Page 63 of On the Mountain

It was as if someone had hit a button and opened up the sky. The snow fell harder and harder, my visibility getting worse, the goggles collecting moisture. Everything in front of me was just fog and white, my stomach twisting, chest aching as I hoped and prayed that if there really was anyone out there, they would make sure I got to Crow. I just needed to get to Crow.

It felt like I’d been traveling up the mountain for a whole day, which clearly wasn’t possible. I stopped to check my phone again, the blinking circle that was home still there but looking too far for comfort.

I got going again, my breathing becoming more difficult, but I was pretty sure that was just because of the fear. I breathed out a sigh of relief when I reached the fence, then followed it until it ended, and I turned toward home again.

My head hurt from my eyes squinting while I tried to see. By the time I noticed the thick, brown barrier in front of me, it was too late. I must have veered off path somehow and hadn’t realized. I didn’t have time to react before the snowmobile rammed into the tree and I went flying.

I’m so sorry, Crow.

My shoulder slammed into a tree, pain shooting through it. All I could think at first was to be thankful it wasn’t my head, or that I hadn’t hurt one of my legs because there was a good chance I was going to have to walk.

I shoved to my feet, stumbling slightly. My head did ring some, but I didn’t have time to think about that right now. The backpack had flown off me, so I looked around, finding it about ten feet away, and grabbed that first. I hooked it onto my right shoulder, but my left was already screaming at me. Any time I tried to move, it felt like someone was trying to rip my arm off.

Ignore it. You have to ignore it and get to Crow.

I patted my pocket, unzipped it, thankful I’d closed the phone inside. Home still blinked for me, calling my name. The house, yes—I felt more at ease in Crow’s cabin than I ever had anywhere else—but even more than that, it was because of the man inside. He was my home, and I needed to get to him.

I rushed over to the snowmobile. It had turned off when I’d been thrown off, the emergency key Crow had shown me having done its job. I climbed on, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, the cold, and tried to restart it.

Nothing.

I tried a second time and a third. Nothing happened. “Fuck!” I shouted. Why couldn’t I stop fucking up?

Shoving off the machine again, I pulled the phone out and started to walk—trying not to focus on the fact that I’d just wrecked Crow’s snowmobile, or anything that would take up space in my head while I needed to focus on getting to him.

My teeth chattered, legs started to feel heavier and heavier. It felt like my insides were frozen, like my limbs were blocks of ice. Every time I fell, I fought to get to my feet again. Crow, Crow, Crow. I said his name over and over in my head, the only thing that kept me going.

My pulse felt like it was slowing, my heart too, my legs like concrete, unable to move. I fell, face landing in the snow.

Get up, get up, get up.

Crow’s mouth on mine, his hands on my skin, the way he looked at me, eyes filled with words he didn’t know how to say.

Get up, get up, get up.

Being on my knees for him, his cock in my mouth, anchoring me. His dick inside me, the greatest salvation I’ve ever known.

Get up, get up, get up.

Crow bathing me, cooking for me.

His rough voice saying one simple word: need.

He needed me.

I needed him.

Which meant I needed to get the fuck up.

I pushed onto my knees.

I’m coming, Crow.

I looked ahead, and in the distance I saw a light, saw home.

I checked the phone, but it had gone black. I tried to open the screen, but nothing popped up. Maybe snow had gotten inside. Maybe I was delusional. Maybe I was dead. I didn’t know, but I was going toward that light, hoping like hell it was really there.

I pushed harder than I ever had in my life, stumbling but still going as I rushed toward what I hoped was home.

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