He pressed against his gut, feeling like he might retch.
Behind him the tent zipper sounded. He turned just as Aria crawled out of the tent.
“What are you doing? Get back inside.”
“What is this, gulag? I’m not your prisoner.” She climbed to her feet, steadying herself on a nearby ice axe that she’d picked up.
“No, but you are sick.”
“I’m fine.” She limped over to him. “What are you doing?”
“Making water.”
She stared at it, back at him. The wind trickled her dark hair over her face. She wiped it back. “Jake—”
“It’s time, Aria.” He couldn’t look at her. “You’re getting sicker, and you need to get to a lower altitude. I don’t think I can carry both of you.”
“You don’t have to carry me! Look, I can walk.” She turned away from him and took one step, leaning hard on the axe. Then another.
On the third, she slipped, and cried out.
He could have let her fall into the snow to prove his point, but he caught her, pulling her up into his arms. “Stop trying to be brave.”
She pushed out of his arms. “No.” She turned to him, her eyes bright with tears. “You can’t leave Sasha here.”
“I’ll come back for her. I just need to get you to a lower level—”
“What if you can’t? She’ll die. And you can’t carry her the entire way. You’re weak, too. You’ll fall.” Her jaw tightened, as if she might be trying not to cry.
“I’m going to give Sasha some water, and then we’re leaving.”
The wind whipped between them, her eyes fierce in his. “I hate you.”
He took her words into him, absorbed them with a nod. “Yeah, well, get in line. I hate myself.”
He turned away from her, picking up a spoon to stir the melting snow.
Next to him, she coughed.
He winced. “Listen, I have a plan. We’ll put her into your sleeping bag, she’ll be warm, and we’ll share mine, and . . .”
“Please, Jake—”
“I can’t carry her and you!”
“Then take her. I’ll be fine.”
He rounded on her. “Please, Aria. Don’t do this to me—”
“Don’t make me live at the cost of my friend!” Her eyes turned wild. “Don’t make me live while someone I love dies. I can’t do it again.”
He stared at her, at the tears that flushed her face. “Aria? Do what again?”
“I . . . I have my sister’s heart.”
He froze. What?
“Her heart—she died, and I got her heart. It’s why I can do all the things—it was an identical match.”
Oh no, please—
She covered her face with her hands, unmittened, and they must be freezing. In fact, she’d come outside without her jacket, and now he reached for her, pulling her into his open jacket.
“She died, and I lived, and I can’t do that again.”
He closed his eyes and just held her. Because yes, he knew what it felt like to have someone you loved die—and sure, it wasn’t her fault, but she’d had to keep living. With her sister’s heart in her body.
Yeah, that wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry, Doc.”
She slid her arms around his waist and held on.
His heart might be tearing apart, tiny fissures growing and ripping and widening and—
“I hear something.” She lifted her head.
He heard it too, now, and let her go, cupping his hand over his eyes. She stood next to him, shivering, also scanning the horizon.
Shucking off his jacket, he draped it over her shoulders.
The whump-whump rhythm of a chopper deepened, pulsed through him—
A bird appeared over Karstens Ridge. Deep red, a dollop of life against the white peak. He waved his arms, crazily near tears.
The radio crackled in his jacket pocket. “Denali camp, come in.”
A voice he didn’t recognize, but he didn’t care. He fished out the radio. “Denali camp, here.”
“We see you. We’re sending down a line.”
“Let’s get Sasha bundled up,” he said to Aria.
She was crying.
They had Sasha tucked into two sleeping bags and out of the tent by the time the chopper had lowered an Alaskan pararescue jumper with his basket down to their camp. And with him came—
“Ham, you son of a gun.”
“Sorry we took so long.” Ham unhooked from his line and crunched through the snow toward Jake. “Things got a little complicated.”
Ham looked windburned, sunburned, and ragged, his blond beard in snarls, his eyes a little bloodshot. “How’s Sasha?”
Jake’s mouth formed a thin line as he shook his head. “I dunno. Still breathing.” His throat thickened with that news as Ham and the PJ secured Sasha in the basket.
The PJ attached himself to the basket and the chopper hoisted them aloft.
Jake covered his head as the wind whipped up around them, shivering their tent. “Now Aria.”
She had slipped on her boots, leaving one untied, and her jacket and hat. The harness came back down on the cable and Ham grabbed it, unhooking the harness while he held the cable.
Jake turned to Aria, the wind, the roar of the chopper nearly drowning out his words. “I told you I’d get you off this mountain.” He knelt before her as he held out the harness legs.
Balancing on his shoulders, she lifted her injured ankle and slid that in. Blew out a hard breath as she lowered it.
“Wait,” he said. “No. I said I’d carry you if I had to.” Then he stood up and swept her up into his arms. “Ham. Can you help get this harness on her?”
Sure, it was charming, but really, he just wanted to hold her one last moment, the curve of her, the warmth imprinted on him.
He didn’t know what it was about Doctor Aria Sinclair, but in a strange way, when she was with him, he felt healed. At least a little.
Ham worked the harness onto her legs, then Jake reluctantly set her down and steadied her as Ham fitted it over her shoulders and snapped her in.
“Are you coming, Jake?” she asked.
“Not yet. I need his help,” Ham said as he clipped her into the line. He waved to the chopper. “Orion and Jenny are missing.”
Jake froze, shot him a look. Ham gave him a thin-lipped nod.
Maybe Aria didn’t hear it because up top, the PJ began to hoist her up.
Jake guided her up, letting her go to swing free into the sky. He watched her all the way to the deck of the chopper.
“It’ll be back for us and we’ll search the mountain,” Ham said. “Let’s pack up.”
He was still staring at the chopper, watching as the PJ secured her into safety. Then the bird veered away from the mountain, into the blue sky.
Thanks for the dance, Hot Lips.
What if they never left?
Of course, the thought was not only crazy but lethal, because if they didn’t freeze to death, they’d starve. Still, as Orion held Jenny, her body warm as she rested her head on his chest, her breaths even, her blonde hair silky against his cheek, he didn’t hate the idea.
He didn’t know why being with her awakened a dormant hope, a sense of peace he hadn’t had since . . . well, since the last time he’d held her, the stars spilling across the sky, blinking at him. Watching.