After another rough night, spent listening to Laura moan softly in her sleep and wishing I was next to her, with my arms wrapped around her and her fine ass tucked against me, the last thing I want to do is get up at the crack of dawn and rush up the mountain.

But Chloe is up at six fifteen, knocking on the bedroom door, asking if I packed her unicorn ski pants and if she can have pancakes and pie for breakfast and how much longer until we leave. By the time I locate the pants—and the matching unicorn hat that Justin made for her—and stumble downstairs for coffee, Steve and Angie are already dressed in their ski clothes and looking way too bright-eyed for people who fed a small army yesterday and helped take down five bottles of wine last night.

“Ready to hit the slopes, killer?” Steve asks. “I’ve been missing my black diamond buddies. Angie won’t do the big runs with me anymore.”

I give him two sleepy thumbs-up, and add extra sugar to my coffee.

I’m tired now, but by the time I’m on a lift, the crisp air at seven thousand feet will wake me up. Chloe and I have both been looking forward to this weekend. I grew up spending Christmas holidays with my grandparents in Banff, skiing from sunup to sundown, and she’s been skiing like a champ since she was four years old.

By nine o’clock, we’re dressed for the elements and the Cruiser is packed with a cooler filled with turkey sandwiches and drinks, two bags of snacks to keep our energy up through early evening, and Chloe’s skis. Steve and Angie lead the way in their truck, heading out of the subdivision and onto the highway toward the Government Camp ski area.

“So why don’t you have your own skis?” Laura asks. She’s sitting up front with me today, looking like a Viking princess in her tight red ski pants and black and white snowflake sweater, making me glad she’s planning to stick to the blue runs with Angie today. I’m not sure how I would hold up to an entire day of exposure to her ass in those pants.

“I don’t know.” I shrug, fighting to keep my eyes on the road and my thoughts in the friend zone. She made her position on being more than that perfectly clear yesterday. Continuing to dwell on how much I wish I hadn’t fucked up my chance with her is only going to make the weekend pass even more slowly. “When I first moved here to play for the Badgers I wasn’t sure I would have time to ski. And then there were a few years, when Chloe was a baby, when I didn’t make it up to the slopes the entire season.”

“But now I ski better than Dad,” Chloe pipes up from behind me. “Don’t I, Dad?”

“You’re very good.” I catch her gaze in the rearview mirror. “But don’t get cocky, okay? I want you to stick to the green and blue runs until after lunch. Give yourself a chance to get comfortable on your skis again.”

“I’m already comfortable on my skis.”

“Chloe,” I say, her name a warning. “I’m serious. You haven’t been out since last March. Stick to the green and blue until after lunch, or you’re going to lose drawing time next week.”

She grumbles something stubborn beneath her breath, but I feel fairly confident she’s going to listen. I don’t whip out threats to take away drawing time unless I mean business.

“That’s funny,” Laura says softly after Chloe returns to the picture she’s coloring. “For most kids, it would be dessert or video games or something.”

“But that’s not what she loves most. The only way I ever get her to listen is to hit her where it hurts.”

Laura nods, studying me from the corner of her eye.

“What?” I finally ask.

“You’re a good dad. You’ve got a good mix of discipline and affection going on. She knows she’s loved, but she also has boundaries. It’s…good.”

I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, flustered by the compliment. “Thanks. I try my best.”

“That’s obvious.” She takes a sip of her coffee and reaches out to adjust her heat vent. “It’s also obvious that Chloe’s a lot happier on days with no school in them.”

“Aren’t we all? I mean, I love my job, but I’m still more fun on the weekend.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she says, softening the words with a smile. “I know I already mentioned this, but it might not be such a bad thing for Chloe to go back to her old school. Maybe at least give it a try. And then if she’s still struggling, you’ll know it’s adjusting to first grade that’s the problem, not the learning environment at Elmwood.” She lifts her coffee cup between us. “And that advice is coming from my sister, by the way, who is a real-life elementary school teacher. A very good one, who wins awards and inspires undying devotion in her students and stuff. So…”

I nod, the conversation hitting me differently than it did the last time Laura brought it up. Of course, that was almost six weeks ago, before I realized how much she cares about Chloe.

“I’ll think about it.” I glance into the rearview mirror, grateful to see Chloe’s head still bent over her coloring book. I don’t want her to start thinking this is a done deal. “The year at Elmwood is already paid for. So maybe they would let her leave and come back if she needed to. And hopefully I’ll have found a reliable nanny by Christmas so after school care won’t be such a big deal.” I shake my head, the familiar childcare-related stress creeping in to tighten my shoulders. “If not, I may have to fucking retire to make sure someone’s always there to pick her up at school.”

“I heard that! Another dollar in the swear jar for you when we get home,” Chloe pipes up, making me cuss again beneath my breath.

