Alpine Embrace

Chapter 6

The silence of a powered-down house is heavy. It presses against your ears. But the cold... the cold is a predator.

It didn't creep in; it rushed in. Without the hum of the furnace, the chalet’s massive windows, even buried under snow, became sheets of ice radiating a chill that settled instantly into the floorboards.

"Jaxon?" I called out into the gloom.

A beam of light cut through the hallway. Jaxon emerged from the utility room, a heavy industrial flashlight in his hand. The beam illuminated his face, casting harsh shadows that made the hollows of his cheeks look deeper, his scowl sharper.

He looked pissed.

"It’s dead," he announced, his voice flat. "The transfer switch is frozen solid. I can't bypass it without risking blowing the whole panel. We have no electricity."

"For how long?" I asked, pulling the sleeves of his oversized hoodie down over my knuckles.

"Until I can thaw it out. Which I can't do without a heat gun. Which requires electricity." He let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "It’s a catch-22."

"Okay," I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice for Mia’s sake. The little girl was still sitting on the barstool, clutching her penguin, her eyes wide and dark in the shadows. "So, what’s the plan? We have coats. We have blankets."

"That won't be enough," Jaxon said. He walked into the living room and shone the flashlight at the ceiling. "This place has vaulted ceilings. Twenty feet high. All the heat from the fire is going to rise straight up and disappear into the rafters. The bedrooms will be iceboxes in an hour."

He turned the light on me. I squinted against the glare.

"We have to consolidate," he said. "We move everything to the living room. We build a perimeter around the fire. We sleep there."

"Like a sleepover?" Mia piped up, her voice small.

Jaxon softened instantly. He lowered the light so it wasn't blinding us. "Exactly like a sleepover, peanut. But better. We're going to build a fortress."

"A snow fortress?"

"A pillow fortress," he corrected. "Kelsea, grab every candle you can find. Check the drawers in the sideboard. I’m going to get the mattresses."

"You're going to move the mattresses?" I asked. "By yourself?"

"Unless you've been hiding a background in powerlifting, yes." He handed me the flashlight. "Light the place up. Make it bright. Don't let her get scared."

He disappeared into the dark hallway.

"Okay, ninja," I said to Mia. "Mission accepted. Operation Candlelight is a go."

For the next twenty minutes, we scavenged. I found a stash of thick, unscented pillars in a drawer and arranged them on the coffee table and the mantle. As I struck the matches, the room transformed.

The harsh gray gloom was replaced by a flickering, amber warmth. The shadows danced on the timber walls. It went from "survival horror" to "atmospheric romance" in about thirty seconds.

Then came the thudding.

Jaxon reappeared, dragging a twin mattress from Mia’s room. He hauled it into the living room and flopped it down near the hearth.

"One," he grunted.

He went back. A few minutes later, he returned with a queen-sized mattress, presumably from the guest room. He had it balanced on his back, his arms hooked around the edges.

I watched him maneuver it through the doorway. The man was a machine. I could see the muscles in his thighs flexing under his jeans as he braced himself, lowering the heavy bulk to the floor.

"Two," he exhaled.

"Do you need help with yours?" I asked. "The master mattress must be..."

"King size," he finished. "And memory foam. It weighs a ton. It stays. I'll take the floor."

"You can't sleep on the floor," I argued. "It’s freezing."

"I've slept on worse. Besides," he gestured to the two mattresses pushed together in front of the fire. "There's not enough room for three."

He wasn't wrong. The setup was intimate. The mattresses were practically touching, creating a soft island in the sea of hardwood.

"We need walls," Jaxon said, looking around. "To trap the heat."

He grabbed the sofa, a massive, leather L-shaped beast, and shoved it until it formed a barrier behind the mattresses. He dragged two armchairs to close off the sides.

It was a nest. A very expensive, leather-bound nest.

"This is cool," Mia whispered, climbing onto her mattress. She bounced once. "It's like a cave."

"It is a cave," Jaxon said. He threw a mountain of blankets onto the pile, duvets, wool throws, even the fur rug from the hallway. "Get under the covers, Mia. Deep under."

"But I want to help," she protested.

"You are helping," he said, tucking a duvet around her until she was a chaotic burrito of fabric. "You're warming up the bed."

He turned to me. "You too. Get in."

"I can help carry—"

"Get in," he barked. "Your lips are blue."

