A Matter of Trust(71)

A slick, sudden memory of careening out of the space, so much air between him and the ground that he’d actually felt like he was flying. Only by God’s grace did he not end up on his face. Or going over the cliff. His line had him cutting hard, slowing, then curving around the ridgeline and dropping into a beautiful, spongy white field before he hit Cathedral Canyon.

He must have been caught in the memory too long because he suddenly felt a hand on his arm. “Gage? Are you okay?”

He nodded, his mouth dry.

More than any of the other perils, this run had his number. He wasn’t exactly afraid of heights, but the sheer drop, the speed . . .

But he’d negotiated it before, and Ella was right. If they found her brother, and his friend, hurt, he’d need her help.

He wanted to take his helmet off, wipe away the sweat trickling down his temple.

They were losing sun. An hour of hard skiing over drops, along ridges, into mini-bowls, and around stands of pine, and Ella had stayed right with him.

In fact, she’d nearly beat him here, pulling up right on his tail.

Probably worried about Oliver. Which he was too. He couldn’t imagine what kind of injury the kid had sustained to destroy his helmet. The fact that he went for help suggested Oliver had the stuff of real heroism, not just the recklessness of a big mountain snowboarder.

Now to find him before night fell.

Ella still had her hand on his arm, and now gave a squeeze. “Take your time.”

Sadly, he didn’t need any time to find a line—there was no line here. Just a straight drop into speed, and one wrong shift of weight would careen them into the side of the wall.

A spectacular and fatal crash. Oh, why had he brought them this way? He looked at Ella, and she smiled at him.

He should have sent her home. To safety. His words from this morning shuddered through him. “I’ll be disastrous for you.” Never did that feel more true as she stood there, grinning, poised at the edge of a cliff.

More, he was very much in danger of losing his heart to her, careening full speed into something he’d been trying to forget, trying to deny, for three years. Just twenty-four hours with her had him right back where he’d been at the Outlaw resort, longing to figure out a way to see her after they got down off the mountain. The words had been forming inside him all day. “So, how terrible is it if I follow you back to Vermont? I’d like to see you when this craziness is over. In Vermont, or wherever.”

“Gage—”

“I’m just . . .”

“Are you freaking out?”

He looked at her, a little afraid she could read his mind, maybe see right through him to his heart.

“Because if you are, it’s okay. It’s . . . well, if I didn’t have you with me, I’d be trying to figure out a way to walk down. But we don’t have time. And I know you can get me down safely.”

He stared back at the run. Right.

He closed his eyes. God, I could use a little help. The prayer emerged, unbidden, but he latched on to it. I want to believe that you’re on my side, just like Ella said, despite my mistakes.

The wind lifted a gust of snow, swirled it at his feet and down the gully.

“What if we slarve the line?” Gage said, the thought coming to him fast. Of course. “Not a slide, but not carving our way either. It’ll keep us going slower, and we’ll weave our way down. And we’ll just stay on the fall line, closed turns all the way until it narrows up. “

She was silent beside him. For so long, in fact, that he looked at her.

“What aren’t you telling me, Gage?”

He pulled his goggles off then, wanting her to see his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m freaked out. And not just about the run or your brother, but maybe what happens when we get back to base. But we don’t have time to talk about it right now. Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how to not get our necks broken. Because last time I barely made it out alive. And this time—”

“Yeah, let’s slarve it,” she said. “There’s no GoPros, no circling choppers watching us. We take it at our speed, okay?”

He nodded.

“How about if I go first,” she said. “That way, if I fall, you can pick up the litter.”

“That’s not funny,” he said. “But yeah. Good idea.”

She could take her time, inch her way down.

Ella took off, scooting over the edge before he was ready. Arms out, she traversed the hill, leaning back, keeping her board flat, the nose out of the powder as she traversed the fall line, then cut hard, a thick carve the other direction.

Nothing epic, but yeah, at their pace.

He edged over the lip and headed down, following her wide, easy, beautiful line.