Page 10 of My Savior Valentine

"Easy, take it slow," I murmur, my voice low and soothing. "Don't want you making that leg any worse."

Willow blinks up at me, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she nods slowly. "I'm trying," she admits, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I nod, my hand lingering on her shoulder for a moment longer than necessary before I pull away. The warmth of her skin lingers on my fingertips, a strange sensation that I find myself reluctant to let go of.

Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to the shelter, busying myself with reinforcing the walls. The wind howls, and the snow continues to fall in thick, relentless sheets, but I focus on the task at hand, determined to keep Willow safe and warm.

As I work, I can't help but steal occasional glances in her direction, my gaze drawn to the way the dim light casts shadows across her delicate features. There's a vulnerability in her now, a far cry from the confident, fiercely determined woman I encountered this morning. It tugs at something deep within me, a protective instinct I've long tried to suppress.

"Reid?" Willow's voice, soft and uncertain, breaks the silence.

I turn to face her, my expression neutral. "Yeah?"

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching mine. "I...I'm glad you found me," she says, her words barely audible over the roar of the storm.

I hold her gaze, a flicker of something unidentifiable passing through me. "Me too," I reply, my voice gruff but sincere.

Willow nods, a small smile playing on her lips, and I can't help but feel a surge of... something. Relief? Admiration? I'm not entirely sure, but the feeling is foreign and unsettling yet strangely comforting all the same.

Turning back to the shelter, I finish my work, determined to ensure Willow remains safe and warm throughout the long, harrowing night ahead.

"Try to get some rest," I say, my voice low and soothing.

Willow looks up at me, her eyes wide. For a moment, we hold each other's gaze, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Then, with a soft sigh, Willow nods, her body slowly relaxing as she allows her eyes to drift shut. I watch her closely, my heart hammering in my chest. It's been a long time since I've felt this connection with another person. The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying.

As the wind howls outside our small shelter, I find myself acutely aware of Willow's presence beside me. The way her breathing deepens, the subtle shift of her body as she tries to find a more comfortable position. It's all I can do to resist the urge to reach out and pull her closer, to offer her the comfort and protection she so clearly needs.

Despite the danger of our situation, a part of me can't help but feel grateful—grateful for the chance to ensure Willow's safety and to be the one who comes to her rescue. This desire to shield and protect is a foreign sensation, but I find myself reluctantly embracing it.

I settle back against the wall, my eyes trained on the entrance of the shelter, my senses on high alert. Whatever the night may bring, I'll be here, ready to face it head-on.

7

WILLOW

Ishift uncomfortably in the cramped shelter, my broken leg throbbing with a dull ache. The cold seeps into my bones despite my thermal layers, and I can't help but shiver. Reid crawls in beside me, his large frame taking up most of the remaining space. I'm acutely aware of his presence, his body heat radiating in the confined area. It's kinda surprising he's not causing the shelter to melt.

Gratitude wars with wariness inside me. I'm thankful for Reid's rescue efforts, impressed by his skill and determination in finding me. But I can't shake the defensive walls I've built around myself. I'm not used to relying on others, especially not since my fall from grace in the skiing world.

As Reid settles next to me, our arms brush and I instinctively tense. He notices and raises an eyebrow.

"I usually prefer dinner before getting this close to someone," I quip, trying to diffuse the tension with humor.

Reid huffs out a breath that could almost be a laugh. "Sorry, fresh out of candlelit meals. Guess you'll have to settle for another protein bar." His gruff response holds a hint of amusement.

I take the offered protein bar, our fingers briefly touching in the exchange. The accidental contact sends a jolt through me, and I quickly look away, focusing intently on unwrapping the bar. I'm not sure if it's the adrenaline of the situation or something else, but I'm suddenly very aware of Reid as a man, not just a rescuer.

The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken tension. I take a bite of the protein bar, chewing slowly to occupy my mouth and mind. Reid shifts beside me, his shoulder pressing against mine in the tight space. I can feel the rise and fall of his breath, the steady rhythm oddly comforting amid the howling storm outside.

I chance a glance at Reid, taking in his strong profile, the stubble shadowing his jaw. He meets my gaze, his dark eyes intense and unreadable. For a moment, the rest of the world falls away, and it's just us, two people sheltering from a storm, connected by a strange mix of circumstance and undeniable attraction.

Reid shifts beside me. "You doing okay? Need some more water?" He holds out a canteen, and I take it grudgingly, our fingers brushing in the exchange. I hate feeling helpless, but I can't deny the thirst scratching at my throat.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking a swig. The water is cold and refreshing, a stark contrast to the stuffy air inside the shelter. Reid watches me intently as if assessing my condition. His gaze feels different from the scrutiny I'm used to—the coaches, the media, my father, all eyeing me for any sign of weakness or flaw. But Reid's eyes hold a genuine concern that catches me off guard.

"How's the leg feeling?" he asks, nodding towards the splint.

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