His mouth tightened. “I’m already blaming . . . everyone. The military. God.” He drew in a breath. “But in truth, I guess I want to know so I can . . . argue. I can get angry and find the right people to lash out at. Figure out what went wrong. I know it won’t help, but I just hate the randomness of life. That things happen that I can’t control, and it leaves me . . .”
“Broken?”
He looked away. “Busted up, maybe. Helpless.”
“And running away.” She didn’t know why she said that. But she met his gaze. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, because it felt so close to the mark for both of them, “Rian, I think you’re scared.”
He stiffened.
“I get it. Guys like you don’t get scared, but anger is just a big mask for fear.”
“I’m not scared. I’m—”
“Broken. Wounded. Trapped and not sure how to get out?”
“What are you, trying to psychoanalyze me?” His mouth tweaked into a smile, clearly trying to turn it into a joke.
She didn’t laugh. “I am a psychologist, remember. And, I specialize in PTSD.”
His smile fell. “Seriously?”
“I have my doctorate.”
“Because you had a nervous breakdown?”
She drew in a breath. “No—I was a psychologist before that.”
“And you used it to become an investigative reporter.”
Oh. Right now. She could tell him right—
“I don’t have PTSD.”
“Orion—”
“Really, I’m fine. I’m just—”
“Angry all the time? Hiding out in the woods? Avoiding humanity?”
Now he was angry, given the thinning of his lips. “Trying to figure out why life keeps turning on me.”
She swallowed. She could tell him the truth, but the fact was, it wasn’t just about life turning on him, but terrible miscalls in judgment, betrayal, lies, and—
“Hey.” He touched her arm. “It’s okay. Right now, life is on our side.”
“No—”
“Yes.” He set down his cup. “C’mere.”
He was sitting up, and now he unzipped the bivy bag.
“Orion, there’s only room for one.”
“Please. Jen. You’re not exactly a hippo. Get in here. We’re fully clothed. I promise, we just need to keep warm and survive the night. I’ll behave myself.”
That wasn’t the problem. She didn’t want him to know she was about to cry. But maybe he’d think it was the fact they were trapped fifty feet below an ice field, the snow accumulating above them . . . Yes, that was something to cry about.
But she was cold, and he was warm and . . . well, if they were going to die down here, maybe she’d do it in his arms. So she slipped off her boots, tied them by the laces, and clipped them to the ice screw. Then she shed her jacket.
He scooted over and she eased in next to him, facing him, trying not to bump his leg.
His arms went around her and he pulled her down to his chest, where she could settle her ear against his steady, safe heartbeat.
Yes, if they lived through tonight, then tomorrow, she would save this man’s life.
Aria was getting sicker. Her last bout of coughing had subsided, but tucked this close, with her asleep in his arms, Jake heard the rasping in her chest.
He wasn’t doing great, either. His bones ached and hunger was a beast in his gullet. Worse was his admission, skulking around in his head.
“I shot an innocent kid.”
He winced at the very words, torn out from inside him, a letting of blood and sorrow. Aria had looked at him, so much horror on her face a second before she reached out for him.
He’d practically fled inside Aria’s arms like some sort of crybaby. Except, holding on to her had helped. Just a little.
Or maybe a lot, especially when Aria had . . . oh, wow, she’d kissed him. Grabbed his face and gave him a kiss that had nearly made him forget he was in a tent on a mountain, nearly frozen.
Maybe it was pity, he didn’t know, but the way she kissed him made him feel forgiven and whole and maybe a little like the man he longed to be.
Which was why he’d backed away from her. Okay, maybe after he’d accidentally kicked her—smooth move, Silver. But her cry had made him slow down, find the pieces of his common sense that kissing her had scattered to the wind.
Down in Copper Mountain, on the dance floor, if she’d leaned into his ear and suggested a quick tumble he might have said yes. But here, trapped on a mountain with her, after knowing her—her literal broken heart, the death of her sister, her courage, and even her amazing achievements, the idea of indulging in something quick and meaningless turned his gut.
Not with Aria.
She coughed again, her body wracking, and he resisted the urge to hold her still.
Sasha, however, hadn’t moved for hours.
He had to get one of them off the mountain, or he’d have two dead women on his hands.
He pushed away the acid that climbed up his empty gut, waited until Aria’s body stopped trembling, then slowly peeled himself away from her, climbing over her body and pulling his warm sleeping bag over her.
He shivered as the air bit through his layers. But the wind had died, the tent no longer trembling.
He checked Sasha’s breathing—yes, still alive. He took her pulse, found it weak but steady. Maybe he’d make her some tea.
Sliding on his jacket, he unzipped the tent, grabbed his boots, and slid his polar-slippered feet into them. His boots were icy and stiff, just like his body as he slid out into the vestibule, and he fought the urge to turn around, climb back in beside Aria. He pulled out his stove and brought it out into the kitchen area, a protected area, now slightly snowed under. Retrieving his shovel, he dug out his work area, sifting through the options.
He could probably put Aria on his back. Carry her to Karstens Ridge. Maybe even leave her there, bivouacked, while he went back to fetch Sasha. But the last part of Karstens Ridge was too steep to descend with either of them on his back. Maybe he could lower Sasha, with Aria guiding her down.
At least then, they’d be down another three thousand feet. But Sasha needed immediate medical help.
Or, she might be beyond help.
He patted down his work area and set up the stove. Filling the pot with snow, he returned to the tent to grab his thermos of water. Aria was coughing again as he zipped the tent shut.
She needed to get to a lower elevation, and now.
He added water to the pot, the wind licking down his open jacket as he lit the flame.
The skies had cleared, and the valley unfurled before him, the Muldrow Glacier spread out like a layer of whipped topping.
Now. If he wanted to escape the mountain, it had to be now. The voice nearly rose up, audibly inside him, and he had the craziest sense that it might be God speaking to him, a little like he did to Ham.
He envied Ham, the way he could live in peace despite the broken pieces of his past.
Despite losing the woman he loved to Chechen rebels.
Yeah, Ham possessed some sort of divine insight that sometimes made Jake jealous. Hungry for some divine insight himself.
God, I could use some help here. He stared at the melting snow, his stomach roiling.
If he left Sasha behind in the tent, maybe he could get Aria down to a lower elevation, then climb back up and . . .