Page 5 of My Savior Valentine

I watch the Mountain Angels van disappear around the bend and then make my way to the ticket window, trying to shake off the lingering irritation from my interaction with Reid.

"One-week pass, please," I say to the attendant, mustering a polite smile.

As I wait for my pass, I can't help but notice all the couples around me, holding hands and gazing at each other with sickeningly sweet expressions. It hits me then - it's Valentine's Day. Somehow, in the midst of everything, I'd completely forgotten.

I think back to the brief moment of connection I'd felt with Reid before I'd gone and ruined it with my defensive attitude. Just my luck, the one attractive guy in this town, and I've already pushed him away.

Shaking my head, I grab my pass and head towards the lifts. I'm here to ski, not to dwell on my love life (or lack thereof).

As I ride the lift up to the top of the black slopes, I try to focus on the anticipation building inside me. It's been too long since I've felt the rush of flying down a challenging run, the wind whipping past my face and the world narrowing down to just me and the mountain.

But as I reach the summit, my attention is caught by a commotion nearby. A man is down on one knee, holding out a ring box to a tearful woman while another couple tries to capture the whole scene on their smartphones. The woman being proposed to nods, and her new fiance sweeps her into his arms, both of them laughing and crying.

I look away, feeling a pang of something I can't quite name. Loneliness, maybe. Or regret.

I push the feelings down, turning my gaze to the untouched expanse of snow beyond the groomed runs.

Before I can second-guess myself, I push off, heading off-piste into the wilderness, away from civilization. The snow here is deep and untracked, and I have to work to keep my skis from getting bogged down. But as I find my rhythm, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.

Out here, there are no expectations, no pressure to be anything other than what I am. The only sound is the whisper of my skis against the snow and the rush of my breath in my ears.

I navigate the terrain with practiced ease, my body remembering the motions even after all my time out. The exhilaration of the descent fills me, chasing away the dark thoughts that have been plaguing me for months.

For the first time in a long time, I feel truly happy. Not the forced, public-facing happiness I'd projected for so long, but a genuine sense of joy and freedom.

I'm grinning from ear to ear as I weave through the trees, the untouched powder spraying up around me with each turn. There's nothing quite like being the first to lay tracks on a fresh slope. It's like the mountain is my own private playground.

But as I navigate a particularly steep section, the weather takes a sudden turn for the worse. The light flurries that had been falling steadily since I got off the lift have transformed into a heavy snowfall, the flakes so thick I can barely see more than a few feet in front of me.

I squint against the onslaught, trying to make out the contours of the terrain ahead. That's when I see a dark shape looming out of the whiteness. I try to swerve, but it's too late. My ski catches on the hidden stump, and I feel a jolt of panic as I lose my balance.

Time seems to slow as I tumble forward, my arms pinwheeling uselessly as I try to regain control. But the snow is too deep, too soft, and I plow headfirst into a drift.

I'm disoriented, unsure which way is up as I somersault through the powder. My leg twists beneath me, and a searing pain shoots up my thigh. I cry out, but the snow muffles the sound.

Finally, I come to a stop, my head spinning and my heart racing. I try to push myself up, but my leg gives out beneath me, sending me crashing back down into the snow. The pain is excruciating, and I know without a doubt that something is badly wrong.

"FUCK," I scream.

The snow is falling even harder now, the wind picking up and whipping the flakes into a frenzy.

A sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach as the reality of my predicament sinks in. I'm in serious trouble, and no one knows where I am. If I don't find a way to get help soon, I might not make it off this mountain alive.

4

REID

After last night's heavy snowfall, the mountain rescue headquarters is a hive of activity. I sit at my desk, fidgeting with a pen, trying to focus on the paperwork before me. The monotony of these administrative tasks grates on my nerves, and I can't help but feel restless, longing for the adrenaline of a challenging rescue.

It’s not long before the shrill ring of the phone interrupts my thoughts, and I watch as Viggo answers it, hoping whoever's on the line will give me a reprieve from documenting twisted ankles.

Viggo's brow furrows as he listens, and I can tell from the tense set of his jaw that this is no routine rescue. I rise from my chair, curiosity piquing, and stand next to him as he puts the call on speaker.

"This is Viggo from the Hope Peak Mountain Angels. How can I help you, ma'am?" he says, his voice calm and reassuring.

"Oh, thank goodness," a woman's voice replies, laced with worry. "This is Evelyn Jones. My daughter Willow went skiing earlier today, and she was supposed to check in with me by now, but I haven't heard from her. I'm so worried. She's not in the bestframe of mind right now, and I'm afraid something might have happened."

Viggo nods, his eyes meeting mine briefly. "Okay, Mrs. Jones, let's try to get some more information. When exactly did Willow leave for the slopes, and which area was she planning to ski?"

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