Page 8 of Mountain Trial

He took a step forward. Even in her ski boots, he towered over her. Kat felt the contents of her stomach surge upwards―she swallowed reflexively.

Breathe. Breathe.

“I have to go,” she said, her throat full of bile. She picked up her poles, and only then gave herself permission to step back. Immediately, she felt better.

“I’ll see you around,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, and it made her want to puke once again.

The smile grew wider on his face. She realized he wasn’t looking at her anymore, but at something or someone behind her. Kat turned to see a group of journalists and photographers.

Typical.

Focus on them, Jacques, and leave me alone.

Kat didn’t feel like skiing anymore. Her ribs were throbbing in rhythm to her thumping heart, and all she wanted to do was go home and hide under her duvet cover. But she knew nothing good ever came of hiding, and she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let Jacques take anything else from her ever again.

One more run.

As she turned towards the lift, she caught sight of Luc. He was facing away from her, moving towards the cable car that would take him down to Chamonix. He’d changed his sit ski for a wheelchair with heavy-tread tires. His powerful shoulders bunched as he propelled himself across the snow.

Kat stifled the sudden urge to ski towards him―he was an athlete, exactly the type of man she’d decided never to get involved with again.

Chapter 3

Luc

One of the things Luc positively hated about being in a wheelchair was the amount of time it took him to get ready to leave the house.

Showering, dressing, putting on his boots―tasks he used to be able to accomplish in a matter of minutes―took a new dimension when one couldn’t move one’s legs.

He reminded himself he was lucky. He’d never walk again, but he was a T12―his injury paled into insignificance when compared with those of people with cervical spinal cord injuries. Just a bit higher, and he could have been unable to move from the neck down.

Luc thought back to some of the people he’d met at the rehabilitation center―a firefighter who’d been injured while getting two kids out of a burning building, a policewoman who’d been shot during a robbery. He often wondered if it felt different for them―knowing they’d been doing something worthwhile at the time.

As for him, he’d injured himself in the most selfish way possible: practicing a sport he loved. From the time he was a child and first discovered snowboarding, Luc had broken more bones in his body than he could count. He’d been fully aware of the risks associated with the sport and had taken them on happily.

So no, he had no right to feel sorry for himself.

After a quick breakfast, he locked the door to his apartment and wheeled himself across the road to wait for his ride. The sign outside the building made him smile, as always, for its grandiloquence.

Le Grand Paradis.

It was an accessible, clean, ground-floor apartment, located near the center of town and perfect for Luc’s needs, but hardly paradise.

He watched the electric Mulet bus drive by but made no attempt to stop it. Although the bus was wheelchair accessible, there was only space for one wheelchair―not nearly enough if you took into consideration the Victory Games would be bringing together thirty adaptive athletes, of which maybe half of them were wheelchair users. For this reason, the event sponsors, an energy drinks company called MASH, had set up special accessible buses for the weeks ahead of the event.

When a representative of MASH had first called him to ask him to participate in the event, Luc had been tempted to say no. He’d been training hard the last couple of years, but no longer with competitions in mind―he jumped to prove to himself that he could do it, not for any other reason. But when the organizers told him they were bringing together pro and Paralympic athletes in one single competition, the temptation had been too strong to ignore.

Luc wasn’t stupid. He was thirty-three years old. As a pro athlete, he would have been retiring soon. As an adaptive athlete, he could keep going a few more years, but he wasn’t going to be able to do this indefinitely. If he wanted to make a difference to the sport, if he wanted recently injured people to realize how many things they could still do, he had to take the chance now.

Luc spun his wheels to make space as a second wheelchair came up behind him. His eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of the man in the chair. He reached over to clasp his friend’s hand tightly.

“Scott? What are you doing here? I didn’t think you were coming!”

His friend Scott Reynolds grinned. “Thought I’d surprise you. They called me a couple nights ago. It seems Emile Gouter’s shoulder isn’t one hundred percent, and I was next on the list. Coach Legrand told me you were here already.”

Luc winced in sympathy. Shoulder pain and injuries were a huge problem for people with spinal cord injuries.

“I’m sorry to hear about Emile, but it’s good to see you,” Luc said, smiling widely. He and Scott had gotten injured the same year, and met in their first Paralympic competition, where Luc had made a fool of himself by assuming his mono-ski would work just like his snowboard used to. Scott, a skier before his accident, had fared much better. Even though Scott lived in the UK and they rarely met up in person, Luc considered him a good friend.