Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~9 min read
Chapter 21: 09:00
Jackson
The helicopter arrives at exactly 09:00 hours.
I hear it before I see it—the distinctive thump of rotors cutting through the morning air, a sound I haven’t heard in years, a sound that immediately transports me back to Afghanistan and dustoffs and medevac runs. My hands start to shake, and I have to consciously force myself to breathe through the surge of adrenaline, to remind myself that this isn’t combat, isn’t danger, just rescue.
Just the thing that’s going to take her away from me.
We’re at the north ridge clearing, having made the hour-long hike in silence. Sloane is standing a few feet away, her pack on her back, wearing layers of my clothes over her own because hers weren’t warm enough for the trek. She’s kept my flannel—the soft red one I’ve had for years—and seeing her in it makes my chest ache.
She looks like she belongs to me.
But she doesn’t. Not anymore.
The helicopter comes into view, bright yellow against the blue sky, and begins its descent into the clearing. The wind from the rotors kicks up snow, creating a whiteout that makes me squint, and I instinctively move closer to Sloane, my hand finding the small of her back.
Protecting her. One last time.
The chopper touches down, and a figure jumps out—Mike Chen, recognizable even in his ranger gear. He jogs toward us, ducking under the still-spinning rotors, and his face breaks into a relieved smile when he sees Sloane.
“Ms. Whitmore! Thank God you’re okay!” He has to shout over the noise of the helicopter. “Your family’s been worried sick. We’ve had search teams combing these mountains for two weeks.”
“I’m fine,” she shouts back. “Jackson took good care of me.”
Mike turns to me, and there’s gratitude in his eyes. “I owe you a beer, Torres. Hell, I owe you a case. Not many people could survive that storm, let alone keep someone else alive through it.”
I just nod, not trusting my voice.
“We should get going!” Mike gestures toward the helicopter. “Weather’s clear now, but we don’t want to push it! Ms. Whitmore, if you’re ready?”
Sloane turns to look at me, and I can see all the words she wants to say written on her face. I love you. I’m coming back. Please believe in me. Please don’t give up on us.
But all she says is, “Thank you for saving my life.”
“It’s what I do.” The words come out rougher than I intend, and I see her flinch.
“Jackson—” She reaches for me, and I want to pull her into my arms, want to kiss her one more time, want to beg her not to go.
But Mike is waiting, and the helicopter is running, and this needs to be over before I completely fall apart.
“Be safe, city girl.” I take a step back, putting distance between us, and I see the hurt flash across her face.
“That’s it?” Her voice breaks. “That’s all you’re going to say to me?”
“What else is there to say?” I force myself to meet her eyes, even though it’s killing me. “You’re going back to your life. I’m staying in mine. We both knew this was how it would end.”
“This doesn’t have to be the end—”
“Ms. Whitmore, we really need to go!” Mike calls, and I’ve never been more grateful and more resentful of someone’s impatience in my life.
Sloane stares at me for one more long moment, and I can see her trying to decide if she should fight this, if she should refuse to leave, if she should make one more stand for us.
But then she just nods, tears streaming down her face, and turns toward the helicopter.
I watch her walk away.
Watch her climb into the chopper with Mike’s help.
Watch her buckle in and look out the window at me, her face a mask of grief.
And I stand there like a coward and let her go without saying any of the things I actually want to say.
I love you.
I don’t want you to leave.
I’m terrified I’ll never see you again.
Please come back.
The helicopter lifts off, kicking up more snow, and I watch it rise into the sky, getting smaller and smaller until it’s just a speck against the blue, and then it’s gone completely.
She’s gone.
The silence after the helicopter disappears is deafening.
I stand in the clearing for a long time, staring at the empty sky, and try to process the fact that she’s actually gone. That the last two weeks weren’t a dream, weren’t my imagination, but they’re over now, and I’m alone again.
Bear whines beside me, his yellow eyes fixed on the sky where the helicopter disappeared, and when I look down at him, I swear he looks accusatory.
“I know,” I tell him. “I’m an idiot.”
He whines again, pressing against my leg, and I realize he’s not just upset—he’s grieving. He’s lost Sloane too, lost the person who scratched behind his ears and snuck him treats and called him a good boy in that soft voice that made his tail wag.
“Come on,” I say quietly. “Let’s go home.”
The hike back to the cabin is the longest hour of my life.
Every step feels like I’m walking away from something essential, something I need to survive. The wilderness that usually brings me peace feels oppressive now, suffocating, like it’s swallowing me whole. And when the cabin finally comes into view, it doesn’t feel like the sanctuary it’s been for five years.
It feels empty.
I open the door, and the emptiness hits me like a physical blow.
Her bed is made, the blankets folded neatly. Her few belongings are gone, except—
There’s a note on my bed, folded carefully.
I pick it up with shaking hands.
*Jackson,*
*I know you think I’m not coming back. I know you think this was just a beautiful impossible dream that has to end. But you’re wrong.*
*I’m going to New York to quit my job, pack up my apartment, and say goodbye to that life. And then I’m coming back. I don’t know how long it will take—a month, maybe two—but I’m coming back.*
*And when I do, I’m bringing this flannel with me, so you know it’s really me and not someone you’ve imagined.*
*I love you. I’m coming back. Please wait for me.*
*Always,
Sloane*
*P.S. – Take care of Bear. He’s going to miss me, and he needs you to be okay so he can be okay.*
I read the note three times, and each time it feels like someone’s squeezing my heart in a fist.
She’s coming back.
She says she’s coming back.
But Sarah said that too, at the beginning. Said she just needed to visit family in California, get a break from the isolation, and she’d be back in two weeks. She never came back.
I want to believe Sloane is different. Want to trust that she means what she says, that love will be enough, that somehow we can make this impossible thing work.
But I’ve learned the hard way that wanting something doesn’t make it true.
I sink down onto the bed, the note still in my hand, and Bear jumps up beside me—something he’s never done before, always knowing the bed was mine alone. But now he curls up against me, his massive head on my lap, and makes that soft whining sound that means he’s hurting.
“I miss her too,” I whisper, running my hand through his fur. “God, I miss her already.”
The cabin is too quiet.
Too empty.
Too full of her absence.
I can see her everywhere—sitting by the fire reading, cooking at the stove, laughing at something Bear did, looking at me with those gray-blue eyes that saw straight through all my walls.
She was only here for two weeks.
Two weeks shouldn’t be enough time for someone to become so essential that their absence feels like losing a limb.
But somehow, it was.
Somehow, Sloane Whitmore walked into my carefully constructed life, turned it completely upside down, and then walked out again, leaving me fundamentally changed in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from.
I lie back on the bed, pulling her note to my chest, and close my eyes.
And for the first time in five years, I let myself cry.
I cry for the loss of her, for the loneliness that’s going to consume me now that I know what it feels like not to be alone. I cry for the cowardice that kept me from saying the things I should have said, from fighting for us the way she tried to fight. I cry for the future we could have had if I’d been brave enough to believe in it.
Bear presses closer, offering silent comfort, and I wrap my arm around him and just… break.
The rescue came.
She’s safe.
She’s going back to her life.
That’s what I wanted, right? For her to be safe? For her to have the chance at the life she deserves instead of being trapped here with a broken man in the middle of nowhere?
That’s what I keep telling myself.
But it doesn’t make the cabin feel any less empty.
Doesn’t make my arms feel any less empty without her in them.
Doesn’t make my heart feel any less shattered.
She’s gone.
And I don’t know if she’s ever really coming back.
And I have no idea how I’m going to survive it if she doesn’t.
Reader Reactions