Page 3 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

This is not blending in. This is a hot-mess-express. And isn’t that just the putrid green sprinkles on top of a shit sundae?

A dry laugh escapes me, edged with hysteria.As if it matters.It’s not like I’m looking for attention. Quite the opposite actually. And even if I were…

A man like that? One who looks like he probably chops down trees with his bare hands and wrestles bears before breakfast?

Not in a million years.

My bladder clenches, a sharp reminder that there are more pressing matters at hand. I turn and lock myself in a stall, yanking down my leggings with shaky hands. As I sit, the tension begins to ebb away, carried off by the simple relief of answering nature's call.

"Okay, Ivy. That's enough drama for one day," I say to the stall door.

I push open the bathroom door, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the gas station. It isn’t a dilapidated shack, but it’s no palace either. Dingy and brown are probably the two words that best describe this place. The air smells like burned coffee and motor oil.

My eyes scan the space, half-expecting that beast of a man to still be there, but the shop is empty. Relief floods me, swift and cold as mountain streams.

"Good riddance," I mumble, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

I grab myself a drink and a couple of snacks and make a beeline for the counter, avoiding eye contact with the bored cashier. Maybe she saw the whole thing, maybe not. Doesn't matter.

"Just these," I say, sliding some bills across the counter. My voice doesn't waver, but my fingers tremble just a little as I pick up my change.

"Thanks," I add, almost an afterthought, turning away before she can reply.

The bell above the door jingles as I step outside, and a sharp gust of wind cuts straight through my hoodie. I suck in a breath, the cold shocking against my too-thin leggings and the sneakers that do nothing to keep my toes warm.

Perfect. Just perfect.

A fresh layer of snow dusts the pavement, and more flurries drift from the sky, fat and lazy. I should have checked the forecast. Should have packed for this. But in my rush to get away, I hadn’t exactly been thinking about the weather.

I tuck my chin into the collar of my hoodie and hurry toward the car, my sneakers slipping slightly on the icy pavement. The cold seeps in, biting at my exposed skin. By the time I reach the driver’s side, my fingers are stiff, my nose stinging from the chill.

Teeth chattering, I fumble with the door handle, muttering under my breath.Next stop, the cabin—the cozy,heatedcabin.

As I pull the door open, another gust of wind howls through the lot, kicking up a swirl of snow. I shiver hard.

The engine roars to life with the push of a button and I pull out onto the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

Chapter 2

Ivy

The road stretches ahead, a gray ribbon winding through solid white. I grip the steering wheel tighter, squinting as fat snowflakes start to pelt the windshield at an alarming rate. It’s like nothing I’ve ever driven in or seen. It’s not the pristine, powder-dusted slopes of Aspen I know, but a relentless, blinding flurry of white.

"Okay, Ivy, you've got this," I whisper to myself. My fingers tremble a bit as I reach for my phone—because unfortunately, I need it now—swiping it on with a thumb that feels too numb despite the car's heat blasting in my face.

The screen lights up with notifications—an avalanche in its own right. Twenty-seven missed calls. Two hundred and forty-five texts. Social media is a beast I'm not ready to tame, not now. Not ever, really. I let them blink and beep into oblivion. Miss me with that drama, thank you.

I pull up my navigation app and punch in the destination, then toss the phone in the passenger seat.

Concentrate. Focus on the road.

But the sky is dumping snow faster now, thick flakes sticking to the windshield faster than the wipers can clear them. The headlights catch the swirling flurries, making it feel like I’mdriving through a tunnel of static. Or I’ve just entered warp speed.

My phone continues to buzz, a string of notifications lighting up the screen. Thankfully it does nothing to stop the robotic voice crackling over the Bluetooth.In one mile, turn left.

“Yeah, if I make it that far,” I mutter, gripping the wheel tighter.

The tires crunch over the snow-covered pavement, the sound creeping up my spine, needling at my nerves. Every tap of the brakes is a careful dance between control and panic.

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