Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 19: The Radio
Jackson
The emergency radio crackles to life on day seventeen, and the sound makes both of us freeze.
I haven’t heard another human voice besides Sloane’s in two weeks, and the static-filled transmission from the Park Ranger station feels like an intrusion, a violation of the bubble we’ve been living in.
“Torres, you there? This is Ranger Station Alpha. Come in.”
I move to the radio slowly, like it’s a snake that might strike, and pick up the handset. Sloane is watching me from across the cabin, and I can see the conflict on her face—relief that rescue is coming, dread that it means this ends.
I feel the same war inside my chest.
“This is Torres,” I say into the radio. “Go ahead.”
“Hey Jacks, it’s Mike. We’ve been trying to reach you for two weeks. You okay out there?”
Mike Chen, one of the rangers who works the northern sector. Good guy. We’re not friends exactly, but we have a nodding acquaintance built on mutual respect and the occasional beer when I make it to town.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Weather’s been hell. Solar power was out.”
“Yeah, worst storm we’ve seen in a decade.” There’s a pause, static crackling. “We’ve got a situation though. There’s a missing person report—woman from New York, went hiking in Glacier two weeks ago and never came back. Sloane Whitmore. Any chance you’ve seen her?”
Sloane’s eyes widen, and I can see her processing the fact that people have been searching for her, worrying about her, filing reports.
“She’s here,” I say. “Found her half-frozen on day one of the blizzard. She’s been sheltering with me.”
“She’s alive? Thank God.” Genuine relief in Mike’s voice. “Is she okay? Injured?”
“Sprained ankle, mostly healed now. Otherwise fine. Well-fed, warm, healthy.”
“That’s great news. Really great. We’ll send a helicopter for extraction tomorrow morning, weather permitting. Storm’s finally cleared enough for safe flight. Can you get her to the north ridge clearing?”
Tomorrow.
The word lands like a stone in my gut.
“Yeah,” I manage. “We can make it to the clearing.”
“Perfect. We’ll aim for 0900 hours. Make sure you’ve got something bright for signaling just in case. And Jacks? Good work keeping her alive.”
“Just did what needed doing.” I set the handset down, ending the transmission, and the silence that follows feels deafening.
Sloane and I stare at each other across the cabin.
“Tomorrow,” she says quietly. “They’re coming tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to process the emotions crashing through me—relief that she’ll be safe, grief that she’s leaving, fear that once she’s gone I’ll never see her again despite all her promises.
“You’ll be home soon,” I say, and I can hear how hollow the words sound.
“What if I don’t want—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“You do. Trust me.” I’m already retreating, already putting distance between us because it’s the only way I can function right now. “Once you’re back in civilization, once you’ve had time to process everything that happened here, you’ll realize how crazy this all is. How impractical. You’ll be grateful to go back to your normal life.”
“Jackson, we talked about this—”
“I know what we talked about.” I move to the window, staring out at the snow-covered landscape. “But talking about it and actually doing it are different things. Once you’re back, once you’re not in survival mode anymore, you’ll see things differently.”
“You’re doing it again.” There’s pain in her voice. “Pushing me away. Protecting yourself.”
“Maybe I am.” I don’t turn around. “Or maybe I’m just being realistic about the fact that long-distance relationships don’t work, especially not when one person lives off-grid in the mountains and the other lives in New York City.”
“I told you I’m quitting—”
“And I’m telling you to think about that decision very carefully before you throw away your entire career.” Now I do turn around, and I force my voice to be firm, almost cold. “You’ve known me for two weeks, Sloane. Two weeks. That’s not enough time to make life-altering decisions about giving up everything you’ve worked for.”
“It’s enough time to know how I feel about you.”
“Feelings change.” The words come out harsher than I intend. “Circumstances change. Reality sets in. I’m not saying don’t come back—I’m saying don’t burn all your bridges before you know for sure.”
She studies me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to decide if I’m pushing her away out of fear or if I’m actually giving her good advice.
Maybe it’s both.
“Okay,” she says finally. “Okay. I’ll go back, tie up loose ends properly, and then… then we’ll see.”
“Then we’ll see,” I echo, but I can hear the finality in my own voice.
She hears it too.
“You don’t think I’m coming back.” It’s not a question. “You think once I leave tomorrow, that’s it. That I’ll realize you were right and just stay in New York.”
I don’t answer, because any answer I give will be either a lie or too honest.
“I’m coming back,” she says fiercely. “I don’t know when, I don’t know exactly how, but I’m coming back, Jackson. You need to believe that.”
“I want to,” I say quietly. “God, I want to. But I’ve learned not to believe in things that seem too good to be true.”
The rest of the day passes in a strange fog. We go through the motions—preparing for the hike to the extraction point tomorrow, packing the few belongings she has, making sure she’s warm enough for the journey. We don’t talk about the future anymore. Don’t make plans or promises. Just exist in this liminal space between together and apart.
That night is our last night.
We both know it, can feel it hanging over us like a weight. She’s leaving tomorrow, going back to her world, and no matter what either of us hopes or fears, there’s no guarantee she’s coming back.
“Make love to me,” she whispers when we finally go to bed, and there’s a desperation in her voice that mirrors what I’m feeling. “One more time. Please.”
I do.
I make love to her slowly, thoroughly, trying to memorize every sound she makes, every way she responds to my touch, every expression that crosses her face. I kiss every inch of her skin like I’m cataloging it, learning it, storing it away for the lonely nights ahead.
She does the same to me, her hands and mouth exploring like she’s trying to imprint me on her memory, and when we finally come together, it’s with a desperation edged with grief.
“I love you,” she whispers against my skin after, and my heart stops.
She’s never said it before. We’ve danced around it, implied it, showed it in a thousand different ways, but neither of us has said the actual words.
Until now.
“Sloane—” My voice breaks.
“I know you can’t say it back. I know you’re still protecting yourself, still convinced this is going to end badly. But I need you to know.” She pulls back to look at me, and there are tears streaming down her face. “I love you, Jackson Torres. And I’m coming back for you. No matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do. I’m coming back.”
I want to say it back. Want to tell her I love her too, that she’s become everything to me, that the thought of losing her is tearing me apart. Want to beg her to stay, to forget New York, to build a life here with me.
But the fear is still there, choking the words before they can form.
So instead I just hold her, pull her tight against my chest, and let my body say what my mouth can’t.
I love you too.
I’m terrified of losing you.
Please don’t let this be the end.
We fall asleep tangled together, and I don’t let go of her for a single moment, like holding on tight enough will somehow stop tomorrow from coming.
But morning comes anyway.
It always does.
And with it comes the helicopter that will take her away from me.
As I listen to her breathing slow into sleep, I allow myself one moment of complete honesty:
I don’t think she’s coming back.
I think this is it—these two perfect weeks—and then I’ll be alone again, with nothing but memories and regrets.
I think I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life by letting her go.
But I don’t know how to make myself believe in a different outcome.
So I just hold her.
And try not to think about how empty my arms are going to feel tomorrow night.
And the night after that.
And every night for the rest of my life.
Reader Reactions