Page 41 of To Her

I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself, and wiped the steam from the mirror. The face that looked back at me was tired, the eyes holding a sadness I usually managed to hide.

"Get it together," I whispered to my reflection. "You're fine. You're always fine."

By the time I emerged from the bathroom, the others were getting ready for bed, arranging sleeping bags and pillows on the floor since the room only had two single beds. I claimed a spot near the window, away from the door, a habit from years of needing to know my escape routes.

As I settled into my sleeping bag, my phone finally buzzed with a

message from Con:

Made it back. Hope you're having fun. Miss you.

Three simple sentences that shouldn't have made my heart race, but did. I stared at the screen, unsure how to respond. Before Cam's revelation, I would have replied without thinking, something casual and friendly. Now, every word seemed loaded with potential meaning.

In the end, I kept it simple:

Glad you're back safe. We're just turning in. See you in a couple days.

I hesitated over adding "miss you too" but decided against it. It felt too much like an admission of something I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

As I drifted toward sleep, surrounded by the soft breathing and occasional snores of my friends, Nick's question followed me into my dreams: What are you so afraid of?

And in the vulnerable space between wakefulness and sleep, I allowed myself to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, what I was most afraid of wasn't getting hurt again.

Maybe what I was most afraid of was missing out on something real because I was too scared to take the risk.

Chapter 17

Geri

The next two days passed with skiing, drinking, dancing, and just letting go. I allowed myself to get lost in what we were doing. I left my phone back at the hotel and just lived in the moment for two days. It was nice to not think, to not worry for once.

Maybe this is what I needed more—to just be alone, be with friends, and to be without any complications in my life. But that was vacation life, that was just moment living, and even though we need to live in the moment to have happy memories, we also need to remember that life is long, and we need to prepare for the future. No one ever told me how hard it was to be an adult, how hard it was to live with feelings and have to consider others along the way.

The days blurred together in a haze of snow and laughter. We hit the slopes early each morning, skiing until our legs burned and our cheeks were numb from the cold. Afternoons were spent in cozy bars, warming up with hot drinks that gradually gave way to cold beers and shots as the day progressed. Evenings found us at the local pub, where the same band played each night, their familiar tunes becoming the soundtrack to our little escape from reality.

I didn't think about Con. I didn't think about Alex. I didn't think about Matt. I didn't think about my job or my future or my past. I just existed, present in each moment as it came, letting the sensations wash over me—the bite of cold air in my lungs, the rush of speed as I carved down a slope, the burn of alcohol in my throat, the vibration of bass through the floorboards as we danced.

It was freeing in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Maybe ever.

"You seem different," Jenny commented on our second night, as we sat at the bar waiting for drinks. "Lighter somehow."

I shrugged, not wanting to analyse it too deeply. "Just having fun."

"No, it's more than that," she insisted. "You're always so... I don't know, guarded? But these past couple days, it's like you've let your walls down a bit."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Had I let my walls down? I didn't feel particularly vulnerable or exposed. If anything, I felt more in control than I had in weeks—precisely because I wasn't thinking about all the complicated emotions and relationships waiting for me back in Alpine Ridge.

"Maybe I'm just drunk," I deflected with a laugh.

Jenny rolled her eyes but let it drop, accepting our drinks from the bartender and leading the way back to our table.

But her words stayed with me, an uncomfortable observation I wasn't quite ready to examine. Was I really that guarded all the time? Did people notice? Did it make me seem cold or unapproachable?

I pushed the thoughts away, determined not to let them intrude on my brief vacation from reality. There would be time enough for self-reflection later.

And then, suddenly, it was our last day. I had left my bags in Nick's SUV while we hit the slopes one final time. The day wasperfect—blue skies, fresh powder from an overnight snowfall, temperatures just cold enough to keep the snow pristine without freezing us solid.

I pushed myself harder than I had the previous days, tackling more challenging runs, seeking that rush of adrenaline that came with speed and risk. It was as if I was trying to store up enough sensation, enough living, to carry me through whatever waited back in Alpine Ridge.

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