Page 87 of On the Edge

He folds his arms across his chest. “Then we’ll go together.”

“My car is already here.”

He looks pissed off before he even glances at the entryway where my suitcases sit. “You packed and called a car, and didn’t even bother to tell me you were leaving until it was time to go?” His brows are furrowed and his eyes are narrowed. He seems far more angry than he should be about this, and I can’t even fathom what else is going on inside his head.

“I’m sorry, Nate. But I need to go take care of this—see if there’s any way to save my career.”

“And you don’t want me there with you, to help explain what happened?”

“Nate, those pictures showed exactly what happened. And I’m one hundred percent confident that on-the-job fucking is grounds for firing me. What do you think you’re going to say that would change those facts?”

“How about the truth? That this isn’t some fling. We have a history and everyone knows it. We were in the privacy of my home, on a weekend.”

“That doesn’t make it off the clock, Nate. We work twenty-four seven during the season. It was clearly a PT session, so it was work.”

His phone starts buzzing on the table and we both look down to see Matt McCarthy’s name flashing there. “When your head coach is calling you, you’d better answer.”

“Don’t leave,” Nate says as he reaches for the phone. His thumb hovers over the screen.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, probably the driver asking if I’m coming out. “I have to, Nate. And you need to answer that call. I’ll let you know how it goes with TJ.”

I turn and walk away, trying to block out the sound of Nate’s voice as he answers the phone. I make it out the door rolling my two suitcases, and the driver loads them into the back of his SUV as I climb into the back seat. I rest my head against the headrest and don’t even bother to wipe away the tears that are finally falling.

How could things have possibly gone to shit so quickly?

* * *

It’s after midnight when I walk into my condo, but instead of finding it dark and cold, a few lights are on and so is the heat. There’s a fire burning in the fireplace.What the hell?

I leave my suitcases and coat in the entryway and walk into the living room just as Sierra sits up on the couch, rubbing her eyes.

“Sierra, what are you doing here?” I ask as I round the back of the couch.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you come home to an empty condo by yourself after what you’ve been through, did you?”

I sit down next to her outstretched legs and she opens her arms to me. I can’t do anything but collapse into them. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted, but also completely wired from the coffee I drank on my long drive. When I arrived at the airport I found that the only flight left that day back to Salt Lake City was fully booked, so instead I rented a car. I’d called Sierra at the beginning of my drive, but it was a quick conversation because she was still at work.

The six hour drive home took far longer because of heavy snow in Idaho, which I’d had to navigate with my crappy compact rental car. It was nothing like the comfortable drive back from Big Sky in Nate’s truck with him, Sierra, and Petra earlier this month. And just like that, the memory of that drive—that time with Nate and my friends, when my whole life wasn’t imploding—has me in tears again, sobbing onto Sierra’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her after I get out most of my tears. I pull back, reaching for the box of tissues on my coffee table and wiping off my face before blowing my nose. “I’m so glad you’re here, but also I feel bad taking you away from Peter. Wasn’t he getting home from a business trip today?”

“Eh.” She shrugs. “I wanted to be here for you. Plus, Peter and I had a fight right when he got back, so it was nice to be able to give him some space to cool down. I talked to him a couple hours ago, things are fine now.”

“I’m so sorry, Sierra. What happened?”

“It’s not a big deal. Work has just been extra stressful for him lately, and he’s been extra snippy as a result. It’s like he takes his stress out on me, but he’s always super apologetic about it afterward.”

That doesn’t sound like a healthy pattern, but I don’t say that to Sierra because I’m sure she’s well aware. Instead, I ask, “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, but thank you,” she says, brushing her blond hair behind her shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely and that you are okay.”

“I’m so far from okay. How did things between Nate and I get this messed up, this quickly?”

“Well since I didn’t even know you guys got back together until today, I’m not really sure.” There’s a justified note of bitterness in her voice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s only been, I don’t know, a little over a week? Just since Alta Badia. There are so many reasons that we needed to keep it a secret ...”

“Like Marco,” she asks, her eyes bugging out because, duh, she thinks I’m cheating on my boyfriend. How did that not even occur to me?

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