"Okay. Pain?"
"I can feel it all the way to my split ends," I admit.
She smiles faintly. "That's about right."
She breaks an ice pack and shakes it until it turns cold and then straps it to my ankle. "Keep this on for twenty minutes," she says.
I nod and then glance around for Luka one more time. I can already imagine him shaking his head at my injury.
They decided to sled me down as a precaution.
The sled is surprisingly rigid, more like a plastic kayak than anything meant for comfort. They strap me in, securing my ankle in place with foam blocks that press against the swelling. The first jolt as we start moving down the mountain sends a shock of pain through my leg that makes me suck in a breath.
"Sorry," the patrolman says from behind me. "We'll take it easy."
But easy is relative. Every bump, every shift in the terrain translates directly through the sled's hard shell into my body. My ankle throbs with each jarring movement, a steady drumming of pain that makes me grit my teeth. The cold is seeping through my jacket now that I'm stationary, and I can feel the damp from the snow beginning to soak into my base layer.
Worse than the physical discomfort is the parade of witnesses. Skiers slow as they pass us, gawking. A few called out concerned questions. Children point to their mothers. I close my eyes, but that somehow makes it worse. More obvious that I'm trying to hide.
This is becoming a pattern,I think miserably. First, the collision with Zack, now this. I came to this ski resort to handle a PR crisis, and instead I'm becoming one. How many times cana person need rescuing on a single ski trip before it becomes a personality trait?
Just wait until Luka hears about this one. He’ll never let me go outside again.
"Almost there," the patrolwoman says kindly, as if she can sense my spiraling thoughts.
I open my eyes as the lodge comes into view; the warm glow of its windows is a promise of some corner I can find to hide in and regain some sort of dignity. Or at least somewhere I can stop being a spectacle and drown my sorrows in hot cocoa with mini marshmallows.
Then I catch movement from the corner of my eye.
Zack.
He's sprinting toward us from the side door, his jacket half-unzipped and flapping behind him, goggles shoved up on his head, leaving his hair standing in wild tufts. His face is flushed— from exertion or panic, I can't tell, and he's breathing hard when he reaches us, skidding slightly in his ski boots.
For a second, he just stands there, chest heaving, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. I watch something shift in his expression when he confirms I'm conscious, talking, not bleeding. The tension in his shoulders dropping a fraction.
Then he crouches beside the sled, one gloved hand bracing against its edge, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes search mine with worry.
"Hey," he says, his voice rough. "You okay? I heard the call come through," he continues before I could answer. "Had to get my student down safely first, but I came straight here."
"I'm fine," I tell him quickly. "I swear."
"She twisted her ankle," the patrolwoman confirms, straightening up. "There will be some swelling, but ice it today and rest tomorrow. We got a report from the skier who saw it. Some kids are being stupid. We’ll keep an eye out for them."
Zack nods and stares down at the ice pack on my ankle, and then exhales like he's been holding his breath since the radio call. He pushes to his feet, raking a hand through his disheveled hair.
Before anyone can say anything else, a sharp burst of static erupts from the patrol team's radios. A dispatcher's voice crackles through: "Code Two, upper Bowl, possible shoulder separation—"
The patrolman and woman exchange a quick glance, the kind of wordless communication that comes from working together for years.
Zack straightens immediately. "Leave her with me. I can get her the rest of the way. You should go."
The patrolwoman hesitates, looking between us. "You sure?"
Zack nods, repeating back. "Elevated, ice twenty on every hour, ACE wrap if available. I know the drill. I've got it from here," Zack says firmly.
Zack crouches again, this time to help me out of the sled. "Okay. Let's get you up carefully. On three?"
"I can—"
