Snowbound with the Billionaire Single Dad

Chapter 2: When Mountains Betray

The weather report was not truthful.

It was my mistake to trust the situation that was too good to be true, however, after driving for twenty-three hours during which gas station coffee and my thoughts going around in circles were the only company, I had lost my patience. Light snow with a total of about one or two inches was all the app on my phone had predicted; nothing that a careful driver couldn’t handle.

What I experienced, however, was winter in hell.

The first few snowflakes began to come down around the time of 4 PM, delicate and lovely, snowflakes of the type that could transform the entire scenery into a postcard. I had even smiled, which was the first real smile since I had left Boston, thinking that perhaps this trip would not be an entirely disastrous one. Perhaps I would get my Christmas movie moment after all, with the cozy cabin and the fresh snow and the opportunity to discover who I was without anyone telling me that I was doing it wrong.

The visibility of the road was completely cut off by the time it was 5 PM.

It was as if the snow was falling in sheets, at an aggressive rate and so thick that the world was under a whiteout. My windshield wipers were working with all the might they had and yet still, they were not able to keep up with the snow coming down. The road was completely covered with white and I was driving blind, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that it was painful for the knuckles.

“It’s okay,” I voiced to the empty space as my voice brought a kind of comfort that I was not the only one at the world’s end. “You are okay. Just drive carefully. You have done it before, you have been in snow.”

But not this one. Never this one.

The snow in Boston that I was accustomed to was snow from the city, which was usually practical since it was plowed and salted. This was mountain snow, the one that devoured everything without leaving a trace and without offering excuses. The wind was howling and pushing my car sideways while my tires were just spinning uselessly every time I tried to speed up.

Ten minutes ago, my phone had lost the signal. The GPS had got stuck in the last direction of four miles to the cabin, but I still had no clue whether I were on the right road or if I had mysteriously drifted off to nothingness.

“Four miles,” I murmured. “You just have to get through four miles.”

The mountain path made a very sharp turn at that moment, I could hardly notice it because of the snow, and I let the brake pedal gradually take my foot's weight. If I do it too hard, I will skid. On the other hand, if I do it too soft, I won't slow down enough for the turn.

I made my move and touched the brake.

However, the car did not respond by slowing down.

The situation escalated, my heart was up in my throat and I stomped down, then harder and the brake pedal felt like it was made of air as it went soft beneath my foot. The words froze in my mind just as the car started to rotate half a second before the car started to spin.

Everything went sideways.

The world tilted, with snow and darkness mixed up and I was not able to tell where in the tangle was the front anymore. My stomach was in my mouth. A shout escaped from my mouth. The steering wheel was yanked and pulled in my hands as if something alive was trying to break free, and then,

Collision.

The car banged into something hard, snow bursting up into the view from the windshield and my body was pushed forward and against the seatbelt. A sharp pain went through my chest. My head was forced back and hit the headrest. After that, everything was still.

Stillness.

Actually, there was no stillness. The wind outside continued to howl, at the same time, shaking the car, but the engine was silent. Absolutely silent. I was still there, catching my breath, my fingers still gripping the steering wheel, my whole body trembling very violently to the point that I thought I might fall apart.

"Okay," I sighed. "Okay, you're alright."

But I was not okay.

Somewhere on a mountain road, I was caught in a snowbank with no signal, no engine, and a storm that was getting worse. The temperature inside the car was already very low. I noticed my breath producing clouds in front of me.

I gave the ignition a try. Nothing. I gave my mobile phone a try. No signal, no GPS, just a battery icon with 23% showing, and it is draining fast because of the cold.

This was very bad. This was extremely, extremely bad.

I was whispering to myself, "Don't panic," but my voice sounded thin and high. "People get stuck in snow all the time. Someone will come. Someone always comes."

The thing is I had been driving on this road for twenty minutes already and had not spotted another vehicle. Not even one. Because seriously, who among us would be so foolish as to take a car to a mountain in a blizzard on Christmas Eve?

Apparently, me. The same fool who, on a mere impulse, squandered her life just because she couldn't bear to be told once more that she was not good enough.

I fumbled for my coat in the backseat and managed to put it on with fingers that were numb. My hands were shivering non-stop. I opened the door. It went three inches wide and then was stopped by a wall of snow compressed so hard that I could not push it any further.

The other side of the car was exactly the same. Covered with snow.

Trapped! It was a trap for me in a metal box during a snowstorm with no one knowing my exact location plus no means of communication. Ava must have thought I was already in the cabin. My mom, I hadn’t truly told her that I was going to leave Boston. And as for Marcus, he probably hadn’t even realized I was gone.

The cold was so great that the coat could not provide sufficient defense; the hands became frozen, and the movements became awkward and slow. I was thinking of the freezing death in a car and how long it would take. I once read something, an article about the frozen dead in blizzards, but the details escaped me. Was it hours? Maybe minutes?

