Page 30 of On the Edge

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“You are my favorite friend right now,” I tell Petra when I come out of her bathroom, freshly clean and in a much better mood than when I arrived at her condo.

My yoga session was a frustrating exercise in not being able to control my own mind, and I ended it frustrated at my mediocre workout and my series of questionable choices last night—only to realize that I still didn’t have hot water, so I couldn’t shower.

“Your request was perfectly timed.” Her lips curve into a sly smile.

“Yeah, because it gave you an excuse to get rid of the random guy you brought home last night. I thought you were in Salt Lake City?”

“I was. There was a big corporate dinner I planned for a law firm, and this particular lawyer was pretty cute. We stayed at the bar talking after the dinner. One thing led to another and we ended up back here.”

“He came all the way back to Park City with you?”

She just shrugs like it’s no big deal that a guy came forty-five minutes out of his way like that.

“What’s his name?” I ask, curious to see if she even retained that info.

“Hell if I know. He put his number in my phone and said he’d text me, so I guess I’ll figure it out if he does.”

I can only imagine how many names and numbers are in her phone that she’s not really sure who they belong to. “Your life is awesome. You know that, right?” I tell her. Seriously, Petra gives zero fucks about what anyone thinks of her, and it’s refreshing.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a relationship with someone amazing—something like you have with Marco—but until then, I’m happy to keep taking all these guys on test runs.”

We’re laughing together when my phone starts ringing and without thinking, I groan, “Ugh, it’s probably just Nate calling again.”

Petra raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow as her head swings toward me and she’s about to say something when I glance at my phone and gasp, unable to mask the surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to take thisright now. Can I go in your bedroom? I just need a little privacy.”

She nods, clearly confused about what’s happening here.

“Hey, Annie,” I answer as soon as Petra’s bedroom door closes behind me.

“Hi. I’m wondering if you have a few minutes to talk about this job? Or is it a bad time?”

“Now’s great.”

My mind spins just thinking about this opportunity to get out of training Nate. Maybe they have something opening soon, rather than at the end of ski season. That’s not normally how this works, but maybe a PT at Danforth moved or got another job or something. I mean, it’s Danforth. My alma mater. I’m a veteran of that ski team, it’d be great to be back there and still working with skiers. And it’s roughly twenty minutes from where my parents live. Maybe this is the answer to my prayers.

“Good. Let me tell you what we have coming up and you can tell me if it sounds like something you’d want to pursue,” Annie says, her words clipped and efficient. “Santana has announced that he’s retiring.”

“What? Are you for real?” I ask. Chris Santana is a legend among men—the head of the athletic trainers and also the trainer for my ski team for the two years I raced at Danforth before leaving to race full time for the National Ski Team. There was no athlete he couldn’t help through whatever ailed them. We all idolized him. The man always said he’d never retire, claimed he’d be training our kids when they were in college.

“He knew it was time. He’s still as amazing and talented as ever, but he has a bad knee that makes it hard for him to ski, and he’s got grandkids now. His wife wants him home more often.”

“Oh, wow. I can’t imagine him slowing down,” I say as I pace in Petra’s bedroom. Her queen bed is a tangle of sheets from her visit with the lawyer and I have to continually walk around her lace bra that’s in the middle of the floor where it was no doubt flung at some point last night.

“Santana slow down?” Annie’s laugh is almost a bark. “Yeah, sure. He’s going to finish out this last ski season, and then he says he’s staying home to raise some cows on their farm and play with his grandkids.”

“So you’re looking for someone to replace him starting when?” I clarify.

“We’d like to have his replacement in place in the spring, so there’s some overlapped transition time.”

I feel like I shouldn’t remind her that I only have a few years of experience as a physical therapist—including my year of clinicals at the end of my doctorate program—when she’s talking about a job that would mean supervising an entire team of athletic trainers. “Those are some big shoes you’re looking to fill,” I say instead.

“No doubt. And I personally think you’d be the perfect person to fill them.”

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