“We have to keep moving!” But here, they had more slope to work with. He rode his edge and traversed the hill, cutting hard right, along a ridge.
She followed him, her jaw set.
Gage shot a look back again just as the slide swept past them. It careened into pine trees, off a cliff, and dumped into the valley below.
He angled upslope, slowed, and found a notch in the mountain where he could stop.
He leaned over and grabbed his knees, breathing hard.
Ella slipped up beside him, unclipped her pack, dropped it in the soft snow, then collapsed next to it with her arms out. “Seriously.”
He unsnapped his boots and freed himself from the board. He secured it into the snow, slid off his pack, and plopped down next to her. “You okay?”
“Give me five minutes.”
He reached over and unbuckled her bindings. Set her board next to his.
“Okay, I never want to do that again.”
He offered a smile. “Me either.”
She looked over at him. “I had no idea—I mean, I saw you live through that other slide, but . . . Gage. That was terrifying.”
His smile fell. “Yeah.” He unbuckled his helmet, pulled it off. Underneath, a line of sweat had formed. He wiped his glove across his forehead, noticed that his hand shook.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t quite as put together as he thought.
Next to him, she sat up. Lifted off her goggles, then unbuckled and pulled off her helmet. She wore a white headband, her hair caught back. She pulled her gaiter down and unbuckled her backpack. “I need a drink.”
“Whiskey?”
She looked at him, and he finally got a smile. “Funny.”
He retrieved his water bottle and handed it to her.
They sat in silence.
Finally, softly, “I’m sorry, Gage. I . . . I’m in over my head here.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but, well . . . “Me too.”
She glanced at him, and he let one side of his mouth tweak up.
“What do you mean? You could ski this with your eyes closed.”
He looked at her then, his gaze roaming her face. Then he pulled off his glove and touched his warm fingers to her face. “That’s not what I mean.”
Her mouth opened, her eyes widened.
Maybe it was the adrenaline, the near-death experience, but all his feelings bubbled up, without the reserve to save him. His voice shook. “You scared me. You always scare me a little, Ella. I never have been able to take a full breath around you.”
He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, suddenly, the inside of his heart spilling out into the cold, windy air. But he seemed unable to stop. “I’m . . . I’m so afraid you’re going to get hurt. And if that happened, I could . . . that would be the end.” He fixed his gaze into hers, unmoving. “I could not bear to have you hurt because I couldn’t keep you safe.”
He dropped his hand but couldn’t take his gaze from hers.
She blinked at him, as if trying to assimilate his words.
Oh, where were red flags, waving him off?
Then, whisper soft, “Gage—I trust you.”
Oh no . . . that’s not . . . “You shouldn’t.”
She frowned, and he cut his voice low, serious.
“Ella, you should not trust someone who’s made the mistakes I’ve made.” He shook his head. “I mean, frankly, I had no business praying like I did today. I have no doubt God is up there laughing.”
“Gage, God doesn’t laugh at our prayers.”
“Trust me, he’s thinking, you’ve got a lot of guts, pal.” He sighed. “And to remind me of that, thanks, God sent an avalanche. Believe me when I say that I am not your good luck charm here.”
“Whatever! You only got us to safety. And I have a feeling God put us exactly where we needed to be to get away, so—no, I don’t hear any laughter. I hear God saying, ‘You messed up, but that doesn’t mean I did. Trust me.’”
He let her words in but couldn’t feel them. “Oh, El, you don’t get it. I’m not the hero you think I am. But around you, I forget that. You make me think that I am more than who I am.”
“You are more—”
“No. That’s the whole problem. I used to think I was, and it went to my head. And then I was this guy who strapped on a video camera and risked his life for a living, and somehow thought that was brave or honorable when it was just plain stupid. Then my luck ran out. And people got hurt.”
“Gage, you inspired—”
“Crazy. I inspire crazy. I’m not a hero, Ella. I’m just a guy who keeps trying to do the right thing, hoping desperately he doesn’t get somebody killed in the process.”
And then, because they were alone, here, right now, in the glorious ethereal wake of near disaster and heady triumph . . . “And I know I should be angry with you, but . . . I can’t stop thinking about how it was before, and how much I still want you. So desperately I can taste it. Because when I’m with you, you make me cut past all the debris of the past three years to that guy I used to be—only maybe less arrogant. Less reckless. Being with you just might make me into the guy I actually want to be..” He swallowed, pretty sure he’d lost his mind back there in the slide. “You’re . . . you’re good for me,” he said, sighing. “But if I can’t get you down this mountain, I’ll be disastrous for you.”