Page 35 of First Echo

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BROOKE

Isat alone at the café table for a long time after Madeline stormed out, staring at her half-finished hot chocolate. The mug was still warm, steam curling lazily into the air, as if she'd just stepped away for a moment and might return any second. But I knew better. The look on her face when she'd left—that mixture of hurt and anger—told me she wasn't coming back.

What had I been thinking? The words had tumbled out before I could stop them, cutting deeper than I'd intended. Do you even know who you are when no one's watching? It was a brutal question, maybe an unfair one. But something about Madeline Hayes made me reckless with my words, made me push boundaries I normally respected.

I sighed, rubbing my temples where a headache was beginning to form. The server approached, eyeing Madeline's empty seat.

"Everything okay? Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you," I replied, fishing out enough cash to cover both our drinks and a decent tip. "I'm heading out."

The mountain air felt sharper now, colder against my flushed cheeks as I strapped my board back on and pushed off down the slope. I tried to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of carving through snow, but my mind kept replaying our conversation, dissecting every word, every reaction. Usually, snowboarding cleared my head—the physical demands of it leaving no room for overthinking. Today, though, it failed me.

I took a few more runs, half-hoping to spot Madeline somewhere on the mountain, but she seemed to have vanished completely. By late afternoon, with the sun already beginning its descent behind the peaks, I decided to head back to the resort.

Back in our empty room, I paced restlessly. Part of me wanted to just let it go—let Madeline cool off, avoid another confrontation. But the longer I sat with it, the worse I felt. I had crossed a line, pushing too hard on sensitive spots. Whatever game we were playing, whatever strange dance of antagonism and unexpected connection, I had taken it too far.

I checked the time. Dinner would be starting soon, and attendance was mandatory. Maybe Madeline would be there, and I could apologize then. Or maybe it would be better to wait until after, when we could talk privately without an audience.

With a sigh, I changed into clean clothes and headed down to the dining hall. The large room was already bustling with hungry students and teachers when I arrived. I scanned the crowd, searching for that familiar blonde head, but Madeline wasn't among them. Strange. She knew as well as I did that these group meals were required.

I filled my plate with food I didn't really want and found an empty seat at the end of a table, away from most of the chatter. Mr. Sinclair was making his rounds, checking attendance, his clipboard in hand. When he reached me, he paused.

"Ms. Winters, have you seen Ms. Hayes?"

I shook my head. "No, I haven't."

He frowned, making a note. "If you see her, remind her that dinner is mandatory. No exceptions."

As he walked away, I found myself wondering where Madeline was. Had our argument upset her so much that she was willing to risk getting in trouble just to avoid me? The thought made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

Midway through dinner, Victoria and Audrey entered, whispering to each other. They sat with Julian and Sam, but Madeline wasn't with them. I noticed Julian laughing loudly at something, clearly enjoying being the center of attention, while Sam kept glancing toward the door, as if expecting Madeline to arrive at any moment.

Something felt off about the whole scene. Where was Madeline? I pushed my food around my plate, my appetite completely gone now. The whole situation felt wrong, like I'd knocked over the first in a long line of dominoes and was now watching the chain reaction unfold.

After forcing down enough food to make it look like I'd eaten, I dropped off my tray and slipped out of the dining hall. I needed to find Madeline—not just to apologize, but to make sure she was okay. The fact that she'd missed mandatory dinner was concerning, especially given how much she usually cared about following rules when it suited her.

I needed to apologize. The realization settled in my chest, heavy and undeniable. Not just because we were stuck as roommates for the rest of the trip, but because I genuinely regretted hurting her. The admission surprised me—when had I started caring about Madeline Hayes's feelings?

After a quick shower and change, I steeled myself for what came next. Finding her. Apologizing. Two things that didn't come easily to me.

The resort's main lodge was busy with the after-skiing crowd, groups gathered around the roaring fireplace or clustered at tables with drinks in hand. I scanned the room, searching for that familiar blonde hair, but came up empty.

I approached a girl I vaguely recognized from school—Leah, maybe? She was in my English class, I thought.

"Hey," I said, the word feeling awkward in my mouth. I rarely initiated conversations with people I barely knew. "Have you seen Madeline Hayes?"

She looked surprised, probably wondering why I, of all people, was looking for Madeline. "I think I heard Victoria say something about the Timber Bar? It's that place about a five-minute walk from the resort."

"Thanks," I mumbled, already turning away.

The walk to the Timber Bar gave me time to rehearse what I'd say. A simple apology. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to clear the air so we could get through the rest of the trip without killing each other.

The bar was dimly lit, with exposed wooden beams and antler chandeliers casting a warm glow over the rustic space. It was crowded, mostly with locals by the look of them, though I spotted a few familiar faces from our school near the back. Not Madeline, though. Not yet.

I maneuvered through the crowd, my eyes scanning each corner. That's when I heard it—a familiar laugh, cutting through the noise. Julian Hayes. I spotted him by the bar, and if he was here, maybe Madeline was nearby too.

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