Page 3 of My Savior Valentine

Viggo levels me with a stern look. "I know you're getting tired of these kinds of calls, Reid. But this is part of the job. I need you to put your personal feelings aside and do what needs to be done."

I clench my jaw, the muscles in my neck tightening. "After extracting wounded soldiers under enemy fire, a twisted ankle seems laughably trivial," I mutter, shaking my head.

Viggo's expression softens slightly. "I get it, man. But you can't let that attitude show, not with the public. You're the face of this organization, remember?"

I let out a heavy sigh, resigning myself to the task at hand. "Alright, I'm on it," I mutter, turning to head towards the equipment room.

The familiar scent of rubber and gasoline hits me as I push open the beaten door, my eyes sweeping over the rows of rescue gear. I grab my pack, methodically checking each item as I stow it away.

A thick, insulated jacket - the same one I wore on that fateful mission in the Hindu Kush when the weather turned against us. I shove down the memories of that day, the biting cold and the howling winds.

Next, a pair of heavy-duty mountaineering boots, their soles worn from countless hours trudging through deep snow.

As I tuck a coil of climbing rope into my pack, I'm reminded of the time I had to scale a treacherous ice cliff to reach an injured hiker. The adrenaline rush, the fear of failure - it's all seared into my mind.

Shaking off the melancholy thoughts, I turn my attention to the medical kit, ensuring it's fully stocked. As I toss in a box of bandages, my mind drifts to the woman I just dropped off - Willow Jones. Despite her car accident, the determination I saw in her eyes was admirable. It's a quality I can't help but respect, even if her presence is a distraction I don't need.

"Heading out, Hart?" a raspy voice calls from the doorway.

I glance up to see Anton, one of my fellow rescuers, leaning against the frame. His brow is furrowed, a telltale sign of the impending storm.

"Yep. Snowboarder with a twisted ankle, up at the resort," I reply, zipping up my pack.

Anton nods, his expression grim. "Better get up there quick. Looks like we're in for a hell of a blizzard tonight. Gonna be a busy one, I reckon."

I let out a humorless chuckle. "Wouldn't be the first time."

With a final check of my gear, I sling the pack over my shoulder and turn to head out, but Viggo's gruff voice stops me.

"Hart, hold up a sec."

I turn to face him, eyebrow raised in question. Viggo's expression is unreadable as he studies me for a long moment.

"I know you're getting tired of these routine rescues," he says, his voice low. "But I need you to keep that frustration in check, you hear me?"

I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a hand, silencing me.

"I get it, alright? I've been there myself. But the work we do - it matters, even if it's just some knucklehead who got in over their head." His eyes meet mine, a flicker of understanding passing between us. "Next time something serious comes in, it's your job. You hear me?"

I nod slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. Viggo's seen his fair share of hell; I know that much. The kind of experiences that leave their mark, no matter how many years pass.

"I hear you," I murmur.

Viggo claps me on the shoulder, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Now get out there and do what you do best, Hart."

With a final nod, I turn and make my way to the exit. The howling wind greets me as I push open the heavy door, and snow swirls around me in thick, heavy flakes, coating my truck in a fresh dusting of white.

I pause for a moment, taking in the scene. The mountains loom above, their peaks shrouded in a veil of white. It's a familiar sight, one that's both comforting and unforgiving - a reminder of the power and unpredictability of nature.

With a deep breath, I turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Time to get to work.

3

WILLOW

Izip my ski jacket and grab my phone, dialing Mom's number. As it rings, I double-check my gear, making sure I’m ready for my first real day of freedom.

"Hi, honey!" Mom's cheerful voice greets me. "How's the cabin? Did you sleep well?"

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