Page 2 of On the Edge

“I do have other news, though,” TJ says, and I expect his trademark lopsided grin, but instead his face is an odd mix between an uncomfortable grimace and a conciliatory smile. “A fresh start. A new racer who’s younger than Josh, but he’s going to need you every bit as much. There are some medical issues you need to be aware of. You’ll definitely be expected to travel with his support team like you did with Josh’s. You up for that?”

Like there’s another option. As a physical therapist, traveling to races with athletes is part of my job. “I’m up for anything,” I say, while praying this new racer isn’t too young or too immature. I have no time to stroke some teenager’s overdeveloped and undeserved ego. “Who’s the new guy?”

“Go read his medical file. I left it on your desk. Get settled in and review his records today because you’ll need to meet with him tomorrow. And welcome back.” He clasps his hand on my shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze before he turns to head into his office.

* * *

“You’re back!” I hear the squeal as soon as TJ shuts the door to his office. I turn to find Sierra barreling toward me, her golden hair flowing behind her as she literally runs across the training room.

I brace myself for her hug and she still manages to knock me backward a step. “You’re a little overexcited to see me,” I say when she finally lets go.

“You were gone forever! Seriously, I need girl time, and I need itnow.”

“Too much testosterone in your apartment these days?” Until this past summer, Sierra rented the second bedroom in my condo. Then her boyfriend, Peter, proposed and she moved in with him.

“You have no idea. Please tell me you’re free tonight? I’m not joking about needing some girl time. If I come home to find that Peter’s left his post-workout dirty towel on the floor of the bathroom and started cooking dinner using every single bowl, pan, and utensil in our kitchen one more time, my head might explode.” Peter is in ridiculously good shape and is an amazing cook, but his messiness gets under Sierra’s skin.

“Sure. I mean, I’m pretty jet-lagged, but if you don’t mind me yawning every five minutes, we can probably grab dinner and drinks.”

“Perfect,” she says, following me into my office. “So, I’m not waiting until tonight to hear about your vacation—why is there no ring on that finger?”

“Were you and TJ concocting engagement scenarios in my absence or something?” I force a laugh, trying to dismiss her question.

“Guilty as charged.” She plops into one of my office chairs as I lean back and half sit on the corner of my large wooden desk.

I tuck a strand of my dark brown hair, which is long overdue for a haircut, behind my ear. “Itoldyou that Marco and I aren’t on the marriage track. It hasn’t even been a year. I don’t know why you’d be thinking that an engagement was even a possibility.”

“Yousaidyou weren’t getting engaged, but all the pictures you and Marco were posting while you were in Italy ... the candlelight dinner in Verona”—she scrolls through the photos on her phone with a dreamy smile—“the picnic after rock climbing in the Dolomites, the clubbing, the daily workouts together, the bike rides along Lake Garda. Oh, and the weekend in Venice. It looked like you were having the time of your life!”

I cross one ankle over the other as I stand there looking at her squirming in her chair with excitement, so happy for me. “It was a pretty amazing vacation,” I admit, a smile tugging on my lips.

“And this one,” Sierra says as she holds up her phone with a picture that Marco and I both posted on social media at the beginning of my month there. We’re side by side on our paddleboards onLago di Garda, our backs to his best friend, Christian, who snapped the photo. We’re holding hands, and we’re framed by the mountains on either side of us in the distance. “I mean, if that doesn’t scream ‘looking off into the future, together,’ then I don’t know what does!”

We staged that photo, and it came out even better than planned.

“Sierra, you know better than to believe a post on social media is the whole picture,” I say. As the head of social media for the alpine ski teams, Sierra should damn well know that not everything is as glamorous in reality as it looks online. “Itwasa great vacation, but if I don’t post photos where my life looks awesome and people don’t keep liking my photos, the sponsorships will dry up.” Now that I’m no longer racing, I have to work much harder to remain a sports “influencer” and keep my sponsorships, since they pay my mortgage. Not that I’m not paid well as a physical therapist, but Park City is a ridiculously expensive place to live and I’m down one roommate who helped cover my condo expenses.

“I know.” She sighs. “But if you and Marco are even half as in love as all your pictures make it seem ...”

“I love Marco dearly, Sierra. But that doesn’t mean we’re getting married anytime soon.”

“But someday?”

“Moving on ...” I need to stop this conversation before it goes any further.

“Sorry,” she says, “I’m just so happy to finally see you in a relationship again. It’s been years since you were with he who shall not be named.”

“And remember how I vowed to never give anyone the power to hurt me like that again?”

“Marco would never hurt you like that,” Sierra swears. I love that she defends him because of how important he is to me, and I hate that she’s right but for the wrong reasons.

“I didn’t think Nate would hurt me like that either, Sierra. But sometimes loving someone makes you blind to their shortcomings.” How else could I have missed what an absolute asshole Nate would turn out to be? I’d given him my whole heart for almost a decade, then he shattered it and never looked back.

“I really worried that you’d never move on, but maybe it’s true that everything happens for a reason. But you and Marco are so good together, it’s like fate that your friendship developed into more. Plus you’d have the most beautiful Italian babies.”

“Can we just get throughyourwedding first, before you start planning mine too?”

She smiles that sly smile she gets when we talk about Peter, and I’m about to ask her if they have nailed down a date yet, when she glances down at her phone, then bounds out of her seat. “Got to go set up for some new athlete photos I’m taking today. Let’s finish this conversation over dinner—and drinks. The drinks are critical. I’ll get in touch later so we can figure out when and where,” she says and rushes out the door without even waiting for my response.

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