Chapter One
River
Searing pain shot down my twisted leg, flames creeping back up in response. In sharp contrast, the rest of me was chilled by the snow in which I lay after my disastrous decision to ski left instead of right in avoiding the tangled arms and legs of a pair of ski bunnies who had made a bad decision all their own. I gulped in air while waiting for the ski patrol to arrive and get me down to the lodge and, judging from the angle of my calf, the hospital.
Unlike the bunnies, who I’d heard in the lodge below, earlier, discussing which slope to try for their second day skiing ever, I’d landed off to the side, in a small grove of trees, instead of in the middle of the slope where I’d be endangering everyone else. Also unlike them, I was not giggling. Clearly, they had suffered no major injuries, probably none at all.
They didn’t belong there. It wasn’t a black diamond slope, but neither was it suitable for beginners.
With a role in the festival the next day, I’d been here relaxing, stretching, just enjoying the beautiful blue-skied day. Which meant I wasn’t technically training or “working,” and would probably have a hell of a time getting the team’s medical insurance to pay my bills.
If I could have gotten my feet under me, I’d have scrambled to their side and read them the riot act, but instead, I could only lie there biting back moans of pain while hoping it wasn’t as bad as it felt like.
One week later…
If I’d injured my right leg, I’d never have been able to drive myself up to the cabin. Lucky the one that sent me to the emergency room was the left. And even luckier that the family cabin was there for me to crawl off to in disgrace after my injury. It takes two legs to be a competitive skier, at least unless you’re one of the heroic few who did it with a prosthetic. But I’d never have that kind of courage. Again luckily, my injury left my leg intact, just unusable for a period of time.
And despite what some of my family claimed, skiing was my job. Paid the bills and kept me in custom ski gear. So many of the guys I competed against went down to injuries over the years, but I’d never been out for more than a week or two. As if I had a charmed life. Until now. While it didn’t actually hurt all that much, word from the doctors was that if I didn’t stay off it for at least six weeks, I’d end up with permanent ligament damage.
Still, I argued. I could wrap up the winter competitions then take several months off. I’d worked through pain before.
Until the doctors bestowed their final doomsday proclamation.
If I did not stop skiing immediately and rest, I might well never ski again.
Which put me on the road to the cabin with a backpack full of magazines I’d been meaning to read, a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of a snowy scene all in white, and my favorite comfy pillow. And of course, my tablet. If I couldn’t compete, I had to do something to stay in touch with my fans on social media. Out of sight and out of mind was a real danger in my field.
Lots of pretty boys on skis; I had to work this right. Get the fans rooting for my return without making them think I was down for the count. The physical therapist would be up to work with me in a week or so since the exercises permitted me were limited this week. Basically, walk around indoors, go outside only if it wasn’t too slippery, and do not go anywhere near my skis.
The snowfall increased, going from pretty, delicate flakes to heavy, dense snow the windshield wipers could barely shove away enough for me to see. As if nature wanted to mock me by creating perfect skiing conditions.
My grandfather had built the cabin as a way to get out of town—he acted as if Mapleville was New York—and relax. Appreciate nature. He loved to hunt and fish, and, since his death, the family had shared the place. We took turns using it, mostly my cousin Maria and me, in winter, but everyone used it in summer. I had the greatest memories of all of us there, swimming in the nearby lake, fishing, rock climbing… Basically, all the fun outdoor things.
As the cabin came into sight around a bend, I felt what I always did. Excitement, happiness, peace. No matter what happened, I’d always have this haven to come to. The family trust we’d set up ensured that.
The setting sun beamed off the windows of the A-frame, a simple structure, cozy, a haven. Maybe it would do me good to have some time alone to reflect. My life kept me pretty busy, and although I’d prefer not to have it, as long as my leg healed as good as new, I could learn to live with it. My coach suggested a little meditation, but I was not into that.
The doctor had also had a sense of humor. He said I was fine to have sex as long as I didn’t put too much pressure on the leg. Sex with who? I didn’t have time for relationships and had grown past casual hookups my third year on the circuit.
Okay to have sex.
I guess I was also lucky I hadn’t sprained my wrist.
Laughing, but not in a happy way, I clicked the garage door opener and pulled inside.
Right next to a car I’d never seen before.