“That’s me,” Marco said, extending a hand.
“Derek. From Aspen Heli-Ski. Just wanted to confirm for tomorrow morning. Chopper lifts at seven sharp.”
My stomach dropped. “Tomorrow?”
Marco didn’t look at me. “Seven is perfect. Conditions good?”
“Fresh powder,” Derek said, grinning. “Dumped six inches this afternoon. Backcountry is going to be insane. High avalanche risk in the bowls, but we’ll stick to the ridges.”
“Avalanche risk?” I stepped forward. The champagne buzz evaporated instantly.
Derek looked at me, his smile faltering slightly. “It’s standard for this time of year, ma’am. We monitor it closely. We have airbags, beacons, the works.”
“Beacons are for finding bodies,” I said flatly.
“Theresa,” Marco warned, his voice low.
“No.” I turned to him. “You didn’t tell me you were going heli-skiing. We have four kids, Marco. You’re not twenty anymore.”
“And I’m not dead yet,” he shot back, though his tone remained light. He turned to the guides. “Ignore her. She’s the safety officer. I’ll be there at seven.”
“Copy that. See you then.” The guides nodded and walked away, boots thudding on the carpet.
I spun on my heel and marched toward the balcony doors. I needed air. Cold, biting air.
Marco followed. I knew he would.
Outside, the cold rushed over me, stripping the warmth from my skin in a single breath. Snow fell softly, muting the world. The lights of the town twinkled below, cozy and distant. I gripped the railing, the metal freezing against my palms.
“Tess.”
“Don’t.” I stared out at the dark shapes of the mountains. They looked like sleeping giants, massive and indifferent. “You promised. No more extreme stuff until after the test trials.”
“I promised no base jumping,” he corrected, coming to stand beside me. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. “Skiing is skiing.”
“Jumping out of a helicopter into unpatrolled backcountry isn’t skiing. It’s a death wish.”
“It’s living,” he said. “God, Tess, look at where we are. Look at what we’re building. We spend our lives in labs and boardrooms. If I don’t feel the wind in my face sometimes, I’ll suffocate.”
“You have responsibilities. Our children.”
“I know.” He turned me toward him, his hands warm on my bare arms. “But I need to be the kind of father who shows them how to live fully, not just safely. I want them to see that dreams are worth chasing, even when it gets scary.”
I recognized this argument. It was the same one he’d used when he quit his stable job to start CarideoTech. When he convinced me to mortgage everything for the patent. Every time he asked me to leap without being able to see the landing.
And he’d been right every time. About us. About the company. He saw the path forward where I only saw the cliff edge.
“If you die, you can’t teach them anything.”
“I’m not going to die.” His eyes were fierce, burning with an intensity that always disarmed me. “I’m good at this. You know I am.”
“The mountain doesn’t care how good you are.”
He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. I resisted for a second, stiff and angry, then melted against his chest.
“I need this,” he whispered into my hair. “Just one run. To clear my head before Tuesday. Then I’m all yours. I’ll be the boring CEO in the suit again.”
I closed my eyes. “I hate it.”