Laura snorts. “You’re right. She’s always listening.”

“Always,” I agree, with a rueful smile.

“You’ll find someone,” Laura says. “You can’t retire now, right when you’re becoming one of my most cooperative Badger ambassadors.”

“Forget that I’m captain and was voted MVP three years in a row. It’s all about the PR.”

“Yes!” She pats me on the thigh, making my cock twitch hopefully inside my boxers because the dumb bastard has the IQ of a single celled organism and hasn’t caught on to the fact that Laura isn’t ever going to be in our bed again. “Glad you’re starting to understand that. Without PR, those crowds watching you be MVP would be a lot smaller, my friend.”

Her friend.

There are far worse things to be—Laura’s a good friend, who is always there to help out with Chloe no matter how weird things are between us at any given moment—but the reminder makes me grumpy.

I pass the rest of the drive up to the ski area in silence, while Laura and Chloe discuss the merits of turkey sandwiches with mayo versus cranberry sauce, where the best blue runs are at the resort, and whether Chloe’s unicorn hat is going to fit beneath her ski helmet.

“The horn is squishy, so I think it will.” Chloe’s legs kick faster as we pay the daily parking fee and pull into the already packed lot. “It’s made of yarn and yarn squishes. That’s a fact.”

“Can’t argue with facts.” Laura glances over her shoulder, a warmth in her gaze that makes me feel even worse. My shitty judgment call last summer didn’t just rob me of a gorgeous, sexy woman in my bed; it robbed Chloe of the female influence Steve and Angie want for her.

Yes, Chloe still sees a lot of Laura, but she would see more of her if we were dating.

And then when you broke up, she would see a lot less of her.

Better to maintain the status quo.

Four years ago, a thought like that never would have crossed my mind. I was all about pushing my boundaries, bending the rules, and seeing how much extraordinary I could fit into one lifetime. But somewhere along the line, between the nightmarish day I received that call from the police, and the tolerable present, I stopped aiming for extraordinary. I became satisfied with an absence of pain and stopped hoping for pleasure. I became resigned to the status quo.

But right now, the status fucking quo feels like a rope binding my hands, keeping me from reaching for something better than good enough, and chafing like hell in the process.

“Can you carry your skis?” Laura asks Chloe, hooking one bulging snack bag over each shoulder. “If so, I think we can make it in one trip.”

“I can carry my skis and my boots.” Chloe prances back and forth in the fresh snow. “I’m so excited! I can’t wait to go fast!”

“Not too fast,” I say, because that’s what stick in the mud, status-quo-loving, boring dads like me say. Even though I lived to go fast when I was Chloe’s age, and no amount of grownup nagging ever slowed me down.

I am well aware that I’m flopping my lips in vain, but I flop them anyway because once fear has penetrated as deep into a person’s marrow as it has into mine, logic has no power. My only victory against the cold, clutching, constricting emotion has been the fact that I continue to let Chloe out of the house every day. I allow her to play and explore and do potentially dangerous things like ski, swim in the ocean, and go rock climbing with her grandparents every summer, even though the fear monster insists I’m risking losing her the way I lost her mom.

“You okay?” Laura lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Great,” I grunt, lifting the heavy cooler and hauling it up the hill to the rental chalet, grateful for the chance to use my brawn instead of my brain. Hopefully, a few black diamond runs will get the fucking angst out of my system, and I can enjoy the day without being a moody son of a bitch.

I drop the cooler and Chloe with Angie on the second floor, where she’s claimed a table next to a couple of lockers, and follow Steve and Laura down to the ski rental. We secure performance skis for ourselves and lift passes for the group and are out on the bunny slope twenty minutes later, gliding through the fresh powder to the bottom of the hill and the tiny lift Chloe used to ride all day long when she was first learning a few years ago.

Now, the kid can barely stand to warm up on the bunny slope. After two runs, she’s already whining, “Come on, Dad. Let’s go! I want to go up to Stormin’ Norman.”

“We’ll get there.” I settle onto the lift chair beside her as it whisks us into the air, high enough to catch a sweet view of Mount Hood behind the main lodge. “But let’s give Laura a little more time on the bunny slope, okay? She said it’s been a couple years since she skied.”

Chloe glances down at the slope, where Laura is making her way competently, but cautiously, down the bunny hill. “She’s not as good as I thought she would be.” She turns back to me, a serious expression on her face. “But that’s okay. You don’t have to be great at skiing to have fun, and I can stay on the blue runs with her if she needs company.”

I nudge her shoulder with mine, pride filling my chest. “You’re a good kid, kid. I love you.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I love you, too. Even though you have a big butt.”

She laughs and I roll my eyes—because I understand that it’s no fun teasing me unless I pretend to be irritated by it. We hop off at the end of the lift and Chloe zips immediately down the hill, swishing back and forth with an ease and control that’s incredible in a seven-year-old.

