Page 33 of On the Edge

“Then why do you look so guilty?” She leans toward me.

“Let’s just leave it with the attraction is so strong that I was considering leaving my job so I didn’t have to train him. I figured I’d pick up some PT work here in Park City until I found a job close to home so I could move back and help with my mom’s situation.”

“And then?”

“And then my old coach from Danforth, who just called me about the job there, told me that one of the reasons they think I’d be a good fit is because of my ability to set aside personal differences and train Nate. She basically said that the key to me getting that job is successfully working with Nate this season.”

“Crap.” She sighs, leaning back and flinging her elbow over the back of the couch.

“Yep. So if I want this other opportunity that would allow me to both progress in my careerandbe close to my parents, I have to work with him this season.” Somehow, admitting this out loud actually fortifies my belief in myself that I can do this. When I pit this opportunity at Danforth against my attraction to Nate, I’m more confident that I can withstand him in order to get what I really want.

“Okay, you can do this. Just go out there and be the best damn physical therapist you can possibly be. Be the one that every single athlete wants to work with because you’re so good. You don’t do that for Nate, you do it for you. Because no matter who you are training, you are going to be the best at what you do.That’swho you are.”

Petra’s unwavering faith in me is part of what makes her such an amazing friend. “Nate’s going to wonder why I’m suddenly so on board with training him after telling him this was only temporary and there’s no way I’d be his PT this season.”

“Good, let him wonder. You don’t owe it to him to tell him any of this. And once he starts racing, at least you’ll be at some of the same races as Marco. Then, you just need to get thoroughly fucked.” She nods, and I blush again at her lewd but accurate assessment. “And you’ll forget all about whatever you’re feeling toward Nate.”

“You’re probably right,” I say, because there’s no way I can tell her that seeing Marco again definitely won’t quench the need to finally have really good sex again.

Sadly, since Nate deserted me five years ago, I haven’t hadreally goodsexeven once. And I’m confident that this is half the problem.

NOVEMBER

CHAPTER11

NATE

Copper Mountain, Colorado

I come to a stop at the bottom of the Giant Slalom practice course, next to Lyle and Jackson.

“Man,” Lyle says. “You get better every day. That’s two tenths of a second faster than your fastest GS time yesterday.”

“Yeah,” I pant, “that felt like a really good run.” I’m still trying to catch my breath when Jackson looks away, her eyes sweeping across the bottom of the run. I follow the same path, wondering who she’s looking for. About twenty different pairs of eyes are focused on me. “Why are they all staring?” I ask, quietly enough that only she and Lyle can hear me.

She pauses, measuring her words in that way she has ever since she snuck out of that hotel suite two weeks ago—for reasons she refuses to talk about. “I’m going to be honest and you need to promise you won’t let it go to your head, okay?”

“Okay?” It comes out as a question because I have no idea what she’s getting at here.

“Everyone just stopped what they were doing to watch you ski. Like, they were all going about their business and then someone said your name and I swear you could hear a pin drop.”

“What?” I bark out a nervous laugh that’s very unlike me. “Why?”

She just rolls her eyes at me in response, and a small flame lights in my chest because for the first time, this finally feels real. I’m racing again, and despite over a decade away from it, I really am better than I ever was.

”Because,” Lyle says, while Jackson seems unwilling to answer my question, “they know they’re seeing greatness.”

I swallow down a laugh. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but that seems a bit of a stretch.” This isn’t false modesty. I know that was a good run, but “seeing greatness” is ridiculous.

In skiing, we save that kind of terminology for the legends—for Bode Miller’s badass racing style that made him a household name and earned him the second most Olympic medals in the history of the sport, for Ingemar Stenmark holding the most World Cup wins ever, for Ted Ligety reinventing the art of the turn, or for Marcel Hirscher holding the most overall World Cup titles and retiring at the pinnacle of his career.

Those are the Greats. I’ve never even skied in a World Cup race. I do not deserve the terminology that is being used to flatter me at this moment.

“You are at the top of your game right now,” Jackson says as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Keep this up, and you are going to burst onto the World Cup stage. And the presswilltake notice.”

“Between how you’re skiing right now, your past social media presence, and all this,” Lyle says, waving his hand in front of my face as he rolls his eyes, “you’d better be prepared to deal with the media shitstorm.”

“I can hold my own with the press,” I assure them. Jackson nods in agreement. I was always the buffer between her and the press, so I have a lot of practice.

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