3
THREE YEARS AGO
Ella had three days to find Gage Watson and talk him into saving Dylan’s life.
All he had to do was say no. She might be overreacting, underestimating Dylan’s freeriding abilities, but she knew in her gut that if the kid died on the mountain, she would be at least partly to blame.
Her and her big mouth, waxing on about Gage Watson and his freeriding fame. Not that anyone would truly blame her if Dylan got hurt—after all, he made his own impulsive decisions. But she’d been a little unimpressed by Dylan’s bragging, so she’d sort of put him in his place.
Which she realized had completely backfired when he told her he was road-tripping to Canada.
She should have predicted it—after all, she’d seen the look in Dylan’s eyes when she’d pulled up one of Watson’s YouTube videos.
Even she felt the tug of adrenaline, the hot whirr of danger stirring inside when Watson aimed his board downhill, off the lip of a treacherous, powder-fresh mountain face, a tail of snow, not unlike that of a peacock, flaring behind him.
Gage Watson had style and sheer guts.
Whereas Dylan possessed more wannabe than brains or skill, and she dearly hoped her freshly minted trial lawyer skills could convince Gage to walk away from Dylan’s no doubt financially enticing offer.
That’s what happened when your family ran one of the largest maple-syrup plantations in all of Vermont. All that sugar went straight to the maple prince’s head.
Probably her own too, because what on earth had possessed her to think she could don a swimsuit in the middle of January, hang out by the steaming pool at the Outlaw Resort, at the base of the best powder in Canada, and somehow attract Gage’s attention?
Yes, she’d left a message for him at the desk, described herself, and asked him to meet her by the pool. But she hadn’t counted on the level of spring break crazy.
The resort had built a long chute of snow, and now the snowboarders and skiers alike, dressed in board shorts and stocking caps, wearing their ski gear, raced down the slope and onto the two-story ramp, executing flips and twists before splashing down into the massive pool. Spectators packed three and four deep cheered them on. Country music thrummed against the twilight, girls and guys alike dancing on top of tables, wearing swimsuits, UGGs, and stocking caps. Barbecue ribs sizzling on two huge pits set up in the snow stirred the area with the aroma of celebration.
The pre-party to the Outlaw Freeriding Championships.
Ella stood next to the pool, scanning the crowd, then the jumpers, for any sign of Gage Watson.
Occasionally, her gaze landed on the door. She’d worn a flannel shirt over her one-piece, along with a pair of fuzzy sheepskin UGGs, and had never felt more ridiculous.
A boarder dressed in a furry Russian-style shopka and long johns bumped into her, sloshing his beverage over her. The liquid, cold and bracing on her skin, made her jump away.
“Sorry, sweetie,” he said and actually looked like he might lift his hand and wipe it across her legs.
She caught his reach. “Not your sweetie.”
He rolled his eyes, bounced away.
Even if Gage were here, she could bet he wouldn’t be in the mood to have a serious conversation with her. She should simply call up the front desk, maybe order a pizza sent to his room with an offer to meet her, platonically, in the lounge for a conversation.
She was very good at conversations. This party angle—not her best strategy.
She started to move through the crowd, working her way out of traffic, when she heard the yell.
Off to her left, a scream, more like a war whoop, raised the hairs on her neck as she turned to find the source.
A mass of boarders fresh out of the giant hot tub, dashing for the pool.
The sound gave her a millisecond of warning, however, enough to lift her arms in protection before the horde hit.
They rushed past her, turned her around, and she stumbled.
“Hey!”
An elbow smashed into her face, and in a flash of pain she fell back, arms windmilling.
She hit the water on her back. Her feet crested over her head, and suddenly she was head-down in the water.
Feet kicked her, bodies trapped her, hands pushed her under.
Breathe!
She punched out, connected with a body, and managed to get her feet under her.
Clawed for the surface.
A foot bashed her in the side and she gasped, her mouth opening.
She sucked water, hard, into her lungs. She doubled over, the world turning white even as she fought, pushing—
She found the surface, began to cough, trying to sight the edge of the pool, but another random kick pushed her under.
Panic made her rabid. She fought for air amidst the bodies.
At once, an arm curled around her waist like a vise. She clawed at it, but her rescuer kicked hard, lifting her.