Page 60 of Wrapped in Winter


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She hugs me, wrinkling her nose as she pulls away. My clothes must smell worse than I thought. “I wish I was bunking off with you. And be careful, though they’ve done the controlled explosions now.”

I nod.

“See you later,” she says. “Text me if there’s anything. I’ll keep an ear and eye out for trouble.”

“Thanks, Em.”

A few minutes later, I’ve made my escape and have a ski pass in my sleeve pocket. I head to the cable car and ascend the mountain, enjoying the panoramic view.

This is what I needed: views, space, snow, mountains. This is why my family returned to Aspen, unable to endure the Manhattan lifestyle any longer.

As I exit the cable car, I have to keep reminding myself it’s Christmas Day, and that I got a beautiful present from Brecken, Reuben, and Luca that I’ll need to return. I know they want this to work out. I just need to decide if I want it more than not wanting it, which should be a pretty easy decision. And as for the brother bombshell, I’m not offended by that, not upset or disgusted. It might be a scenario I’ve not experienced yet, well, beforethem, but it does seem to lend a few more fires to the hotness rating.

And it explains why they set out the terms of a relationship, even though they’ve fucked women together before. And while I will willingly submit to each of them individually, I’d be denying myself a fantasy that’s crossed my mind before. Brothers. And three of them attending to me at once.

Working out which runs to take distracts me from my dirty thoughts. Choosing a different route to the ones I used with the guys, I ski in the direction of a two-man chair lift. It takes me to an easy red run, winding down to a junction that has me speeding along a narrow pass to the other side of the mountain. The slopes are busy, and the network of lifts carrying me up gives me time to reflect on family and what I want for myself. What I want out of life.

Which is Aspen. Luca, Brecken, and Reuben.

After an hour’s skiing, I’m at the very top of the mountain. It’s windy up here, exposed. To the south are the sunny groomed runs, but to the rear of the mountain are off-piste routes, already carved with skis. Enviously, I watch a group of four skiers traverse the deep snow in precise, experienced turns, everything from mid-calf and below hidden by recent snow.

Not giving myself time to think, I follow them.

I ignore the warning signs, advising of danger. Instead, I focus on the skiers. Already, they’re halfway down the mountain, but knowing I can see their bright jackets brings me comfort. Visibility is excellent, the sky a bright blue after days of silver-gray clouds.

Ignoring a shout from behind me, I focus on the sound of the snow, and my form as I glide effortlessly through it. Behind me, others follow; I catch a blur of movement every turn or so. There’s another shout just before the terrain changes, a steep drop into a bowl-shaped section. Thrilled and terrified, I adjust my form as I whip down and through, looking ahead for the group of four.

From my periphery, I see a black jacket. My stomach twists with recognition. Looking further back, I spot the familiar jackets of Brecken and Reuben.

There’s another shout from Luca who’s nearest to me.

And then I hear it, that stomach-dropping sound that has lived in me since the day my family died under six feet of snow. A thunderous crack that fills every cell in my body with innate fear, and the terrifying sound of thousands of tons of snow and ice that you have no hope of out-running.

The snowunder my skis trembles. In a matter of seconds, it will be like a rug has been tugged from under my feet.

Luca skis towards me, shouting, “This way!” He lifts his ski pole, pointing to our two o’clock. We head immediately to our right, towards an overhang, casting frantic looks behind to see how many seconds we have before it’s game over. Reuben and Brecken flank me, ushering me along with their heavier weight and strength as we drop into a tuck and race for that granite protection, adrenaline ice cold in my veins.

Snow pelts us from behind, a whole cloud of it whiting out my view. I cry out, my pulse racing as the deafening sound of the avalanche surrounds me. But we have momentum and gravity too, even if we’re slicing across the slope at a hard angle to avoid the worst of it,

When we reach safety, we skid to a dead stop, skis clashing as we hunker down behind that thirty-foot tall rock. I’m bundled into the center, three tall, protective bodies shielding me from the snow that crashes over the top like ocean spray, buffeting us. A river of snow comes past the near corner, mere feet from our pile of tangled skis. We crush together, alarmed words drowned out by the destructive force of nature.

A half minute later, I start to feel like the hounds of hell aren’t nipping at my heels so fiercely, the tide of white drawing to a stop.

“Jesus, that was close.” Reuben. “Everyone alright?”

I’m shaking so hard I can’t function. All I want to do is drop to the snow and will some strength into my muscles.

“There were four people ahead of me,” I tell them, ripping off a glove and fumbling for my cell. I call the emergency number, relaying every detail I can in a tremulous voice. And then I fold in half, reliving that fateful day and the way I was swept up, falling, tumbling, drowning in snow.

Squatting next to me, Brecken puts a protective arm around me. Three voices overlap about what to do next. About the stability of the slope and if they should look for the others.

Roo pulls out a ski map from his pocket. We’re not survival experts with tracking equipment, able to locate the people we saw. And there’s still a risk of further avalanches. We’re still exposed on a section of the mountain. But I know it well so I make a suggestion. "This granite offers us some protection for anything else that’s unstable above us. The pines are seventy meters away, max. We head straight for them, and through until we reach the road that will curve round and back to the pistes, delivering us to the cable car and the hotel.”

The trees will offer us cover if we need it. I have to hope to god we don’t.

The snow cloud has settled, so with reassuring looks, we race for the pines below. We weave amongst the trees until we reach the road, making tight turns as we take a breath, aware of what we escaped.

Silently we keep going. I fall three times, drained and lost to memories. After a while, the runs turn more familiar as we enter the heavily populated areas. When I see the cable car, I start to weep. I lift my goggles and wipe the tears away, angry at myself. I put myself in danger. I could’ve died.

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