Stop it! Just don’t! Stop spiraling.

Slowly, I made breathing the way I was used to, in through the nose and out through the mouth, just as my therapist had trained me before I ran out of money for therapy. Panic wouldn’t be good for me. Panic would be the death of me even before the cold did.

Elise, think. Use your brain.

The first thing I had to do was to get out of the car, and then I could find help. The cabin should be about four miles away, but I couldn’t tell whether I was going toward it or away from it or if I had already gone past it unwittingly. Despite that, staying put meant dying there, and I had just blown up my whole life for a chance to start anew. I was not going to let a snowstorm prematurely end the story before I found out what would happen next.

I took my phone even though it was of no use to me and put it in my pocket. Wrapped my scarf snugly around my face. Gazed once more at the car that had brought me from Boston and now lay dead and buried like a tomb.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, which was silly. It was just a car. However, it was as though I was saying farewell to the last remnant of my former life.

I then struck the driver’s side door with all my strength.

It required six attempts before I could get it opened wide enough to pass through. The wind greeted me with a punch, taking away the breath from my lungs. The snow was instantaneously stuck on my face, blinding me, and I had to hold onto the car not to be blown over.

This was madness. This was death.

But I was not to be here anymore.

I squinted my eyes through the storm, trying to spot anything, a sign of life, shelter or direction. The road was completely covered with snow so it was impossible to see it. The trees were nothing but silhouettes of darker shades, barely discernible in the white. I could freeze to death here and no one would discover me till spring.

Then I spotted it.

A beacon.

Weak and warm and incredibly distant at the top of the mountain, but a beacon nevertheless. That meant electricity. That meant humans. That meant I had a chance.

So I took the first step.

Each movement was painful. The snow was in some parts up to my hips, and it was as if there were hands trying to drag me down. The wind was so strong that it went through my coat as if the coat was not there at all. My face became less sensitive first, then my fingers, then my toes, and there was hardly any feeling left in my legs but I continued to walk because stopping was tantamount to giving up and I had already given up too much.

Marcus often said I was not strong. That I could not cope with anything hard, that I was so fragile that only his presence could prevent me from falling apart.

I pondered that with each and every step. Pondered his look at my walking out. Pondered every occasion when he had made me feel so little, powerless, and wrong.

“I am not weak,” I spoke to the storm, to the mountain, and to the ghost of him still residing in my mind. “Can you hear me? I am not weak.”

The light was approaching. Step by step, incredibly slowly, but nevertheless closer. My physical being was pleading with me to halt, to lie down in the snow just for a minute, just to rest, but I was aware of the implications. To rest was to die. To rest was to allow Marcus to be right about me.

So, I continued on my way.

The light was divided into windows. The windows were part of a building, which was huge and dark compared to the snow-covered surroundings. A lodge. It was not my cabin, but I was certain of it in a second. Still, I did not mind. There were walls, heat, and people who could take care of me.

I stumbled forward to what I guessed was a staircase. I discovered a door. I lifted my fist to knock, but my hand was so frozen that I could not make it function correctly. I tried once more. Again. I finally got a weak, pitiful sound out that was only just good enough to be called a knock.

I was praying, thought I. I was praying, hoping that a person would be there. I was praying, hoping that I wouldn't die on an unknown person's doorstep on Christmas Eve after escaping Marcus and the drive and the storm. I was praying, hoping that it wouldn't be so.

The door was opened by someone.

A man was the one at the door…..tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes who were blue to the extent that they seemed almost unearthly in the cozy light that was coming from behind him. He was kind of beautiful, weird, sharp and icy and perfect like something sculpted from ice.

He saw me, coated in snow, my body shaking and my face showing despair and his look did not change. It did not soften, did not even show a hint of concern.

“You can’t stay here,” he said and his voice was the same as his face. Cold. Controlled. Unmoved in any way by the almost frozen woman at his door.

I was about to say something but I could only let out a broken breath which was accompanied by shaking.

He was already in the process of shutting the door.

A part of me got shattered. Really, it was all that had happened; the Marcus affair, the job, the car incident, the storm, and so on; I had even fought my way to the top of this mountain through what was probably hell, but this man was still going to shut the door on me like I was nothing?

“Then throw me back into the snow,” I said with anger, and to my surprise, my voice was very strong. “Go on. Shut the door on me and let me freeze. But please, don’t cover up the fact that you saw me. Don’t cover up the fact that you know just what you’re doing.”

His hand froze on the door. Something flickered across his face, too quick to read.

We were gazing at each other, he was in a warm safe place that was not for me; on the other hand, I was dying slowly in the ice.

Then he tightened his jaw.

“Okay,” he replied. “Just for one night.”

And he welcomed me.