Page 44 of Signed With Love

I take a sip, then set my drink aside and pick up the letter again. I don’t want to leave my parents. And I love my job here. It’s something to consider, but I’m not sure.

It’s okay to be unsure, she promises. She then passes over a hidden bag of chocolate candies and gathers our bowl of popcorn. I found she’s absolutely content with movies and popcorn nights like I am. Does this have anything to do with Jamison being in your life now?

I knew it was coming. She thinks he will come around and let his pride go. I don’t think that’s the reason he pushed me away weeks ago, so I’m not sure he’ll ever come back to me, though I refuse to let go of hope. He hasn’t tried to text. There hasn’t been a letter either.

No. This is about me and what I want to do. I’m happy here.

Or are you content? Andrea asks.

The question lingers between us when I don’t respond. I start the movie instead. I focus on the screen, even when a few moments later, Andrea squeezes my shoulder. I’m thankful she’s at my side.

The vibration of my phone draws my attention after we get past the opening credits. Since everything that happened with Dad, I’m quick to pull my phone out of my pocket. Dad’s name flashes across the screen. My heart slows a bit until I open the message and begin reading.

Jamison’s plane crashed over Denali. They’re organizing a search and rescue now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jamison

Everything hurts. I’m certain my ribs are cracked, and my throat is raw from the smoke I inhaled. There’s a wetness forming on the right side of my head. I have to get some fresh air into my body, so I struggle with the harness and climb out of the plane. I can’t pass out again.

The moment the fresh air hits me, I take a staggering breath, then circle around the wreckage. I can’t get the door open at first, but I have to get inside, so I pull with all the strength I have. I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to beat this hard. She has to be alive. The blood covering her face and the lacerations to her arms concern me, but also the fact she isn’t moving.

“Rylee, stay with me,” I demand, and a weight lifts from my chest when I hear the soft murmur rise from her throat. With a quick flick of my wrist, I cut the belt securing her and slide my arms under hers so I can pull her body from the wreckage. The fire has heated the fuselage, causing a sharp wail to escape Rylee when her legs slide free. The plane is a wrinkled heap of smoking metal.

“I’ve got you,” I promise as I drag her body across the ground. Despite the protest in my ribs, I lay her down and cut a scrap of fabric from my flannel with a pocketknife to stop the bleeding on her leg. “Breathe in the fresh air,” I tell her, then give one last glance at our wreckage as her pained moans echo off the mountain top and have me needing a deep breath too. The metal burning fills the air, making my lungs burn as the air goes down. Focus, she’s alive.

When I stare down at Rylee, her usual natural warm skin tone is cold and drawn. She coughs, and red coats her lips. Shit. I grab more fabric and wipe away the blood. She needs a hospital. I hope our emergency locator beacon is signaling, but it’s going to be hours before someone finds the wreck site and even longer for them to land and lend aid.

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking around, panic in her eyes. I slide to her other side so I’m between her and the plane.

“We’ll figure this out.” I don’t want her straining or worrying anymore. This isn’t her fault. The winds changed, and she tried to keep the plane from going down. This is part of flying, and her instincts are new. She crash-landed, but we both survived. Learning to pilot in a harsh landscape is difficult, but I promised I’d teach her.

“I should have known.” She sits up and tries to rise from the ground. I’d given her firm instructions to pay close attention to the readouts, but mistakes happen. My hand on her shoulder keeps her sitting rather than rising entirely.

“Don’t get up. You're hurt,” I say and use another scrap of fabric to stem the bleeding. “Mistakes happen, and we’re still alive.” I tie off another piece of material from my flannel and secure the wound on her leg. I’m still concerned there is something internal I can’t see, but I don’t have proper equipment to help her. I also need to see if my biggest fear has happened and we lost our supplies.

“Do we still have our kit?” Rylee asks after I apply the last makeshift bandage to her arm. There was a fire to part of the plane near our packs. We might not have all the supplies we need, just the few I keep on me at all times. I had to stop her bleeding before I searched for them.

When I don’t answer, my look must convey my uncertainty, and she lowers her head to her knees. I don’t have to remind her we are likely at least a day from someone finding us, even with my personal locator beacon. And now we may be without supplies. We have perhaps four or five hours of daylight left.

“What are we going to do, Jamison?”

“We are going to survive this.” I glance over her shoulder and search the horizon. We are remote, high into the mountains with the harsh Alaskan wilderness to contend with. My personal supplies are minimal. I always wear a PLB and a fire starter, but the rest of our survival pack is likely burnt. I’m letting the fire calm so I don’t burn myself searching the wreckage; I’ve been hurt that way before.

“What if our ELT failed?” Rylee asks. The emergency locator transmitter on the plane could fail on impact, but we can’t think like that.

“You registered our flight plan. They’ll find us. Until then, I’ll keep us alive.” Any uncertainty was thoroughly masked by the calmness in my voice. “I need you to stay calm for me. And don’t move.”

The smartest thing to do is stay near the wreck site because the ELT has the highest frequency and should alert our distress signal. But the lack of shelter and the exposed mountain top is a concern of mine. Temperature will drop significantly once the sun goes down. Also, if the ELT fails, we need a plan to get shelter from the harsh weather that will come once the sun sets.

I sit on the ground and search the horizon for answers. When those don’t come, I think of where my life is right now. Claire’s the only person I want to see. It’s been that way for the last two weeks. I swore I was going to let her go, but then I read her letter. She knew what I was feeling and promised me we were strong enough to make a relationship work. Then she shared with me another secret—she knew who my father was. She had me read my mother’s journals, then gave me all the research she and her father had done. How my mother probably deciphered the Hogan Ciphers but found a bigger treasure on her journeys. She met a man and conceived a child. I now have my father’s name—Victor Ramos, an Alaskan state trooper from Cordova.

I attempted to text her multiple times to thank her for what she’s given me. I knew if I did that, I’d cave and beg her to forgive me for pushing her away. I only want what’s best for her, but is that really me?

The flames no longer lick the fuselage, so I rise and walk toward the plane and pray our airplane kit isn’t burnt. The brisk air whips away at me as I bend into the twisted metal wreckage in search of our lifeline.

Chapter Twenty-Three

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