Page 71 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

The old ski patrol cabin. Midnight.

Come alone, or Michael won’t be the only brother who pays for his parents’ sins.

PS - Better hurry, princess. The explosives are already set.

Through Pine Haven’s windows, a red light blinked from the ski slopes like an evil star.

Thirty minutes until midnight.

And somewhere in the darkness, someone watched.

Waiting.

Ready to finish what started fifteen years ago.

The powerless grandfather clock stood frozen at 11:30. Time, like the truth, was running out.

Chapter Eighteen

Hunter

Moonlight turned the old ski patrol cabin’s weathered boards to silver, the structure a dark sentinel against the stars. Pine branches stirred overhead, winter’s bite carrying the promise of snow. Beside me, Amelia’s hand stayed steady in mine as we approached. FBI teams ghosted through the trees—close enough to protect, far enough to maintain our cover.

“Hunter.” Amelia’s whisper caught like frost in the air. “If anything happens—“

“Don’t.” I drew her close, breathing in the vanilla warmth of her hair against the mountain cold. The wool of her coat was soft under my fingers, her presence anchoring me against memories threatening to overflow. “We’re both walking away from this.”

Red bloomed across my vision—my mother stumbling from a bullet’s impact, her eyes finding mine across fifteen years of absence. Michael collapsing in Amelia’s arms, his blood stark against resort gravel. So many wounds, so many secrets leading to this moment under winter stars.

“Your mom?” Amelia’s voice softened, reading my tension the way she’d always been able to, even before we’d admitted what we meant to each other.

“Agent Blake says she’s stable. Through-and-through, like Michael.” My thumb traced her cheekbone, feeling the slight tremor she tried to hide. “They’re both fighters. Like you.”

“Like us,” she corrected, and despite everything, warmth bloomed in my chest at that simple word. Some things remained constant, even when the world tilted beneath our feet.

A twig snapped sharp as a gunshot. We tensed, but moonlight caught only a deer’s startled eyes before it bounded away, disturbed by FBI movements through frosted underbrush.

“Twenty minutes until midnight.” My phone’s glow cast blue shadows across our faces. Somewhere in the darkness, Agent Blake’s bomb squad worked against time, but with so much ground to cover, we couldn’t be certain they’d found every explosive.

Amelia squared her shoulders, mirroring her mother’s stance from old photographs so perfectly it stole my breath. “Then let’s finish this.”

The cabin door’s creak echoed off walls that had witnessed decades of mountain rescues. Our flashlights caught dust motes dancing like snow, illuminating rescue gear still hanging from wooden pegs. Every happy memory of training here—Dad’s steady guidance, Mom’s proud smile—felt tainted now, like photographs slowly burning at the edges.

“There.” Amelia’s light caught something beside the old first aid cabinet: two sets of initials carved deep into the pine. MH + KM.

“Our mothers.” The wood felt smooth under my fingers, worn by years of hands tracing these same letters.

“Best friends,” a voice cut through shadows, making us both start. “Until your mother’s conscience got my brother killed.”

Rachel Wheeler stepped into our light, grief aging her features beyond the hour that had passed. Moonlight through dusty windows caught silver in her hair, lines etched around her mouth like winter-carved valleys.

“That’s not what happened.” My mother materialized from the back room, more solid than the ghost she’d been in my memories. Her bandaged arm didn’t dim the fierce light in her eyes. Agent Blake flanked her, weapon ready.

“Kate.” Rachel’s smile cut like a mountain wind. “Still protecting Margaret’s secrets?”

“Still twisting the truth?” The sound of Mom’s voice after fifteen years hit me like a wave, a sharp longing spreading through me. “Tell them, Rachel. Tell them what really happened that night.”

“I know what happened.” Arthur Horton emerged with Agent Blake’s partner, supporting him. His hospital sweater hung loose, making him look smaller than the father figure in my memories. “Because I was there. When Thomas Spencer died. When Katherine disappeared. When Margaret...”

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