The air is crisp, the sun yet to warm up the mountains of Utah. The new fallen snow crunches under my boots as I head to the snowmobile to take me to my halfpipe. After I attach my board to the snowmobile, I sit down and wait.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm still waiting and no sign of Mia, but people are waking up to make their way onto the slopes.

“Fuck this.” I throw away my empty cup of coffee and Mia's still full one.

Roaring the snowmobile to life, I speed up the hill and over to my halfpipe. It's not that secluded, but I'm not one to kick a gift horse in the mouth.

“You've got to be shittin’ me.” I speed up the hill of the slope, kill the engine of the snowmobile and watch Mia fly up each side of the halfpipe, her body twisting and twirling in the air.

It's hard to know if she got her love of riding from Brandon or not. The whole following your big brother around town, or in her case up and down the slopes is the norm for most families. Brandon’s no longer able to go to the Winter Classics, but his baby sister is the top female prospect to claim gold in the halfpipe.

She does the double cork she's been able to do for the past three years and falls into the airbag. She’s too in her head. If she could get out of it and add to that trick she'd be unstoppable.

A minute or so later, she crawls out of the inflatable bag at the end of the halfpipe, two helpers grabbing her board for her. I wait at the top while she hops on a snowmobile. When it reaches the top, she hops off and thanks the guy who drove her up here.

“Morning,” I nod.

She takes off her goggles and shoots me a dangerous smile. A smile that could make me grab her and push her up against a tree, kissing her until she forgot why she hates me, and why a piece of me hates myself every time I look at her.

“You’re late,” she says, and I grit my teeth but don’t bother responding with the reason why. “I hope you don't mind, I woke up early.” She glances behind her to the driver of the snowmobile and the two people at the bottom watching our interaction with curiosity. “I just thought—”

I rise to my feet, towering over her. “No problem. I offered it up, glad you're taking advantage.”

Grabbing my board, I wish I wouldn't have called off my own team today. I’d thought it would just be the two of us and I’m not sure why I’m bothered that it’s not.

“Well, your turn,” she says and I watch as she runs ChapStick across her full lips. The way she purses them out a bit makes me want to find out what flavor she uses—with my tongue.

“I'm still setting up, you go ahead.”

“Great.” With her board under her arm, she heads the last few steps to the drop in of the halfpipe before strapping herself to the board.

I wait, this time up on the hill, watching her do the same shit she just did a second ago.

Strapping on my helmet and my goggles when my turn comes, I let the music lead me. I mix up stunts I've been trying to perfect. Allow the freedom of flow to rule my tricks. Then I try the one trick I'm only ready to land in the airbag and a pillow of comfort catches my fall that would have been on my head had I tried it without.

The snowmobile guy rides me back up the hill, which is nice of him guy since he's only supposed to be here for Mia. She waits for me instead of heading down right after.

“Are you planning to do that at the Winter Classics?”

“We'll see.” I shrug. “I'm not sure it will be ready.”

She nods. “Is that your order of tricks?” I can't pinpoint what it is about her voice. Intrigue, but something else, maybe self-confidence.

“Nah, I freestyle it until the last few weeks and then coach and I will decide on the order. I tried to just do the same order time and time again, but I got bored with it and I think I lost my flare.”

She nods, staring down at the halfpipe, her teeth biting down on her lip.

I lean in close over her shoulder. “You wanna know what I think?”

She cringes, stepping away from me. “I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

“You play it too safe.”

“Who asked you?” She straps both her feet on her board.

“Do one trick that you don't normally try into the airbag.”

Without responding, she places her earbud in and slides down to the starting point.

Still stubborn as a fucking cat.

Her board slides down into the halfpipe and she does the same old shit.

Knowing she doesn't give a crap what my opinion is, I head down right after her.

And that's our first hour. Her dropping in, me dropping in right after. No conversation, no talking, just two athletes doing what they do best.

Then after a particularly challenging run, I find her waiting for me again at the top of the pipe, her goggles resting on her helmet, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip again. The snowmobile driver speeds back down the hill, picking up the two other teammates and they disappear, leaving us alone. I tense, getting the feeling that this is more than just break time.

“Hey,” I say, placing my board in the snow and taking off my gloves.

“Can we talk for a second?” she asks.

I sit down on the snow. “Sure.” My stomach clenches, prepared for a conversation like this since I found out we were going to be thrown together.

“Can we call a truce?”

My tense shoulders relax a bit. Not at all what I was expecting.

She picks up a handful of snow, pats it into a ball and throws, shockingly not at my face, but as far as she can behind her.

“I don't hate you, Mia, so I don’t really need a truce.”

She nods, her eyes concentrating on her mitten-covered hands piling the snow into another ball.

“Well, I hate you... at least I did.”

“Mia?” She looks up, those brown eyes so similar to her brother’s focusing in on me. “I get it. I’d hate me, too. We don't have to be best friends. You can use my pipe as often as you like without me even here. I don't care about that.”

“What am I missing?” she asks, raising a brow.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” She shakes her head, second-guessing whatever it was she was going to say. We’re both silent for a minute before she spits out, “I play it safe because I'm scared.”

Shit, I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but it's hard when I see the talent she has wasted in simple tricks she perfected over a year ago.

“I know,” I say softly.

“Aren't you? I mean you were there, you saw it.”

Now it's me diverting eye contact and playing with the snow. I’ve avoided talking about that night with any of the Salters for four years. I’m not sure I can handle it.

“Yeah, but I love it. I’m myself out there and not all up in my head. It’s like an itch I can’t ever fully scratch. It took me a long time to realize that if I fear it, I'll never be successful.”

“My parents aren’t exactly thrilled about me continuing in Brandon’s footsteps. He tries to explain the pull to them, but they aren't listening.”

“If you didn't snowboard, what would you do?” I ask the tough question I had to ask myself. Is this worth losing it all?

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “I love it, but I miss the adrenalin rush, you know? The feeling when you nail a trick you've been trying for months. You're right that I play it safe because I don't want the I told you so from my family should I slam.”

“Then get up on there, and try any trick you want and land in the airbag.”

She looks up from the snow in her hands, her eyes glowing with excitement.

“It's safe. Just see how it feels.”

For a second, the silence around us feels oppressive and I second guess pushing her. Maybe she's not ready, but she surprises me when she stands and straps herself to the board with a short nod.

Without a word, she dips into the pipe, doing her run of the mill tricks until her final one when she tries a triple cork. She lands in the airbag, but she was close to nailing it.

Since the snowmobile isn't down there anymore, I hop on the one I rode up on and meet her at the bottom to bring her back up.

“How did it feel?” I ask, waiting for her to hop on.

She holds her board in her lap, smiling over at me. “Awesome. I want to do it again.”

“Then we’ll do it again.”

I race us up the hill and for the rest of the day, she tries to nail the triple cork. For the first time in over four years, I laughed with a Salter and I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel both good and…undeserving.