Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~9 min read
Beck shows up the next morning with snowshoes.
“We’re going somewhere,” he says.
Not asks. States.
Iris is learning this means something important.
“Where?”
“You’ll see. Dress warm. We’ll be out for a few hours.”
She doesn’t argue.
Just layers up. Follows him into the forest.
They hike for an hour.
Through deep snow. Between massive pines. Up gradual slopes.
Beck doesn’t talk. Just walks with purpose.
Iris follows. Trusting him completely.
When did that happen?
The trust. The comfort. The certainty that he won’t lead her wrong.
Somewhere between the blizzard rescue and the bear encounter and the quiet dinners by the fire.
She trusts Beck.
More than she’s trusted anyone in years.
They reach a clearing.
Wide bowl surrounded by steep slopes.
Beautiful. Pristine. Deadly.
Beck stops.
Stares up at the mountain face.
“This is where it happened.”
Iris’s breath catches.
“The avalanche?”
“Yes.”
He’s never brought anyone here.
She can tell by the way he’s standing.
Rigid. Defensive. Like he’s bracing for pain.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. I need to. I’ve been coming here alone for five years. Talking to ghosts. Maybe it’s time someone else listened.”
She stays quiet.
Lets him find the words.
“We came up that ridge,” Beck says, pointing. “The snow had been unstable all week. I told Anna we should wait. She said I worried too much. Called me her ‘anxious mountain man.’ Kissed me. Convinced me it would be fine.”
His voice is flat.
Emotionless.
The kind of flat that means drowning underneath.
“We were halfway down when I heard it. That sound. Like thunder. But wrong. I yelled for her to move. Ski left. Away from the slide path.”
“She didn’t hear me. Or didn’t react fast enough. The snow hit her from the side. Swept her away. I watched her disappear.”
He stops.
Stares at the slope.
“I deployed my airbag. Stayed on top of the snow. Rode it out. When it stopped, I was bruised but okay. Anna was buried.”
“I started searching immediately. I had a beacon. Training. Equipment. I found her signal in eight minutes. Started digging.”
“But the snow was too deep. Too heavy. And she was face down. By the time I reached her, she’d been under for twenty-three minutes. No air pocket. No chance.”
“I did CPR anyway. For an hour. Until SAR arrived. They pulled me off her. Told me she was gone. Had been gone since the snow buried her.”
Tears are streaming down his face.
He doesn’t seem to notice.
Or care.
“I should have said no. Should have refused to ski. Should have been more insistent. But I caved. Because I loved her. Because I wanted her happy. And it killed her.”
“Beck—”
“People said it wasn’t my fault. Accidents happen. The mountains are dangerous. But they’re wrong. I knew the conditions were bad. I knew. And I went anyway.”
“Because she asked you to.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth.”
He finally looks at Iris.
Eyes red. Face wet.
Raw grief he’s been holding for five years.
“I failed her.”
“You loved her. You tried to save her. You did everything humanly possible.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It never is. When you lose someone. Nothing you did feels like enough.”
She steps closer.
“But that doesn’t make it your fault. Anna made a choice. To ski that day. To push despite warnings. You didn’t kill her. The mountain did. The snow did. Chance did.”
“I should have protected her.”
“You can’t protect people from everything. Even people you love. Especially people you love.”
Beck shakes his head.
“I quit SAR the next week. Couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t save strangers when I couldn’t save her. Moved up here. Stopped… living. Just existed.”
“For five years.”
“For five years.”
“That’s a long time to punish yourself.”
“I’m not punishing myself. I’m just… stuck.”
Iris understands that.
Being stuck. Unable to move forward. Frozen in grief.
“Margaret used to tell me,” Beck says quietly, “that grief is love with nowhere to go. That I needed to find somewhere to put it. Channel it. Transform it.”
“Did you?”
“I tried. Built things. Fixed things. Helped neighbors. Maintained Margaret’s cabin. Kept busy. But the grief never left. Just… shifted. Became background noise instead of the main event.”
“Is that healing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? I’m functional. That’s something.”
He sits in the snow.
Iris sits beside him.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I’m tired of carrying this alone. Tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not. And you… you don’t expect fine. You’re okay with broken.”
“I’m broken too.”
“I know. That’s why I trust you.”
The confession hangs between them.
Trust.
The thing Beck hasn’t given anyone in five years.
He’s giving it to her.
They sit in silence.
Wind moving through trees. Snow falling gently.
The avalanche slope looming above them.
Beautiful and terrible.
“Anna would have liked you,” Beck says eventually. “She was sunshine. Like you. Optimistic. Stubborn. Believed in second chances.”
