It’s the first contact we’ve had in years.
A shiver runs down his spine, and he can’t stop the shake of his shoulders. I want to crack a joke, but the look in his eye is murderous.
“Your fingers are fucking freezing,” he says by way of explanation, and I can’t help myself. I press as much of my hand against his neck as I can reach, making him jerk away from me. “Motherfucker,” he spits over the roar of the snowmobile engine.
This time, I can’t help it. A smile spreads across my face.
In retaliation, Hanlon uses both hands to shove me away from him. With his increase in weight, he’s seen an increase in strength, too. One I’m not prepared for, and I go flying off the vehicle, landing in the snow.
Now I’m fully laughing.
“You’re such a fucking dick. You know that?” he pouts.
As a matter of fact, I do.
Before I can collect myself and get back on the snowmobile, another one pulls in next to us.
“Holy shit! Is helaughing?” Logan asks Hanlon.
Hanlon rips his helmet off to answer the coworker from hell.
“It appears that way,” he deadpans, making me laugh harder.
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Climbing to my feet, I wave Logan off, replacing my smile with my normal stony affect.
“Itwon’t happen again. Brief lapse in judgment.”
“It was kinda nice. Who knows, you might finally get laid if you keep that up,” Logan teases. “Then again, you already know you could just?—”
Shit, he runs his mouth too fucking much.
I hop on the running snowmobile and take off before he can finish that sentence. Behind me, I feel Hanlon scrambling to put his helmet back on.
“Jesus! A little warning would be nice,” he bitches into the microphone.
“Put your helmet on. We’re leaving,” I fire back, obviously too late.
“God, I hate you.” It’s quiet, and I’m not sure if he meant for it to be under his breath and simply forgot about the microphone resting at his mouth, or if he meant for me to hear it, but the sincerity in the statement forms a pit low in my stomach.
I choose to ignore the comment and begin narrating our tour.
“This internship is a combination of ski and avalanche patrol. At Ricochet, we’re a combined unit. The first thing you’ll want to do is memorize the trail map. I’ll give you several, along with a topographical map of the area, when we get back. It’s probably best to keep one on you at all times. It’s hard to help an injured skier if you don’t know where they are. We also assist in backcountry rescue along with the crew from Sapphire Butte because air support is crucial during those rescues,” I explain.
“I imagine the risk of avalanches is much higher in the backcountry since that terrain doesn’t get blasted, but how often do they actually occur out here?” he asks, already getting invested in his new home.
“We get about three to four good ones a year. Highest risk is January through March, with March being the worst. Anyguesses as to why that is?” I ask, switching to teacher mode. I already know it’s going to be hard as fuck remembering he’s here as a student, but at least this is safe territory.
Maybe I can give him an assignment on why he chose to study avalanches in the first place, because honestly? I’m dying to know.
“Because an avalanche needs a decent snowpack, and by March, you’ve probably accumulated eighty-five to ninety percent of that season’s snowfall. Plus, the warmer temps during the day can easily destabilize any weakened layers underneath as they thaw and refreeze.”
“Very good,” I tell him, an unexpected rush of pride flowing through my veins.
I swear Ihearhim blush behind me, and I can imagine his cheeks turning pink just below the frames of his glasses.
He clears his throat before speaking.
“I have to imagine locals andoutdoor enthusiasts know that. It always amazes me that peoplestillgo out when the risks are so high.”
