Page 20 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

My heart constricts, already knowing where this story ends but dreading the details.

"Avalanche." The word emerges like broken glass. "Small one. Just enough. She was swept over a ledge. Rope snapped." His breathing becomes uneven. "I couldn't reach her in time. Couldn't... couldn't save her."

Grief radiates from him in palpable waves. Without thinking, I reach across the table, covering his hand with mine.

"It wasn't your fault."

His laugh emerges bitter, hollow. "Everyone says that. But I made the call. I was responsible. Her blood is on my hands."

"You couldn't have known?—"

"Ishouldhave known." His voice rises slightly, raw with emotion. "That's literally my job. Reading the mountain. Predicting the unpredictable. Keeping people safe. Her blood is on my hands."

The words hit like a punch to the gut—not just for what they reveal, but for everything they explain.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The fury in his voice when he found me on that ledge, the way he barked commands without mercy, dragging me up the mountain like I was an unruly rookie, his coldness, his distance, his refusal to look at me like a person and only as a liability.

It wasn’t about me.

It was about her.

Emma.

And I see it now—the way grief and guilt have carved themselves into his bones. The weight he’s carried, blaming himself for a choice made in a moment, for something that might never have been avoidable no matter what he did.

My heart aches not for Emma, but for him. For the silent suffering I hadn’t seen before. I was too caught up in my own pride and frustration to notice the cracks beneath his armor.

It wasn’t about Jackson hating city people or assuming I was fragile and helpless.

It was about loss.

Or fear.

It was about watching someone fall and knowing—knowing—he couldn’t bring them back.

And me?

I was another Emma in the making.

I swallow hard, my voice soft. “That’s why you were so angry with me.”

His eyes flash to mine, sharp and surprised.

“You saw me up there and thought—” My throat tightens. “You thought it was happening again.”

His jaw works, but he says nothing.

“You didn’t hate me,” I whisper. “You were terrified.”

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t confirm it aloud.

He doesn’t have to.

I see it now. Not a cold, infuriating mountain man—but a protector. One who’s already lost too much and will burn the world down before he lets it happen again.

For the first time since we met, I don’t feel dismissed or underestimated.

I feel seen.

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