Page 79 of Wreckage

Troy slipped into the forefront of my mind.

The worry hit me all at once. It had been too long. Hours. Nearly the entire day and into the night. He wasn’t back yet.

A heavy weight settled in my chest, my fingers tapping softly against the plastic of the raft in a steady rhythm.

I should look for him.

I should be out there searching. I couldn’t leave Elena alone, though. If something happened to both of us, she’d die too.

So I waited. And waited. And waited.

The hours dragged on, each one ticking by slower than the last.

I kept my ears trained on every sound, my body coiled tight with anticipation, worry, and frustration. I wasn't sure which was worse, so many ugly scenarios rushed through my head. Him freezing to death, getting eaten by a mountain lion, or him falling off the mountain.

Just when I thought I’d go mad, the door to the plane opened, and he walked inside, nearly frozen.

I stiffened, careful not to jostle Elena, my eyes locked on him as he peeled off his jacket, hat, gloves, and boots.

He looked exhausted, but there was something else too.

Something in the way his eyes gleamed and his hands shook—not just from the cold, but from something more.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice low but filled with urgency. “It’s late. You were gone for-fucking-ever, man. We were worried.”

Troy exhaled sharply, his body trembling as he stood near the small fire, trying to get warm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys.”

I sighed, not wanting to argue that it didn’t matter if it was what he meant. It happened regardless.

“I got service,” he murmured.

I sat up immediately, careful not to wake Elena, my pulse spiking.

Troy met my eyes. “I called Dad. Left a voicemail. I managed to dial 9-1-1, too, but the service cut out, and I couldn’t get it back.”

I stared at him, my breath caught in my chest. I let out a sharp laugh, a sound of pure, raw relief.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, running a hand down my face, giddy with excitement. “Troy, you fucking?—”

“I know,” he muttered, a tired smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

We talked in hushed voices, going over everything—what he said, what he managed to send, the photo of the mountain view he had texted.

It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was something.

For the first time in weeks, we had hope.

Troy finally looked over at Elena, his expression softening. He froze after a moment.

His eyes flicked back to me, then to the bare skin of Elena’s shoulder, the way she was nestled so closely against me beneath the covers.

His brows lifted slightly, silently asking a question.

I smirked, nodding. I did feel proud of myself for making the leap.

Troy’s lips curved, but there was something more profound in his gaze.

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