He lets out a frustrated groan. “I know. I was thinking the same thing. All that work, wiped out in minutes.”
The thought is disheartening, but we press on. After some time, I stop to take a breath, my exhale forming clouds. “I should have considered the possibility that this could happen.”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “The avalanche? How could you know? I thought they … happen sometimes.”
I shake my head, leaning into the next difficult step. “It's not random. Remember how warm it was after all that heavy snow?”
“Yeah, it was nice after the storm,” he says, understanding dawning on his face as he helps me over a deep drift.
“Exactly. That rapid warming can destabilize the snowpack,” I explain, drawing on years of mountain safety lessons. “Add in any little tremor or loud noise, and you've got the perfect conditions for an avalanche. This was a natural disaster waiting to happen. It could have been anything that triggered it. A gust of wind. A falling tree branch.”
As we approach the top of a hill, my heart pounds. This is it—the moment of truth. The lodge should be visible from here, if it’s still intact. I grip Matt’s hand tighter, steeling myself for what we might see.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.” Together, we take the last steps to the top of the rise, about to face whatever the avalanche has left in its wake.
And then I see it. The lodge, still upright, though partially buried in snow. Relief floods through me so strongly that my knees buckle. Matt wraps his arm around my waist, supporting me.
“It's okay,” I breathe, hardly daring to believe it. “It's still there.”
Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink rapidly, hot drops rolling down my cold cheeks. A sob catches in my throat—equal parts relief, fear, and overwhelming gratitude.
“By some miracle, the avalanche mostly missed us,” I say. “It went down the path of least resistance, right between the buildings.”
Matt keeps his arm around me. “We got lucky. Really lucky.”
We make our way down to the lodge, moving a little easier now that the snow isn’t as deep. Matt’s hand is still in mine. As we approach the lodge, my heart lifts when I see the roof — it’s held up remarkably well, despite everything. There’s no additional damage that I can see. I let out a breath and exchange a look with Matt. His eyes reflect the same joy and relief I feel.
Against the odds, the lodge has survived, and so have we. We check the other cabins, relieved to find them no worse than before. They'll need more shoveling, but they're still standing. As we make our way back to our cabin, a wave of exhaustion washes over me, my muscles heavy and my legs shaky. The rush of adrenaline is long gone, leaving me drained and unsteady on my feet.
Inside, Matt walks to the fireplace. “Let's get this going. It's freezing in here.”
As he works on the fire, I sink onto the couch, overwhelmed by the night's events. “I can't believe we made it through that,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “What next?”
“I've always heard it's not wise to borrow trouble.” Matt joins me on the couch, his thigh pressing against mine. The contact is comforting, and I resist the urge to lean into him. “You've got one hell of a guardian angel looking out for this place.”
I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “I guess Finn knew what he was doing when he built here.”
As the fire grows, casting a warm glow across the room, I'm struck by how different Matt is from my brothers. He's steady when facing each challenge with me, not shielding me from it.
Despite the fire, I can't stop shivering, the tension from the night's events catching up with me. Matt notices, his brow furrowing as his eyes narrow in concern.
“We should camp out here in the living room tonight.” He glances at the bedroom. “I'll grab some blankets.”
He disappears into the room, returning with an armful of bedding he's shaken free of snow. The snow that had settled on it was powdery, so it brushed off easily without soaking through. Together, we arrange a makeshift sleeping area on the floor in front of the fireplace. The domesticity of the act, coupled with the intensity of what we've been through, creates an intimacy that makes my heart gallop.
As we settle down, Matt's nearness sharpens my awareness. The fire crackles, casting shadows that dance across the walls. Despite everything, a feeling of safety wraps around me.
“Eliza?” Matt's voice is soft in the dimness.
“Yeah?”
There's a pause, and I can almost hear him wrestling with his words. “I'm glad you're okay,” he says. “When I heard the avalanche coming ... I've never been so scared in my life.”
His admission catches me off guard. I roll onto my side, facing him, and find him already watching me, the firelight dancing in his eyes. The way he looks at me steals my breath.
“I'm glad you're okay too,” I whisper. “I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here.”
An unspoken connection passes between us. There's a pull in the air that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. The urge to close the distance, to seek comfort in his arms, and to find out if his lips are as soft as they look, overwhelms me.
But then Matt clears his throat, breaking the spell. “We should get some rest,” he says, his voice rough. “Tomorrow's another day.”
I roll onto my back, trying to ignore the disappointment that floods through me. I stare up at the ceiling, the shadows flickering in time with the crackling fire. Sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind churns with thoughts of the day and the strange new dynamic between us.
Eventually, exhaustion wins, pulling me under. I drift into an uneasy sleep, full of dreams where snow traps me and Matt's voice calls from beyond reach.
