With the evening ahead of us and not much else to do, I dig through the closet and find an old puzzle, the kind with way too many pieces and an image that looks impossible to put together. It’s perfect. We set up at the small table near the fire and work on it together, a quiet camaraderie forming as we place piece after piece.
Soup for dinner—simple but comforting. The evening passes in a strange mix of relaxation and shared silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled with words.
As the night deepens, we finally decide to call it a day. I feel a strange reluctance as I stand in front of him, knowing it’s timeto say goodnight. There is a connection between us that wasn’t there before, something I don’t want to let go of yet.
“Goodnight, Matt,” I say softly, stepping closer than necessary. Before I can second-guess myself, I lean in for a hug, meaning it to be quick and casual. But as soon as his arms come around me, I find myself lingering, savoring the steady heat of him, the way his hands gently press against my back.
For a moment, I close my eyes and let myself feel—feel safe, feel cared for, feel something I haven’t let myself feel in a long time. When I finally pull back, a sense of loss washes over me, a longing that lingers even as I step away.
“Goodnight, Eliza,” Matt replies, his voice softer than usual. There’s a look in his eyes that makes my heart skip, but I push the thought aside, giving him a small, shy smile before turning away.
As I climb into bed, his embrace stays with me, comforting me against the cold night. I know there’s still so much to do, so many challenges ahead, but for tonight, I let myself relax. Tomorrow will come soon enough.
The next morning, we rise early, determined to continue digging our way out, but the sheer amount of snow makes it clear that it’s going to take longer than we anticipated.
By midday, we finally manage to clear a path and make our way to the lodge. The sight that greets us is heartbreaking. The storm may have passed, but its damage is undeniable.
As we step out into the snow-covered world, ready to confront whatever we encounter, the landscape is transformed, well-known landmarks buried under a thick blanket of white.It's beautiful in a stark, dangerous way, reminding me of the unforgiving nature of Alaska.
As we approach the lodge, my heart sinks. The destruction is far worse in daylight than I imagined. The roof has partially caved in, snow piling inside what used to be the great room. Broken windows gape like open wounds, letting in more snow and frigid air.
“Oh no,” I breathe out, struggling to keep my composure. This is Finn's dream, our family's legacy, and seeing it in such a state is gut-wrenching.
Matt stands beside me, his calm demeanor grounding me. His hand finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It's bad,” he admits, “but it's not unfixable. What do you think our first move should be?”
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to think practically. Panic won't help us now. “We need that satellite phone. Let's head to Finn's office first.”
We carefully make our way through the damaged building. I'm grateful for Matt's construction experience as he points out potential hazards.
In Finn's office, I find the satellite phone, thankfully undamaged. Before making the call, we gather our coats from where we'd abandoned them during our escape the night before. The snug embrace of my jacket offers some solace as I dial Finn's number with shaking hands. Each ring feels like an eternity, my anxiety mounting with every passing second.
“Eliza?” Finn's voice comes through, tinny but clear. Relief washes over me at the sound. “Thank God. Are you okay? We've been trying to reach you. The weather reports?—”
“Finn,” I cut him off, my voice wavering. Now that I've heard him, the full extent of our situation crashes down on me. “There's been an accident. The lodge ... it's bad. A tree came through the roof in the storm.”
I can hear Finn's sharp intake of breath. “Are you hurt? Is Matt with you?” The concern in his tone is palpable.
“We're both fine,” I assure him, glancing at Matt. He's examining some of the destruction nearby, but I can tell he's listening. “Matt's been a huge help. We're about to assess the damage and see what we can do to stabilize things.”
“Wait,” Finn interrupts, I know his protective big brother instincts are kicking in. “Maybe you should hold off on that until Kane, Rhys, Reid, and Nash can get there. They're planning to head over as soon as the storm clears.”
I feel a flash of frustration at the suggestion. It's the same old story—my brothers thinking they need to swoop in and save me. But this time, it's different. I'm already here, I've already faced the worst of it with Matt. “Finn, we can't sit here and do nothing. The situation could get worse if we wait.”
There's a pause before Finn sighs. I can almost see him running a hand through his hair, a habit he has when he's worried or conflicted. “Be careful, okay? Don't take any unnecessary risks.”
“We won't,” I promise. “We'll handle things here. When do you think you'll be able to get home?”
“I'm working on it,” Finn replies, his voice determined. “The storm's grounded all flights right now. It might be a few days. In the meantime, you and Matt stay safe.”
As I'm about to respond, the satellite phone in my hand beeps loudly—a warning that the battery is about to die. I quickly say, “Finn, the phone wasn’t fully charged. The battery’s almost dead. Please let the others know that we’re okay.”
“Will do,” Finn replies, his voice filled with concern. “Take care, Eliza.”
“We will,” I say as the phone beeps one final time and the screen goes dark.
I turn to Matt, who's been waiting nearby. “Now that we've made contact, let's see what we're dealing with.”
As we work our way through the lodge, Matt points out potential hazards and areas of concern that I might have missed. His calm, methodical approach helps me stay focused and not get overwhelmed by the enormity of the damage.
