Page 10 of One More Chance
Chapter 6
LOGAN WATCHED THE DARKponytail as its owner disappeared down a double black diamond run.
What the hell was Billie Jo Bunkman doing back in town?
The icy cold reception he received from the brunette bitch on the rickety old red chair had surprised him. Now it all made sense.
He couldn’t blame her for being pissed at him, what he had done was A1 top notch shitty. The rumors in the small town ran hot and rampant. Logan denied them but didn’t set them straight. He couldn’t.
Over the last ten years, he thought about Billie Jo more than he would like to admit. She was a mystery. Nobody knew where she had gone. There were a few drunken nights he stayed up late searching for her on social media, but Billie Jo Bunkman didn’t exist, she was a ghost.
A ghost that had just ridden the red chair with him.
She was different, her hair was darker, but that wasn’t it, there was something about her he couldn’t quite place; she exuded a confident air that he usually only felt around celebrity. He realized that he had touched her hand, glove-to-mitten and his heart skipped a beat. Not one model or actress had made his heart race like it did while watching Billie Jo ski away from him.
He needed to know why she’d walked out of his life without giving him the chance to explain, to grovel, to make it up to her.
As Billie Jo’s pink jacket disappeared down the steep hill, Logan Brush pushed off and tucked into a racing position, his eyes trained on the run for any sign of the chestnut ponytail whipping down the mountain.
Damn, she’s fast, he thought to himself as the vibrations from his skis shook his vision. He would never have skied this recklessly if he was still playing in the league, fearing a torn ACL or other career-ending injury, but today, he was retired and the best thing that had ever happened to him had just skied out of his life. He couldn’t lose her. Not again.
As he crested the first roller, his heart sank, there was no sign of the pink jacket. The run forked and he glanced between the two options: a double black diamond mogul run named “Fiery Ferdinand” branched off to the left, a groomed green circle run named, “Powder Puff” meandered off to the right. If I were avoiding someone, which one would I choose? He had to decide and he had to make it fast.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath and braced himself for the bumpy ride down Fiery Ferdinand. His knees bucked into his chest as he bounced his way down the mogul-filled run. A treed glade ran down either side of Fiery Ferdinand, she could have ducked into the trees if she wanted to lose him. Regardless, he got his hopes up every time he reached a knoll in the run, only to have them dashed away with no sign of Billie Jo.
He reached the bottom and scanned the busy lift line at Old Red for any sign of her. There was none. He had lost her once again. Sugar Peaks was a tall mountain, but not a wide one, so he rationalized that if he kept skiing the peak chair, he would eventually catch a glimpse of her. He had memorized her ski gear, watermelon-colored jacket and purple pants, mirrored goggles, and that ponytail, nobody would be able to miss that as it streaked down the mountain.
He wasn’t giving up hope yet. He spent the rest of the afternoon lapping Old Red, but there was no sign of Billie Jo anywhere. Just like that, she was a ghost again.
