Page 31 of First Echo

When I finished with my bindings and stood up, she was still there, waiting. For a moment, I thought she might suggest we take a run together. The idea was both appealing and terrifying.

"You know," she said, adjusting her poles, "you're actually not terrible company when you're not being a complete jerk."

"High praise coming from the queen of jerks," I replied, but there was no real heat in my words.

"I deserved that," she admitted with a small nod. "Well... see you around, I guess."

She lifted a hand in a small wave, then pushed off down the slope. Her form was surprisingly good for someone who'd just started snowboarding yesterday. I watched her go, feeling unexpectedly conflicted.

Part of me was relieved to return to my solitude. Another part—a part I wasn't ready to acknowledge—felt disappointed as she disappeared down the mountain.

I secured my helmet and pulled my goggles down. The mountain was waiting, ready to help me forget everything except the feeling of flying down its slopes. That should be enough. It had always been enough before.

I pushed off, feeling the familiar rush as my board cut through the snow. Wind whipped past my face, carrying away my troubled thoughts. For a moment, I was free—no complications, no confusing feelings, just me and the mountain.

But even as I carved my way down the slope, one question lingered: Why couldn't I have just answered her?

The truth was simple: I was afraid. Afraid of letting people get close. I'd always kept my distance from others, but after Mom died, it became more than a habit—it became a shield. When you lose someone you love, you learn how deep pain can cut. It was easier to stay isolated than risk that wound again.

Except somehow, without my permission, Madeline Hayes had started to matter. And that terrified me more than I wanted to admit.

I leaned into a turn, focusing on the physical sensation to clear my head. For now, at least, I could outrun my feelings. I could lose myself in the mountain.

The rest would have to wait. Today, I would ride.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MADELINE

Well... see you around, I guess.

I cringed internally as the words left my mouth. Who says that? What was I, some awkward middle schooler talking to their crush? I pushed off down the slope, desperate to put some distance between myself and the embarrassment burning through me.

The mountain stretched out before me, pristine and welcoming—the perfect escape from whatever bizarre interaction I'd just had with Brooke. I focused on my form, trying to remember everything she'd taught me yesterday. Weight forward, knees bent, eyes on where you want to go. Simple enough.

Except my mind kept replaying those final moments on the lift. The way she'd dodged my question. The way she'd looked at me with those brown eyes—those surprisingly expressive eyes with that unique dark green ring around her pupils.

And that strange, inexplicable flutter in my stomach when she'd suggested I could start over. "Maybe not with everyone, but... with someone." What did that even mean? Was she suggesting—

My board caught an edge.

The world tilted violently. One second I was upright, the next I was face-down in the snow, my board twisted awkwardly behind me. Snow worked its way under my collar, icy against myskin. I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

First day on a snowboard, falls were expected. Second day? When I'd already shown I could handle it? Mortifying. At least no one had seen—

"You know, typically people watch where they're going instead of staring into space."

I looked up to find Brooke standing above me, her board unclipped from one foot, a mixture of amusement and concern on her face.

Great. Perfect. Just what I needed.

"I wasn't staring into space," I muttered, pushing myself up and brushing snow from my jacket. "I was just... thinking."

"Must have been some pretty intense thinking," she remarked, offering a hand to help me up.

I hesitated before taking it, surprised by how strong her grip was as she pulled me to my feet. "Thanks," I said, avoiding her eyes.

"You okay? That was a pretty good wipeout."

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