Chapter One
MATT
The bellabove the door jingles as I enter the store, stomping snow off my boots. A blast of warm air hits me, carrying the scent of coffee and pine. It's a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, and I stand there, letting the heat seep into my bones. Behind the counter, a big guy looks up, his face breaking into a grin that stops me in my tracks. It's so unmistakably Hollister that for a moment, I forget why I'm here.
“Matt?” he asks, confirming my suspicion that this must be one of Finn's brothers.
“That's me,” I say, trying to keep my tone light despite the tightness in my chest. It feels foreign, this attempt at normalcy. When was the last time I genuinely smiled? “Rhys, I'm guessing?”
“Got it in one,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. His grip is firm, reassuring. “Finn said you'd be swinging by to pick up the snowmobile.”
“Yeah, finally made it. That plane ride is no joke.” The flight was rough, bouncing around in a tin can over the Alaskan wilderness.
“Welcome to the wild.” Rhys chuckles. I glance around the store, taking in the shelves stocked with everything from cannedfoods to fishing gear. It's the kind of place that seems to have anything you might need in a pinch.
“Nice place you've got here,” I comment, trying to keep the conversation going.
Rhys beams with pride. “Thanks. It's been in the family for generations. We try to stock everything that people would want or need. Out here, it's the little things that make you happy, you know?”
I nod, though I don't know. I've never stayed in one place long enough to understand that kind of connection to a business or a community. The longest I've been anywhere was on the rig and look how that turned out.
“So,” Rhys says, leaning on the counter, “you went to college with my little bro, huh?”
“Yep, roommates freshman year,” I say, wondering where this is going.
He leans in, lowering his voice. “Got any juicy stories? Anything I can use to bug him the next time I see him?”
I laugh. “Man, your brother is a stand-up guy.”
“Aw, come on,” Rhys prods. “Give me one thing. As his brother, it's my job to have ammo.”
I hesitate, then decide to throw him a bone. “Alright,” I concede. “Let's say Finn could sleep through anything. I'm certain he slept through half our 8 AMs. If not for Sally Thorpe, he wouldn't have passed English. She took all his notes.”
Rhys cracks up, his laughter filling the store. “That tracks. Finn could snooze through a hurricane if you let him.” He wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “Thanks for that. I’m bringing it up at the next family dinner.”
A sharp ache tightens in my chest at the mention of family dinner. It's been years since I've had anything like that. But I push the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand. “So, about that snowmobile?”
“Right, right,” Rhys says, straightening up. “It's all ready for you. But first, let me show you how to get to Finn’s lodge without ending up in a snowbank.”
I force myself to concentrate as Rhys goes over the map, but it's like trying to hold water in my hands. No matter how tightly I attempt to grasp the present, the past seeps in—the rig explosion, the faces of the men I lost. It's not only when I'm alone or trying to sleep. Even now, surrounded by safety, those thoughts have a way of creeping back in, fresh and unforgiving.
“You got all that?” Rhys asks, snapping me back to the present.
“Yeah, thanks,” I manage, folding the map and tucking it into my jacket pocket. I hope I remember enough to make it to my destination. And if I don't—well, I'll follow my tracks back, praying the snow doesn't cover them too quickly.
Rhys walks me out to the snowmobile and gives me a quick rundown on the controls. I try to focus despite the fog in my mind. The controls feel somewhat intuitive, bringing back memories of rides during a trip to Colorado. It seems like a lifetime ago, before the rig, before the accident that changed everything.
Rhys finishes his explanation, patting the seat. “She's all yours,” he says. “Take it easy out there, alright? The trails can be tricky if you're not used to them.”
I swing my leg over the machine and press the ignition button. The engine roars to life, its rumble both comforting and unsettling. It's not the same as the constant thrum of the rig, but it's close enough to make my heart rate pick up. I'm determined to make this work. I have to, if I ever want to get back out there and live a normal life.
“Thanks again,” I call to Rhys. He waves as I pull away, leaving the store behind me.
The roar of the snowmobile can't drown out the echoes in my head. As I navigate the snowy trails, following Rhys's directions as best I can, flashes of the past haunt me. Flames flicker at the edges of my thoughts, the heat of the explosion still searing my skin months later. I gun the throttle, pushing harder through the woods, as if I could outrun the ghosts that followed me here.
After a while, the trail feels unfamiliar and worry creeps in that I might have taken a wrong turn. The trees seem to close in, and a small, half-buried boulder looms on the side of the path—something Rhys hadn’t mentioned. I pull over, kill the engine, and let the forest's silence swallow me. It’s almost oppressive after the constant hum of the snowmobile. My hands shake as I pull out the map Rhys gave me, tracing the route with my finger, trying to match it to the landmarks. Once I confirm I’m still on track, the tension eases, though a nagging doubt lingers.
As I continue on, the landscape changes. The dense forest thins out, giving way to more open spaces. And then, I see it. The trees part like a curtain, revealing a row of picturesque log cabins nestled against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. Crystal Creek Retreat. It's more impressive in person than in the photos Finn showed me, a testament to the hard work he's put into the place over the years.
