Page 21 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

And safe.

"You can’t blame yourself." An unexpected anger flares in me. "One terrible accident doesn’t erase all the lives you've saved. All the people you've guided safely? All the rescues you've performed?"

His eyes narrow. "You don't understand?—"

"I understand guilt. I understand grief. But I also understand Emma chose to be on that mountain. She was an expert climber who made her own decisions."

"It's not that simple."

"No, it's not. Nothing about loss is simple." My voice softens. "But punishing yourself forever won't bring her back. And it won't honor what she loved about the mountains, climbing, taking necessary risks for things that matter."

Jackson withdraws his hand from mine, but instead of retreating into coldness, he simply looks... tired. Bone-deep exhausted from carrying his guilt for so long.

"Why do you care?" The question contains genuine bewilderment. "You barely know me."

The answer requires honesty I'm not sure I'm ready to give. "Because I recognize someone running from themselves. I've been doing it my whole life."

His eyebrows lift slightly, inviting elaboration.

"My parents..." I pause, organizing thoughts rarely verbalized. "They meant well, but from the moment I was diagnosed with childhood leukemia, they treated me like I was made of glass. No sports. Limited outdoor activities. Constant monitoring. Every cough was a crisis."

"You had cancer?"

"Had and beat. It’s been over twenty years. I was little, a toddler. My memories of what happened are fuzzy."

"Is that why they were overprotective?"

"I suppose. I beat the cancer, but they were always looking for the other shoe to drop. I could barely breathe." The memories surface with surprising clarity—the sidelines I was relegated to, the adventures forbidden, the pitying glances from classmates.

"They convinced everyone, including me, that I was fragile." My fingers trace patterns on the rough tabletop. "College was my escape. But even then, their voices stayed in my head. 'Be careful, Cloe. Don't push yourself, Cloe. Know your limitations, Cloe.'"

Jackson listens with unexpected intensity, his focus complete.

"Journalism became my rebellion. Particularly travel writing." A small smile tugs at my lips. "Every assignment was proof that their expectations didn’t bind me. Every risk I took was a middle finger to years of cautionary tales."

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Including hiking alone in a blizzard."

"Including that." Shame colors my admission. "In my defense, it wasn’t a blizzard when I started out."

"Youwerewarned."

"Not my proudest moment."

"We all have those." His voice holds no judgment now.

Silence settles between us, not uncomfortable but contemplative. Outside, the wind has calmed to a steady moan rather than its previous howl. The lantern flickers, shadows shifting across Jackson's features, softening his customary intensity.

"So we're both running." His observation comes quietly. "Me from guilt, you from being underestimated."

"Pretty much."

"And now we're stuck here. Nowhere to run."

The irony makes me laugh out loud, surprising us both with its warmth. "The Universe has a twisted sense of humor."

A hint of a smile tugs at Jackson's mouth—the first I've seen. The expression transforms him, cracking the stoic facade to reveal something warmer beneath.

"Emma would have appreciated the cosmic joke." His tone carries fondness among the grief. "She always said mountains had their own wisdom."

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