I touched my mouth. They felt numb. The temperature had plummeted faster than I realized. I climbed onto the guest mattress, pulling a heavy wool blanket over my shoulders.

Jaxon didn't join us. He stayed on the perimeter, feeding the fire. He stacked log after log until the flames were roaring, cracking loudly in the quiet room.

He stood there for a long time, staring into the flames. The firelight licked at his profile, highlighting the scowl that seemed etched into his features. He looked like a sentinel. A guard dog watching for wolves.

"Jaxon," I said softly.

He didn't turn. "Yeah?"

"Come sit down. You're making me cold just looking at you standing there."

He hesitated, then finally sat on the edge of the mattress, my mattress. He kept his back to me, facing the fire.

"We have enough wood for two days," he said, his voice low so Mia wouldn't hear. "If we burn it conservative. But with this draft..."

"We'll be fine," I said, trying to sound convinced. "The storm has to break eventually."

"Eventually isn't a timeline I like." He rubbed his face with his hands. "I should have checked the switch. I should have known."

"Jaxon," I reached out, my hand hovering over his shoulder before retreating. I didn't want to poke the bear. "You're a hockey player, not an electrician. And you couldn't have predicted a 'code red' blizzard."

He turned his head slightly. "It's my job to keep her safe. That's the only job that matters."

"She is safe," I said. "Look at her."

He looked. Mia was buried in the blankets, only her curls and the beak of her penguin visible. She was fast asleep, the stress of the morning forgotten in the novelty of the 'cave.'

"She thinks this is an adventure," I whispered. "Because you made it one."

He watched his daughter for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders uncoiling just a fraction.

"You're good with her," he said. It sounded like an accusation.

"I like kids," I shrugged. "They're honest. Adults lie. Kids just tell you that your hair looks like a bird's nest and that they want pancakes."

"You're a cynic," he said, recalling our conversation from the kitchen.

"I'm a realist. The world is messy. People let you down. But kids... kids are just chaos. I respect chaos."

He actually chuckled. It was a rusty sound, low and dry. "Chaos. Yeah. That's one word for it."

He shifted, turning his body so he was facing me properly. He was close. In the small enclosure of the furniture fort, the air between us felt charged. I could smell the woodsmoke on his skin, mixed with the sweat of his exertion moving the furniture.

"Why are you so cynical, Kelsea?" he asked. "You're young. You have... talent."

"I have a talent for drawing people's misery," I corrected. "And I'm thirty-two. That's practically ancient in the graphic novel industry. I'm supposed to be the voice of a generation, but mostly I just complain about dating apps and inflation."

"And the boyfriend?" he asked. "The one you mentioned."

I flinched. "Brad. The lawyer."

"What did he do?"

"He slept with my best friend. On my mattress. Which, ironically, was not a memory foam king, so I hope their backs hurt."

Jaxon didn't laugh this time. His expression darkened. "Coward."

"Yeah," I said, pulling the blanket tighter. "He wanted the easy way out. Didn't want to have the 'breakup talk,' so he forced my hand. People are lazy when it comes to hurting others."

"Not everyone," Jaxon said quietly.

"No?" I challenged softly. "What about you? You hiding a broken heart under all that flannel, Jaxon?"

I regretted the question as soon as it left my mouth. The inscription in the book. The piano in the dark. E.

He went still. The firelight seemed to retreat from his eyes, leaving them cold and distant.

"My heart isn't broken," he said, his voice void of emotion. "It’s gone. Buried."

He stood up abruptly. The movement sent a draft of cold air rushing into the warm pocket of the fort.

"I need to get more wood from the porch," he said.

"Jaxon—"

"Go to sleep, Kelsea. Save your heat."

He walked away, stepping out of the circle of candlelight and into the darkness of the house.

I watched him go. I listened to the heavy latch of the door, the whistle of the wind as he stepped out into the storm, and the slam as he returned.

He didn't come back to the mattresses. He sat in one of the armchairs that formed the wall of our fort, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the fire.

I lay down, staring at the flickering shadows on the ceiling.

It was going to be a long, cold night. And the man guarding the fire was the coldest thing in the room.

But as I drifted off, watching his silhouette against the flames, I couldn't help but notice one thing.

He had angled the armchair so he blocked the draft from the hallway. He was using his own body as a shield to keep the wind off me and Mia.

Maybe his heart wasn't gone. Maybe it was just frozen.

And God help me, I wanted to be the one to thaw it out.