On impulse, I tug my phone out of my pocket to snap a picture to send to my parents, who are always complaining that I don’t send enough Chloe updates to satisfy their grandparent needs, to see a missed call from my sister and an epic string of texts I somehow didn’t hear come through on the way up the mountain.

---

Diana: Okay, I promised I wouldn’t say anything to you about this, but I can’t help myself. Because I feel like you’re making a mistake, big brother. And I think you’re lying to yourself. And as someone who messed up her life by lying to herself for way too long, I really don’t want the same thing to happen to you.

I saw you with Laura yesterday, and that wasn’t pretend, dude. I’ve seen your commercials for the steak house. We both know you’re not that good an actor.

You’ve got a thing for her, Brendan.

There are real feelings there.

How can I tell, you ask?

BECAUSE I’M YOUR SISTER AND I KNOW YOU AND I KNOW THE DOPEY SAD LOOK YOU GET WHEN YOU’RE CRUSHING ON SOMEONE. IT’S BEEN THE SAME SINCE SEVENTH GRADE!

You remember Alicia Anderson? And what a jerk she was after you brought that stuffed panda to school for her on Valentine’s Day?

---

With a scowl, I tug off one glove and text back, Yeah, I do. Thanks for the trip down memory lane and for the all-caps insult, but it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t feel.

Laura isn’t interested in more than pretend.

She wants to be friends. That’s it.

---

Diana: You’re crazy. She’s totally into you. I know this for a fact.

---

I glance up, waving at Chloe, who is already at the bottom of the hill with Laura, jabbing a thumb toward the blue run that starts to the right of the bunny slope. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” I shout.

Before I can text Diana again, and educate her on how solidly Laura turned me down just yesterday, another text pops through.

---

Diana: I know because she told me. But don’t you dare tell her that I told you.

I don’t want her to think I can’t be trusted, because I usually can. But this time the greater good is best served by breaking my promise and telling you to pull your head out of your butt and ask her out for real before it’s too late.

Call me if you want to discuss further, but only if you’re not going to yell at me.

Amanda and I stayed up until two a.m. last night drinking margaritas, playing cards, and convincing each other we’re glad that we’re single and go to bed alone on major holidays.

So I’m hung over and have a low tolerance for loud noises.

But I love you.

I just want you to be happy, okay?

---

I text back a quick—Love you, too. And thank you. I’ll call later—and zip my phone into my coat pocket. A second later, I’ve got my glove on, my poles in hand, and I’m shushing away down the bunny slope onto the blue run, heading after Chloe and Laura.

I have no idea what I’m going to say to Laura when I catch up to them—probably nothing, because Chloe will be listening and this isn’t a conversation to have in front of a nosy seven-year-old who already thinks Laura and I are dating—but knowing there’s even a slim chance that I misunderstood her yesterday banishes the gray cloud that’s been hovering over my head all morning.

Maybe it’s not too late.

And maybe I’m more ready to start dating than I thought.

Yes, I will always miss Maryanne. For the rest of my life, there’s no denying that. But if I never get to be with Laura again, I’ll miss that, too. I’ll miss it—and her—way more than a person should miss a good friend. It’s already more than friendship between us, and I, for one, would like to stop pretending that our relationship is working the way it is now.

Fuck the status quo.

I want more than that from the sexy redhead swishing down the trail in front of me, and I’m ready to fight for another chance, to do whatever it takes to prove to her that I won’t screw things up the second time around.

I’m calculating the odds of catching up to Steve and Angie before they reach the lift at the bottom of the run—decent, even though they headed out ten minutes ago, since Angie likes to stop and take in the scenery—and composing an argument to get Chloe to ride the lift with her grandparents, giving me five minutes alone with Laura, which will hopefully be enough for me to convince her we should sneak away this afternoon to talk some more, when a sudden movement draws my attention.

I glance up the mountain to see a snowboarder in neon-green pants racing down a black diamond run. He veers into the woods, mowing over a slim evergreen that snaps upright with a puff of snow once he’s clear, making the flakes glitter in the morning sun. Leaning hard to one side, he slips around a tree big enough to have given him the concussion he’s clearly looking for and drops several feet through the air onto the packed snow.

I tense, expecting to see the kid wipe out, but he manages to find a path through the trees, his board skimming faster and faster, heading for the intersection between the blue and black runs at roughly the speed of light. It only takes a moment for me to calculate the distance between Chloe and the out of control douchebag, but by the time I open my mouth to shout a warning, it’s too late.

Chloe’s name passes my lips at the same time the snowboarder smashes into the snow right in front of her.

With a squeal of surprise, she cuts hard to the left to avoid a head-on collision, and a second later, my daughter is gone, shooting down a black diamond run without so much as the chance to tighten her grip on her poles.