That's all it takes to turn a fifth-generation lodge owner into one more meme.
The crowd cheers. The nose lights up. Tara's cameras capture every humiliating second.
And I smile through it like my dignity isn't bleeding out on the snow.
When I finally dismount—Loss? Victory? Does it even matter at this point?—my legs are unsteady and my pride is somewhere in the stratosphere, never to return.
I scan the crowd for Sierra. For her camera. For that look she gives me when she's trying not to laugh but failing.
I find her.
But she's not looking at me.
She's talking to Justin.
Justin who’s standing too close. Leaning in.
She’s smiling at him like?—
The world tilts.
No.
No.
Not him. Not now. Not after everything.
And now she'slaughing.
The air leaves my lungs like I've been tackled from behind.
This is how it started.
This is exactly how it started.
I can see it. I can fucking see it unfolding like a movie I've already watched. The one where she panics. Where the stakes get too high and she decides it's easier to retreat to something safe than fight for something real.
She did it once. She'll do it again.
Something snaps.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a clean, quiet break somewhere deep in my chest where I've been holding everything together with duct tape and denial.
Last night didn't matter. The hot tub didn't matter. Eleven years of waiting didn't matter.
I broke every rule. Crossed every line.
For her—for us.
And here she is. Smiling at the guy she used to prove she was over me.
The guy she ran to eleven years ago when she decided I wasn't worth the risk.
My vision narrows. My pulse pounds so loud I can barely hear the crowd still buzzing from my eight-second circus act.
History doesn't just repeat itself.
It mocks you.
