Page 75 of First Echo

We didn't fix everything in that moment. We didn't erase the complications waiting for us back at the resort—Sam's confusion, my friends' questions, the inevitable gossip that would follow. We didn't promise forever or make grand declarations.

But we chose each other. Here, now, in this small clearing on a mountain covered in snow, we chose to be real with each other, to be vulnerable, to step toward something neither of us fully understood but both desperately wanted.

And somehow, that was enough.

Eventually, reluctantly, we had to leave our sanctuary. The shadows were lengthening, the temperature dropping as afternoon faded toward evening. We had a bus to catch, rooms to pack up, a return to the real world that couldn't be postponed indefinitely.

Hand in hand, we made our way back through the trees, the toboggan dragging behind us, creating twin tracks in the snow that marked our path. I thought about those tracks, about how they would remain there after we were gone, visible evidence of our presence, of our connection, until the next snowfall covered them completely.

"Brooke?" I said as the resort buildings came into view in the distance.

"Hmm?" She turned to look at me, her profile sharp against the winter landscape.

"Thank you. For today. For..." I gestured vaguely, unable to articulate everything I meant. For seeing me. For wanting me anyway. For showing me a version of myself I never knew existed.

She smiled, that rare, genuine smile that transformed her face, that made my heart catch in my chest.

"We'll figure it out," she said simply, squeezing my hand.

"Together."

Together. The word echoed in my mind, unfamiliar yet comforting. I'd been surrounded by people my entire life—friends, family, admirers, hangers-on—but I'd never felt less alone than I did with Brooke by my side.

As we approached the edge of the woods, the noise and bustle of the resort growing louder with each step, I held onto that feeling, tucking it away like a talisman against whatever came next. We would face questions, complications, judgments. We would have to navigate the aftermath of what had started in the darkness of our room and continued in the bright sunlight of our private clearing.

But for now, for this moment, I allowed myself to simply be—to be with Brooke, to be uncertain but hopeful, to be more myself than I had ever been.

And it was enough. It was more than enough.

It was everything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

BROOKE

We were still laughing when we reached our room, stumbling through the door with snow melting in our hair and color high in our cheeks. My jacket was completely soaked through, my jeans stiff with ice around the ankles, but I barely noticed the discomfort. All I could focus on was Madeline beside me—her windburned cheeks, her bright eyes, the way her laugh seemed to fill every corner of the room.

But beneath the laughter, beneath the lingering high of our toboggan runs, something else simmered between us. A tension that had been building since our conversation in the clearing, a pull that hadn't quite been satisfied by our kisses in the snow. I could feel it in the way her eyes kept finding mine, in the slight catch in her breath when our hands brushed as we entered the room.

I had barely managed to toss my gloves on the dresser when Madeline moved. In two swift steps, she was in front of me, her fingers curling into the collar of my jacket, pulling me toward her with a certainty that stole my breath.

And then she was kissing me.

Not like in the snow—playful, exploratory, sunlit. This was different. Immediate. Consuming. Her lips pressed against mine with an urgency that made my knees weak, her body pushing mine back until I felt the wall behind me. Her fingers were cold against my neck as she deepened the kiss, but I barely registeredit, too lost in the heat of her mouth, the taste of her on my tongue.

I responded with equal fervor, my arms encircling her waist, lifting her slightly so that she had to tilt her head down to maintain the kiss. The small sound she made in the back of her throat sent electricity racing down my spine, igniting something primal and possessive deep within me. I kissed her like it was the only chance I'd get, like I could somehow convey through touch all the things I couldn't yet put into words.

We didn't speak. We didn't need to. Every press of lips, every sweep of tongue, every shared breath was a conversation unto itself—more honest, more direct than any words could have been.

My hands found their way beneath her jacket, spread wide against her back, feeling the heat of her through her thin shirt. She arched into me, her body fitting against mine as if designed for it, as if we'd been doing this for years instead of mere hours. One of her hands tangled in my hair, tugging lightly in a way that drew a low groan from me, a sound I hardly recognized as my own.

Time lost meaning as we stood there, locked together, the rest of the world fading to background noise. There was only Madeline—her taste, her scent, the soft curves of her body beneath my hands, the way she seemed to want me with the same desperate intensity that I wanted her.

Eventually, breathlessly, we broke apart. Her forehead rested against mine, our ragged breathing the only sound in the quiet room. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips swollen from our kisses, and I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life.

"We have to go soon," she whispered, though she made no move to step away, her hands still cupping my face as if she couldn't bear to let go.

"I know," I replied, equally reluctant to break the moment.

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