Page 70 of First Echo

And in that moment, I felt something shift inside me. Not like falling, which is what I'd feared since the first time I realized I was attracted to her. This felt like landing—solid, certain, a coming home I hadn't known I was searching for.

She reached me, slightly breathless, her cheeks pink with cold and exertion, her eyes bright with something that looked dangerously like joy. My note was clutched in her gloved hand, a detail that sent a ridiculous flutter through my chest.

"Hey," she said, as if we were picking up a conversation we'd just paused, as if there weren't a thousand unspoken things hanging between us.

"Hey yourself," I replied, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to reverent.

Her eyes searched mine, looking for what, I wasn't sure—regret? Uncertainty? She wouldn't find either. Whatever this was, whatever last night had started, I was all in. The realization should have terrified me, but instead, it filled me with a strange, steady calm.

"I got your note," she said, holding up the folded paper like evidence.

"Did it meet your exacting standards?" I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

Her answering smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. "It exceeded them actually. Very thoughtful of you."

"I'm nothing if not thoughtful," I replied, the double meaning clear in my voice, in the way I held her gaze a beat too long.

She blushed, the memory of exactly how thoughtful I could be clearly flashing across her mind. For a moment, we just looked at each other, the rest of the world fading to background noise—the chatter of other students, the mechanical whir of the lifts, the distant shouts of skiers on the slopes. None of it mattered compared to the electricity arcing between us, the gravity that seemed to pull us closer even as we stood still.

Then Madeline leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper, intimate and conspiratorial. "Let's skip this run. Come back to the room with me."

The implication was clear in her eyes, in the slight catch of her breath, in the way she swayed toward me almost imperceptibly. My body responded instantly, heat flooding through me at the thought of being alone with her again, of picking up where we'd left off last night.

But something held me back—not doubt, not reluctance, but a different kind of wanting. I wanted more than just stolen moments in a dark room. I wanted to see her laugh in the sunlight, wanted to share something with her beyond the intense, consuming passion that had overtaken us last night.

"I have a better idea," I said, not missing the flash of surprise in her eyes.

She opened her mouth to respond, but a voice cut through the moment, sharp and confused.

"Mads?"

Sam. Of course it was Sam.

He jogged toward us, confusion and concern etched across his handsome face. I didn't flinch, didn't look away, didn't retreat into guilt or shame. I simply waited, a strange calm settling over me as Madeline turned to face her boyfriend, her body angling slightly toward mine even as she addressed him.

"Hey," she said, her voice impressively steady. "I'm not feeling great. Gonna sit this one out."

It wasn't entirely a lie. There was something off in her voice, a strain that could easily be interpreted as physical discomfort rather than the emotional turmoil I knew she must be feeling.

Sam stepped forward, concern deepening. "I'll walk you back. Or stay with you."

The offer was so earnest, so genuinely caring, that I might have felt bad for him if I wasn't so completely focused on Madeline, on the tension radiating from her as she searched for a response that wouldn't hurt him but wouldn't separate us either.

Before she could speak, I cut in, my voice low and calm, with just a hint of possessiveness that surprised even me.

"She's good. I'll take her."

I didn't ask, didn't phrase it as a suggestion or a question. I simply stated it as fact, as if my right to be the one who cared for Madeline was already established, already understood. And then, in a move that felt both reckless and absolutely right, I reached for her hand, my fingers interlacing with hers.

The shock on Sam's face was immediate—confusion giving way to dawning realization as his gaze dropped to our linked hands. Madeline's fingers tightened around mine, not pulling away but gripping harder, as if drawing strength from the connection.

"We were just heading back," I added, my thumb brushing across her knuckles in a gesture that was unmistakably intimate.

Sam's eyes darted between us, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. "I... okay," he said finally, his voice hollow with confusion. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Madeline said quietly, and though I knew the words would hurt him, there was a firmness to them that made my heart swell.

I didn't wait for further discussion, for questions or accusations or the fallout that would inevitably come. I simply tugged gently on Madeline's hand and turned away, leading her through the crowd that had begun to gather, whispers following in our wake.

---