4 months, 3 weeks after rescue
I blew into the snow and it poofed, a hundred snowflakes bursting into the air, the wind sweeping a blast of them back into my face and I giggled, wiping a gloved hand over my ski mask. I looked around for Brett, the canvas of white before me blank and uninterrupted. Behind me, the glow of the cabin beckoned, the interior lights illuminating the cozy interior through the huge expanse of windows. I let out a long breath, the act frosting in the air before me, and looked up, into the night sky.
Out here, a galaxy above me, my view fringed with snow-capped branches and falling flurries, I feel— OOMPH. I stagger back, spitting out snow as I bat at my mask, the reaction futile as I am hit with another snowball, my twisting defense causing me to fall, one big awkward pile of fleece, my feet going up? gloved hands struggling to scrape at the snow, to form my own missile in which to destroy my opponent.
“Easy there,” Brett’s voice, his hot breath, warms my ear in the moment before he tackles me, pinning my arms and rolling with me down the slight hill. We roll to a stop, his mouth stealing a frigid kiss against an exposed patch of neck. “If you hit me with one of those, I’ll be forced to withhold hot chocolate.”
I dropped the partially formed snowball and held up my hands, grinning up at him. “A highly effective threat. I surrender.”
“Promise?” he tilts his head at me suspiciously. “You’ll be mine, forever and ever?”
“Forever and ever,” I whisper. “As long as that sentence comes with hot chocolate.”
His mouth twitches and he lets out a troubled sigh. “I can’t promise hot chocolate...” He pushes off and offers me his hand. “But I do have this?” He pulls me to my feet, us doing a seesaw when I right and he drops, onto one knee, his other hand lifting and holding out a ring box. “Riley, will you marry me?”
When I gasp, there is a cloud of smoke, and through it I see his smile. “I can’t open it with these damn gloves,” he says sheepishly.
I drop to my knees before him and wrap my arms around him. “Yes,” I say in a giant marshmallow hug of material. “I don’t need to see it. Yes.”
He squeezes me so tightly I laugh, his arms managing to lift us both up to standing. “Forever?” he asks, setting me down and stepping back, pulling me up the hill, towards the house. Through the glass, I see my girls, a few nosy ones at the window, their hands cupping the glass, Chelsea in the background holding up a champagne bottle. Brett’s friends, the same men who were there the night I was rescued, are scattered throughout the room, one ... I squint ... mid-kiss with Megan? I stifle a smile and turn back to my future husband.
“Yes, Brett. Forever.”
He pumps his fist in the air, and everyone inside jumps up and cheers, the muffled cry passing through the glass to us. I jog a few steps, catching up, and let him pull me against his side.
The word ‘tight’ has twenty-two definitions, but my favorite is Webster’s fifth - “a bond which cannot be broken.” We had survived secrets, suspicions, and separation, and perhaps been strengthened by all of it in some ways. Once he broke down and told me about Elyse, it all made sense. My suspicions found their answers and he found my trust. Now, we had no secrets, and a vow to never keep any. He had saved me from hell, and healed me back to life, all in less than two years. We were one unit and not only could our bond not be broken, it would only strengthen with time.