Page 23 of Sanctuary

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Life has never been kind to me. I’ve had to put up with the unthinkable and convince myself it wasn’t that bad. Maybe it will be easier when it’s over—if I never have to force myself up to my feet ever again.

My parents used to take us to Sunday School. I remember learning about heaven. Eternal peace and rest. As a child, it sounded boring to me, but now it’s like a dream. It’s all I want. Peace. The burden of living finally lifted.

Maybe it’s my time—up here in the snowy mountains alone.

I think about Del and how she’ll feel if I never come home. She’ll make Cole take her out to search for me. They’ll follow my trail. And probably never find my body. She’ll spend the rest of her life wondering.

I think about Aidan and how pleased he’ll be if I fail.

I still can’t stand up, but I start to crawl.

It’s agonizing. Every inch is terrifying since the wind never lets up. I do make some progress, but it’s slow.

I’m about two-thirds of the way across the bridge when I can finally see the other side. It’s not that far. Surely I can make it. With a new surge of will, I push myself back up to my feet. Take four steps before an even stronger gust of wind pushes me forward.

My feet slip in the fresh snow, and I fall forward, barely catching myself with my hands just in time before my face slams into the bridge.

I’m stunned and winded again. Frozen in place as I try to catch my breath.

I’m so out of it I don’t hear anything behind me even though I should. The first sign I have of another person’s presence is when strong hands reach down to lift me back up to my feet.

I squeal in astonishment but am fortunately too weak to struggle in the grip.

“Damn it, love, it’s me. Don’t you dare jerk away.” The voice is grumpy. Loud to be heard over the howling wind. And familiar.

I turn my head and blink up at him. Aidan. Looking as tense and fierce and snow-covered as a yeti. “You’re here?”

Yes, that’s what I say. In a ridiculously wobbly voice.

“Yes, I’m here. Why both of us haven’t given up this nonsensical contest is beyond me. But here we are. Equally brainless. Come on. We need to get across.”

I have no idea what’s happening and no idea why I’m so relieved to see him. Without any protest from me, Aidan pulls me backward, bringing me with him as he moves back behind his cart. He places both of my hands on the handles and then positions his on either side of them so he’s directly behind me, sheltering me with his bigger body.

“Push, love.”

I push. And so does he. If I was thinking better, I’d be nervous about the added weight of his cart, but it actually helps. Provides an anchor against the wind. I hold on and, blocked by Aidan’s body, I’m no longer at risk of being blown away.

We make it across the bridge in a few minutes.

As soon as my feet his more solid ground, I’m so relieved I almost cry.

I don’t, of course. I wouldn’t anyway but definitely not in front of Aidan.

“Thank you,” I tell him. He might always be a smug asshole, but he also probably saved my life.

And now I have no idea what to do. I want to stick with him since it will be so much safer, but I can’t imagine he would want that.

“We’re not out of this yet. Why don’t we find shelter and wait out the storm, and then we can return to hating each other after our lives aren’t actively at risk?”

I make a weird sound. Half laugh, half sob. “That sounds like a good plan.”

He nods, his face barely visible beneath his blowing hair, the scarf he has pulled up over his mouth, and the caked snow. “Good. It’s a deal then.”

We start going again, both of us pushing his cart, but side by side rather than with him behind me like on the bridge. At first, the road is better than on the previous mountain, curving around at only a slight incline. We stay far away from the drop on one side and use the protection of the mountain to our advantage.

But eventually the road begins a steeper incline. Much steeper than anything we’ve had to deal with yet. We have to exert more force to keep pushing the cart up. It becomes crystal clear to me that he’d never get this cart up without my help, so at least I know I’m helping him as much as he helped me.

I’ll take his help to save my life, but I’d rather not feel like I owe him.

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