I don't know whether I should be annoyed or insulted. I settle for sarcasm. “Age aside, I happen to know a thing or two about a thing or two.”
His brow curves up. “Judging by your Instagram, I have a feeling you and this mountain are on first name basis,” his lip twitches, the small joke passing between us about the folklore. “But this weather is dangerous. No one going down tonight is anything less than a professional.”
“Huh.” I blink off into the distance.
He relaxes, assuming his warning worked, but I shove the goggles down over my eyes and shrug. “Guess it's a good thing I was trained by one.”
I slide forward, right into the first pipe. My board glides smoothly over the ice as I take the first dip, airborne for a few seconds before landing perfectly with a thud. He isn't exaggerating; the mountain is a killer, but I've been riding these slopes almost every weekend for the past six months.
Why I found solace in this place as one of my closest friends ghosted me, I don't know.
Maybe it's because we shared such good memories here when I first took over ownership of the manor.
Or it’s because I really do love the snow.
The first corner hits, my edges biting deep. With every weight shift, it all comes flooding back.
My knees fold into the next carve, swallowing the mountain's fury. Ice patches that'd drop rookies on their asses? Nothing to me.
Trees whip past in dark streaks, counting off my descent. Any one of them is a headstone if I mess up, but this is all muscle memory now.
Distance, speed, angle. The same math that puts a bullet through a heart at three hundred meters.
Wind tears at my exposed skin, savage and honest. This is what I love. Just physics and flesh, testing each other's limits.
I whip into a heel-side stop, snow erupting around me.
Seconds pass where it’s just the silence of nature.
My breath clouds the air as my pulse hammers a familiar rhythm. Combat high, adrenaline dump, same chemicals, cleaner conscience.
Above, the aurora unfolds across the black canvas of sky. Pink bleeding into blue, nature's own neon nightclub.
I drop to the snow with a thud.
Snow kicks up over my board as Asher skids in beside me, whipping off his goggles. “Still fucking stubborn, I see.”
My back hits the snow in a flurry of laughter as I point up to the sky. “There's not a single thing in this world more beautiful than that.”
When he doesn't answer, I turn my head and find him staring down at me. I hate this. I hate wanting someone so much that it physically pains me.
Weak, weak, weak.
“Yeah. Maybe you're right.” He lowers beside me, kicking up his board. In a flurry of gray graffiti and patterns, I trace the lines with my eyes before going back to the sky above.
“Why didn't you tell me about Camille?”
Silence.
He breathes out a sigh. “Because I couldn't. She's--”
“I should warn you.” I turn my head. I didn't realize how close he was. “I'm not very good at relationship advice, despite my obvious age.”
His chuckle is met with a brief moment of confusion when his brows dip.
He dusts his hands on his pants, shaking his head. “Relationship isn't what I'd call her.”
I hesitate for a moment before staring out in front of me.
