Page 60 of Fight

Scottie stirs in my arms, and I release my hold on her despite myself. She pops up from the pillow, and presses a palm to her forehead. Then lies back down again.

“Oh, man.”

“How’s your head?” I ask.

“No complaints yet,” she says, her voice raspy with sleep. I smirk. I remember that voice from Oregon, after a night of phenomenal sex and trying to muffle her moans. The fact she’s making jokes is reassuring. Unfortunately, it also makes my cocktwitch, because I can confirm her statement. Our sensual night of snuggling and sex was something I’ll never forget. It was exhilarating.

I clear my throat and back up against the wall before she feels my dick press into her from behind.

“Mild headache, but it’s better than yesterday. Just feel hungover…”

I hum in agreement.

“Sounds like the storm is raising hell out there. Are we gonna be okay?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“Your confidence is inspiring,” she says, words oozing with irritation.

There she goes plucking my nerves again.Grumbling, I add, “What do you want? A guarantee? We’re stuck on a mountain in a blizzard, the trail is blocked off, and you’ve got a head injury. We are barelyokayas it is.” I’ve been in life-threatening situations too many times, and sometimes, they don’t work out. Especially considering we need to find a new path down, and the snow makes any bushwacking even more treacherous and conditions ripe for storm slab avalanches.

She rips the blanket off, bringing with it a cold draft, and swings her legs over the side to stand. “Jesus, read the room.”

I wrench the covers back over me. “Who was it that was talking about strokes and seizures last night? I’m just being realistic. We need to be honest with ourselves here.”

It’s a fact of life. Some call it cynicism, but I’d rather expect the worst. At least then I’m not blindsided when luck goes south. That doesn’t mean I won’t fight like hell for our survival, but I can’t handle the crippling depression of losing someone unexpectedly. Preparation is everything.

“Well,honestly, I have to pee. Really bad.”

I roll over, facing the wall and close my eyes. “There’s anouthouse. Might need a shovel to get to it. Have fun. I’m going back to sleep.” I barely slept last night.

That’s nothing new. It’s been years since I slept well, but this situation isn’t helping the constant agitation and anxiety clinging to my thoughts. My doctor has thrown around the word complex post-traumatic stress a few times, which basically means my brain is fucked, and there’s nothing I can do about it… other than avoid alcohol and drugs—which is useless advice. If my mind is busted, I’m not going to deal with it sober.

“Good. Maybe it’ll fix your attitude,” she says.

I crane my neck to see her wiggling into her hiking pants and tugging her thick socks on. The fire crackles in the stove, and she holds her hands up to warm them. I ball up the pillow under my head, close my eyes, and sigh. “You talk a lotta shit, you know that, Prescott?”

I wish I could blame her for putting us in this situation, but to be fair, falling rocks are the one thing you can’t prepare for. You can have all the right gear, have all the right experience, but if a rock or rolling log chooses to come down in your path, there’s nothing you can do but meet your maker. It’s a miracle she wasn’t hit by another rock when she was knocked unconscious.

Daylight pours into the room when she opens the door. Truthfully, she’s lucky she’s not dead. She punctuates that thought by yanking the door closed as hard as she can when she exits the lookout. The wind puts up a fight, but she gets her message across, it bears all the angst of a door slam. This is her brand of bullshit. She saunters into my life peacefully and storms out, leaving a path of destruction in her wake—in like a lamb, out like a lion. Scottie gets under my skin like no other.

After a few minutes, she comes clomping back inside. I turn over to see snow clinging to her pants, confirming it’s thigh-deep on her. She carried a pile of snow in just by walking through the door.

I sit upright.

“Scottie, you brought half the fucking mountaintop in here. Keep that shit outside, yeah?”

She raises her eyebrows and blinks at me, then throws her arms out to the side. “I see your attitude is still here… It’s a whiteout out there, by the way! The catwalk is covered, I knocked a bunch off the side, but it’s a mess. It sticks to everything.”

Sticky snow means it’s wet, which means it will be an even bigger pain in the ass to hike through, and we’re at a higher risk for avalanches, depending on how it’s packed.

“I was so excited to experience my first real snow,” she murmurs.

“Enjoy your morning stroll through winter wonderland, did you?” Her face blooms red and I close my eyes. The corner of my mouth turns up with a smug grin. She shuffles around the room, and I crack open one eyelid, watching her strip her outer layer, and the neck of the sweater stretches, revealing the edge of a bruise. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

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