountains like some kind of millennial having a breakdown.
That’s when I see the lights.
Red and blue, cutting through the white like a beacon. Like a sign from the universe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not completely screwed. A vehicle is parked on the side of the road, emergency lights flashing like a lighthouse in a storm. As I get closer, inching forward at approximately two miles per hour, I can make out the words painted on the side.
Mountain Search and Rescue
Relief floods through me so intensely my eyes sting with unshed tears.I will not cry, I tell myself firmly. I’m no damsel in distress. I pull up behind the truck and put my car in park, trying to calm my racing heart. I’m fine. I am safe. Someone official is here, which means everything is going to be okay.
A knock on my window makes me jump so hard I hit my head on the roof.
“Sorry!” comes a muffled male voice. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I turn to see a man standing in the snow beside my car, bundled in a heavy jacket with reflective strips that catch the emergency lights. He gestures for me to roll down my window. I comply and immediately regret it as freezing air and snow blast into my warm cocoon, stealing my breath.
“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning down to meet my eyes.
