And damn if it isn’t amazing to witness.
We stop halfway down the slope, collapsing into the snow with our boards unstrapped, breath puffing into the cold morning air. She tips her head back to drink from her water bottle, cheeks pink from the wind, dark hair tumbling out from under her helmet.
“Why’d you give up snowboarding?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove. “I really thought you were gonna pursue it professionally.”
My gaze drops, drawn to the town of Bluewater Bluffs stretched out at the base of the mountain. The view should be peaceful, grounding. Instead, it makes my chest tight.
How do I explain it without it sounding like I’m blaming her? Because the truth is messy.
“I think I realized my idea of what that career would look like wasn’t going to happen the way I pictured it,” I say carefully. “And once I accepted that, I didn’t want it anymore.”
Maisy goes quiet, following my gaze down to the town. “Because I wouldn’t be there with you?”
I don’t answer, keeping my eyes locked on the view like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. If I open my mouth, I’ll either say too much or not enough. And I can’t risk either.
I’ve realized she’s more fragile than she lets on. She masks it well with her jokes and that sharp tongue, but I see it—the doubt in her eyes, the heaviness she carries. It’s why I gave her an out for the things she said to me two weeks ago after her crash. Words that cut deep. Words I still hear at night when everything’s quiet.
She’s asked me more than once if I remember, and I keep pretending that I don’t. It’s easier that way. She doesn’t need to live with the guilt of knowing I do. I’ll carry it for both of us until she forgets she ever said those words.
“Do you ever regret it?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
My gaze drops to my boots, snow dusting the tips. My brows pull together. “Sometimes.”
The word tastes strange out loud, like admitting a secret I’ve kept buried too long. There are days I wish I’d stuck with it—just to prove I could do it. To myself, to everyone. Even if I’d been doing it alone.Especiallyif I’d been doing it alone.
Maisy nudges me with her shoulder, snapping me out of my head. “So why don’t you try getting back into it?”
I look over and she’s smiling a small, genuine smile. It makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to admit. Unlike her, I still have the option. I could chase it again, if I wanted. But I don’t, because somewhere deep down, I think I’ve been punishing myself by staying away. Because a part of me really does believe I’m to blame for what happened to her—for her fall, for her injury, for all the things she lost because of it.
And maybe if I give up the thing I love, it balances the scales.
“I don’t know, Mais,” I finally say, my voice rough. “I’ve got a whole new life in Saltwater Springs shaping boards for the surf team. That’s where I fit now. And even if I wanted to, I’m so out of practice I don’t think I could compete at that level. Not anymore, and especially not at my age.”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “You’re not even thirty yet,” she scoffs, like I’ve said the dumbest thing imaginable.
I huff out a laugh, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah, well, try telling that to my back.” My joints pop in protest as I push to my feet and strap into my board again. The movement feels mechanical, something my body remembers even if it doesn’t move as fluidly as it used to. I turn toward her, raising a brow. “Race you to the bottom?”
Maisy’s eyes light up instantly with a fire that I’ve always loved seeing, fierce and uncontained. She jumps to her feet and fumbles with her bindings, strapping in quickly. “You’re on, loser.”
Before I can even count down, she’s already flying forward, a blur of motion and laughter.
“Hey!” I shout, laughing as I push off to follow her.
Even though I could easily pass her, cut close and leave her trailing behind, I don’t. Because her laughter carried back on the wind does something to me I can’t begin to explain. Seeing hertake back a piece of herself on this mountain is worth more than any win.
So I let her take it.
By the time we come to a stop at the base of the slope, she’s doubled over, laughing and breathless. I roll up behind her, snow spraying as I brake.
“Damn,” she says between gulps of air, “you really are out of practice. You’re lucky I can’t compete anymore because I dusted your ass.”
I roll my eyes, trying—and failing—to smother my grin. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”
Her smirk grows cocky, the kind of expression that used to drive me insane back when we were kids racing each other down every hill we could find—her on skis and me on a board.
“Oh, come on, Sterling,” she says, her voice dipping into flirty teasing as she unclips from her board. “Don’t be a sore loser. What’s my prize for winning?”
I don’t even think before I move. My hand shoots forward, catching the front of her neck gaiter, and I tug her toward me. She gasps, her boots scraping against the snow as she stumbles forward. Instinctively, her hands splay across my chest to steady herself, and I feel the heat of her through the layers. For a second, neither of us breathes.
