“Not right how?”
“They’re too loose. You’ll have no control over the board if your foot’s sliding around. Who set you up with this rental?”
“Jeff, from the rental shop.”
Sterling mutters something under his breath I can’t quite catch, but it definitely isn’t flattering. Then he looks up at me, eyes shadowed by his goggles. “If you’d tried riding like this, you could’ve wrecked your ankle. Or worse.”
A chill runs through me, one that has nothing to do with the cool mountain air. The memory of the crash three years agoflashes through my mind—the snap of my ski, the blinding pain shooting up my spine before everything went numb, the way the world blurred as I lay there knowing in my gut something had broken that couldn’t easily be fixed. I barely clawed my way back from that, and the doctors weren’t subtle when they told me another serious injury could mean goodbye, not just to snow sports, but walking altogether.
That thought alone makes my stomach turn. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to push the fear down before it swallows me whole. Sliding down mountains has been my entire life. Without it…who even am I?
“Don’t look so scared,” he says, softer now. “We’ll fix it. But from now on, you don’t ride during my lessons unless I’ve checked your gear first. Got it?”
I bristle at his bossy tone, but the way his voice dips lower makes my stomach flip.
“Got it,” I mutter, even though I want to argue.
Sterling nods once, decisive, and starts working the straps tighter. His gloves brush my boots, and for one reckless second, I wish it were his hands on my bare skin instead.
He tightens the last strap with a grunt, then looks up at me from where he’s crouched in the snow and the sight hits me like a sucker punch. Him, on his knees in front of me. Goggles pushed up on his forehead, brown eyes on me.
For a split second, it’s three years ago, his hands on my thighs instead of my boots, his mouth against me, his gaze pinning me in place as if I were the only thing in his entire world. Him worshipping me until I came completely undone.
Heat rushes through me so fast it’s dizzying and I blink hard, snapping myself back into the present.
“Alright,” Sterling says, straightening, oblivious to the storm he just triggered inside of me. “That should hold. Try shifting your weight, see if it feels snug now.”
I shift my weight, rocking heel to toe, testing the snugness. “It feels secure now.”
“See?” Sterling says, stepping back, brushing snow from his gloves. “Now you won’t go flying out of your bindings the second you point your board downhill. That’s always a good start.”
“Comforting,” I deadpan, earning myself the faintest smirk from him.
He plants his board flat in the snow and motions toward me. “Alright, for your first lesson, you’ll learn proper technique and probably figure out how to stand back up after a fall without looking like a turtle on its back.”
“Great. Can’t wait to be a professional turtle,” I mutter, struggling to shift myself upright. My legs wobble, the board fighting me, and I almost pitch backward.
Sterling steps in immediately, steadying me with a gloved hand on my arm. “Relax. You’re fighting it. Let the board do what it’s built to do.”
“Oh, so I’m supposed to trust the giant slippery piece of wood strapped to both my feet?”
“That’s kind of the point, Hart.” He crouches slightly, showing me how to angle my knees. “It’s not that different from your skis—you trusted those to carry you, right? Same idea. Center of gravity low, chest over your knees. Like this. You’ll feel more balanced.”
Trustedmy skis. I don’t trust them anymore. Not since that day. Not since everything went wrong.
I mimic his stance, shaky at first, but when I settle into it something clicks and the wobbling eases.
“There you go,” he says, his voice low and approving. “Now try a little slide.”
“A what?”
He grins. “Just lift your front foot and let the board glide a few inches.”
I do it, sliding maybe two feet before the board jerks awkwardly and I squeal, arms flailing. Sterling’s laugh echoes across the snow as he grabs my elbow to steady me again.
“Not bad,” he says, his eyes crinkling. “Better than I expected, honestly.”
“Wow. I love how much faith you have in me,” I shoot back, but I can’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