“I’m not that optimistic.”
“You’re here. That’s optimistic. Staying in a cabin in Montana when you could be in Seattle. Learning skills you don’t need. Giving this place a chance. That’s hopeful.”
“Or stupid.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
He almost smiles.
Then the smile cracks.
And he’s crying again.
Real crying this time.
Not silent tears. Full sobs.
Iris doesn’t hesitate.
Pulls him close. Holds him.
Lets him break.
Five years of grief pouring out.
Into the snow. Into the wind. Into her shoulder.
She holds him through it.
Doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t offer platitudes.
Just exists beside him.
The way Margaret did.
The way he needs.
When he finally stops, he’s exhausted.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t usually—”
“I know. It’s okay.”
He pulls back. Wipes his face.
“I haven’t cried since the funeral. Five years. Nothing. And then you show up and suddenly I can’t stop.”
“Maybe you needed permission.”
“Permission?”
“To feel it. Fully. Without having to be okay for anyone else.”
Beck looks at her.
Really looks.
“Who gave you permission to be this wise?”
“Montana. Solitude. Aunt Margaret’s letters. Take your pick.”
He laughs.
Wet and broken but real.
“You’re something else, Iris Chen.”
“Good something or bad something?”
“Still deciding.”
But he’s smiling.
And Iris’s heart does that stupid flutter again.
They hike back as afternoon fades.
Slower than the journey out.
Beck seems lighter. Emptied but relieved.
“Thank you,” he says. “For listening. For not judging. For just… being there.”
“Always.”
The word comes out before she can stop it.
Always.
A promise she has no right to make.
She’s leaving. Eventually.
Back to Seattle. Back to her life.
This is temporary.
Isn’t it?
Beck doesn’t comment on the word.
But something shifts in his expression.
Awareness. Recognition.
The thing they’ve both been avoiding.
This isn’t just neighborly anymore.
This is something else.
Something dangerous.
At her cabin, Beck hesitates.
“I haven’t let anyone close since Anna died. Haven’t wanted to. Didn’t see the point.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m terrified. Because I’m starting to care. About you. About whether you stay or leave. About what happens next.”
Iris’s breath catches.
“Beck—”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know. That this… whatever this is… it matters. You matter.”
He’s walking away.
Before she can respond.
Before she can process.
Before she can admit that she’s terrified too.
Because she’s starting to care.
About the grumpy mountain man.
About this cabin.
About a life she never planned.
And that’s the most frightening thing of all.
She texts Skye that night.
I think I’m in trouble.
What happened?
Beck took me to where his fiancée died. Cried. Opened up. Told me I matter.
OH. OH WOW.
I know.
What did you say?
Nothing. He left before I could respond.
And what would you have said?
Good question.
I don’t know. That I’m scared? That I’m not staying? That this can’t be real because it’s too soon and too complicated?
Or?
Or that I’m falling for him and I don’t know how to stop.
THERE IT IS.
It’s a bad idea.
Why?
Because I live in Seattle. Because I barely know him. Because this is grief and proximity, not real feelings.
Are you sure about that?
No.
Then maybe stop overthinking and just… feel it. See where it goes.
And when I have to leave?
Cross that bridge when you get there.
That’s terrible advice.
It’s the only advice. You can’t plan feelings, Iris. Trust me, I’ve tried.
This is a disaster.
Or it’s the best thing that ever happened to you.
How do I tell the difference?
You don’t. Not yet. You just live it and find out.
Skye’s right.
Much as Iris hates to admit it.
She can’t logic her way through this.
Can’t plan it. Control it. Manage it.
She can only feel it.
And see what happens next.
Sleep doesn’t come easily.
She keeps thinking about Beck.
Crying in the snow.
Opening up completely.
Trusting her with his deepest pain.
And then admitting he cares.
She cares too.
That’s the problem.
She wasn’t supposed to care.
This was supposed to be a quick trip. Sell the cabin. Leave.
Not fall for the grumpy hermit.
Not start loving the mountains.
Not begin questioning her entire life.
But here she is.
Doing all three.
Margaret would understand.
Actually, Margaret would probably laugh.
This is exactly what she did.
Came to Montana for one reason.
Stayed for another.
Like aunt, like niece.
The thought is comforting.
And terrifying.
Because if Iris is following Margaret’s path, where does it lead?
To freedom?
To isolation?
To peace?
Or to the same regrets?
She doesn’t know.
Can’t know.
Not yet.
All she can do is stay.
Keep learning.
Keep feeling.
Keep letting Beck in.
And see where it goes.
Even if it scares her.
Especially because it scares her.
Because the best things always do.
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