Page 37 of Run Wild Omega

The question pounds in my head with every beat of my heart. Why is she up there?

I told her. I told her the slopes were unsafe. She agreed. She’s been respecting the closures all week. She’s smart. She’s cautious.

So why the fuck did she go up today?

Did I do this? Did my presence in the café rattle her enough to send her running to the one place she thinks I won’t go?

The thought makes me sick.

We screech to a halt at the lower turnout. The wind is already howling, a mournful scream through the trees. Snow is horizontal, blasting against the windshield.

I throw the truck into park.

“There.”

I point through the swirling white.

Tess’s Jeep.

I stare at it.

My heart drops. It doesn’t just fall; it plummets, crashing through my stomach and hitting the floor of the cab.

I have only felt fear like this once before.

We were seventeen. It was summer, hot and sticky, the air thick with pollen and dread. We were sitting on the tailgate of my old truck behind the gas station.

We had done it. We had been stupid and young and in love, and we had crossed a line we couldn’t uncross.

She handed me the plastic stick.

I remember the silence. The absolute, suffocating silence as we watched the window.

Two minutes.

I remember the way my hands shook so badly I almost dropped it. I remember the way the color drained from her face, leaving her pale as a sheet.

I was terrified. I was absolutely, shit-myself terrified.

I thought my life was over. I thought I had ruined her life. I saw the future—poverty, judgment, struggle, us becoming our parents, trapped and resentful.

I convinced her to take another pregnancy test, and it was negative. So were the next two. The relief was temporary, but the terror was permanent.

It was a bullet dodged, but I knew we wouldn’t get lucky twice. Every time I looked at her, I didn’t see the girl I loved anymore—I saw the absolute certainty that next time, those lines would be positive. I couldn’t breathe under the weight of it. I couldn’t live through that suffocating countdown again, and I couldn’t risk dragging her down with me when our luck inevitably ran out.

I broke up with her two days later because the fear of another scare was paralyzing, and I had to walk away before we ruined each other for good.

Now, looking at her empty Jeep, door open to the storm, I feel that same cold, clawing panic in my gut.

Only this is worse. Then, I was afraid of a life I didn’t want. Now I’m afraid of losing a life I can’t live without.

“Wyatt.” Dylan’s hand is on my shoulder, gripping tight. “Breathe, brother. We’re here. We’re going to get her.”

Snapping myself out of it, I shove the door open and jump out into the snow.

“Miles, status on the slope,” I command as I check my beacon. The transceiver chirps, displaying the signal strength of her unit.

Weak. Too weak.