Page 15 of Run Wild Omega

I turn away and focus on the descent, one foot in front of the other. I built this life. I know this mountain. I don’t need him to save me.

But as the first flakes of snow begin to fall, swirling around me like a curtain, I admit the one thing I never say out loud.

I wish he didn’t feel like a stranger. I wish that when he looked at me, he didn’t just see the guide. I wish he saw the girl who was still waiting for him to come home.

Instead, I zip my jacket up to my chin and lead the way down, leaving the ghost of him behind me on the ridge.

The descent is a nightmare. Miller sulks the entire way down, stomping his expensive snowshoes with the petulant aggression of a toddler denied candy. The other guys trail behind him, looking exhausted but relieved. They don’t complain. They just follow my tracks, heads down against the wind.

By the time we hit the tree line, the snow is falling hard, heavy white flakes that stick to eyelashes and coat our jackets in layers of white. The temperature has dropped ten degrees in an hour.

I usher them back to the Lodge, where Mrs. Lacey has hot cider waiting in the lobby. Miller ignores it, marching straight to the van without a backward glance. Gupta, however, pauses near the door.

“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight. He looks tired, pale. “Thanks for… you know. Not letting us go up there.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, softer than I’ve been all day. “Mountain is always here. The trick is living long enough to climb it again.”

He nods, managing a weak smile. “Yeah. I’ll tell Miller to chill on the review.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I wave him off.

They leave. I watch the taillights disappear down the road, then strip off my wet gear in the mudroom. Leo finds me there twenty minutes later, leaning against a locker while I try to unknot my boot laces.

“Rough day?” he asks, tossing me a bottle of water.

“The usual. Alphas with egos the size of Texas.”

“Miller?”

“Yep. Demanded the summit. I dragged him down by his ear.”

Leo laughs, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Good girl. Listen, you’re done. Go home. Rest.”

“And do what? Stare at the ceiling?” I finally get the knot undone and kick the boots off. “I think I’ll go to the Bluejay. Grab a burger. Hear the local gossip.”

“At least take a nap. You need your rest.”

I can nap for the rest of the day before going out for my beer.

“You’ve got a point. See you tomorrow?”

“Tell Wes I said hi.”

“I will.”

The Bluejay is packed, the air thick with the smell of fried pickles, cheap beer, and anticipation. It’s Thursday, which means karaoke night is just getting started. A local Beta is butchering a classic rock song on the small stage in the corner, the lyrics scrolling across a flickering screen.

I weave my way through the crowd, shedding my heavy coat and draping it over a barstool. Wes Calder is behind the bar, moving with an easy grace that defies the rush. He’s wearing a tight black T-shirt that shows off the muscles in his arms, a towel slung over his shoulder.

He spots me instantly, flashing a grin that has probably gotten him into more trouble than it’s gotten him out of.

“If it isn’t the mountain queen,” he says, sliding a cold glass across the polished wood before I even sit down. “The usual?”

“You know me too well, Wes.” I take a sip of the IPA. “Any exciting news today?”

Besides the tourists and the weather, I mean.

“Holly Dane was in earlier crying about her ex-husband again,” Wes says, keeping his voice low as he wipes down the counter. “And Sheriff Reddick is in the corner booth, trying to pretend he isn’t eating a slice of pie. Boring night.”