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  “Good.” Cate stretched up to kiss me. “Have a great day. I’ll see you both when I get home.”

  Gem was quiet on the drive to Denver but the longer we wandered around the museum, the more she relaxed and came out of her shell. We engaged with the exhibits, ate junk for lunch and by the time we were ready to leave, she was laughing and joking with me. A little less enthusiastically than usual, but a world away from how she’d been.

  We stopped for shakes on the way home and after a particularly noisy slurp, Gem twisted sideways in the passenger seat. “Aspen, why didn’t you ever have kids? Don’t you want them?”

  An odd time for such a question but it was clear why she was asking. I glanced at her. “No, it wasn’t that. I wanted kids, real bad, but it never quite happened.”

  “You wanted them like past tense but not now?” Veterinarian be damned, the girl would make a fantastic cop or lawyer.

  “Not exactly. I’ve got you now so I don’t want anything but what I’ve got.”

  “Oh.”

  I made a quick mirror check, pulled off the road with my hazards on and set the car into park. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear, Gem, about how important you are to me. How much I care about you. I guess I just assumed you knew.”

  Gemma stuck the straw in her mouth, clamping it between her back teeth. “No, you have. I think I knew that…”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “But you wanted to hear it.”

  Her shrug turned into a few quick nods. “I guess so, yeah.”

  “I’ll make sure to tell you often then, so you won’t ever have to worry.” I lowered my voice. “Look at me.”

  She raised her face to mine, her eyes wide.

  “You are so smart and so strong, and I’m honored to be a part of your life. You and your mom? Coolest thing ever.” She laughed and I ran my hand over her hair. “Okay?”

  Gem nodded. “Okay.”

  After I’d pulled back out, Gem spoke up again, “For the record, I think you’re pretty cool too.”

  Yep. Kicking ass at the kinda step-parenting gig.

  * * *

  The next Sunday up on the mountain as Cate, Gem, and I made our way toward the gear racks to break for lunch, a familiar blaze-orange helmet caught my eye near the lower lift station. That little…

  I changed direction, calling over my shoulder to Cate, “Gimme a sec?” I raised my voice over the sound of people conversing in line. “Stacey!”

  She stopped dead and spun around, her body tense as she seemed to register who was calling her name, and that she’d just been busted in a very big way. As she glided over to meet me, an unapologetic smile turned her lips up. “Hey, coach.”

  “Hey nothing. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting that knee.” With a small measure of panic, I looked at her legs, as if I could actually see the damage caused by her fall on Thursday. “Didn’t the PT tell you that you weren’t to do anything for a week?”

  “Well…yeah, but—”

  “But nothing, except to get your butt off those skis.” I jerked my thumb toward the gear racks. “Let’s go.”

  Mercifully, she didn’t argue, but as we made our way back to where Cate and Gemma waited, Stacey mumbled, “It feels fine.”

  Unfortunately my withering stare was hidden by my goggles. “I don’t care what it feels like. We’re going to be doubling down in a few weeks, and I want you at your best. What’s the point of working so hard if you’re injured for the competition?”

  “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.”

  Cate looked up expectantly as we skied over, and I made introductions. “Cate, Gemma, this is Stacey Evans.”

  Stacey immediately offered her hand to Cate and Gemma, and said, “Great to meet you both.” She was so self-assured. I’d been awkward around strangers until at least my mid-twenties.

  “You too, Stacey,” Cate said warmly.

  Gem just nodded, her cheeks pinking ever so slightly.

  “Are you here for the afternoon?” Cate asked.

  “Uh, actually…no. I’m just, um, about to go home.”

  “Have you had lunch?”

  “Not yet.” Stacey shot me a look, part-panicked, part-hopeful. I raised a shoulder in a small shrug. Not up to me to tell her when, where, and with whom she should eat. My concern was that she rest her injury.

  Cate pulled her gloves off. “Why don’t you join us before you head home?”

  Stace glanced first to Cate and Gem, then back to me. “Sure. That’d be great. Thanks.”

  At Stacey’s insistence, probably because she was sucking up, she took our orders then she and Gemma went off to wait in the always-busy lunch lines. Walking through the cafeteria with my hand on Cate’s back, I noticed people glancing at us. I used to think people looked at me because of my height, or plain old recognition. Now I knew it was because I was with Cate. She drew people’s attention without effort and when she was by my side, I felt nothing but love and pride.

  We found a table by the back corner, in view of the cashiers and once seated, Cate fished her phone from the inside pocket of her jacket. “Sorry, I just need to check some scheduling for this week.”

  “No worries.” Glancing over at the line, I checked on Stacey and Gemma who’d made barely any progress. The girls were talking easily. Satisfied they were okay, I relaxed a little, stretching my legs under the table.

  Cate was frantically typing on her phone, her forehead crinkled, eyebrows drawing together and I watched her with unrestrained pleasure. After a few minutes Cate looked up and saw me watching her. She smiled and put her phone away. “What?”

  I loved that look she gave me when she realized I’d been staring. Surprised, then pleased. “You’re so beautiful.” I took her hand. “Cate, every time I look at you, I swear I get this little flutter. Right here.” I pressed my fingertips between my breasts.

  A teasing smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “You should probably see a doctor about that.”

  “Know anyone?”

  “Well, I’m not really a doctor, but I do have a Doctor of Physical Therapy degree.”

  I grinned. “Are you suggesting we play a little game?”

  “Maybe.” Her answering grin was a teasing promise.

  The thought made heat flare in my belly. Focus, Archer. Not the time to be thinking about that. I glanced at the girls again. They were still a few people off reaching the cashier, and would probably be ten minutes or so. Cate’s hand brushed over the back of mine. “Aspen, I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  “I say a lot of things. What one in particular?” I reached for my water bottle.

  “About sharing, moving in together. You’re right.”

  Hastily, I swallowed the mouthful of water. “I am?”

  “Yes. When you treat Gemma like she’s your daughter, watching her like you are now and making sure she’s safe, my heart feels like it’s going to burst.” Cate’s fingers tightened on mine. “Every time you stand with me, or you look at me like I’m the only thing that matters, or I feel your hand on my back when we walk into a room, I fall in love with you more.”

  My throat was so tight I didn’t think I could speak. Luckily Cate kept talking. “I hate it, but it was sorting that stuff out with Lisa that made me see. I’m sorry that I’ve been withholding things from you. I’m sorry I’m still affected by my relationship with her, that I keep waiting for you to decide this is all too much.”

  I found my voice. “Cate, I get it and I never meant to make you feel like you were keeping something from me. I just want it so badly.”

  “I know, honey and so do I.” She drew my hand to her mouth, kissed my palm. “I’m not sure exactly how we’ll work it out, but I promise we’re going to do it.”

  The smile came easily, so did a vague memory of another time. Cate dressing after the first time we’d made love. I reached for her hand, echoing what’d already been said. “So we’re doing this?”

  She threw her head back and laug
hed. When she stopped, her eyes were alight with pleasure. “Yes. We’re doing this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After missing a competition because she’d reinjured her knee, Stacey finally seemed to realize that she should listen to the team of people trying to keep her body sound. She resembled so much of young me, always pushing and ignoring anything that might get in the way. After twenty-two-year-old Team USA member Mikaela Shiffrin won a gold and silver at the Winter Olympics in February, Stacey seemed to remember what she was striving for. She refocused her energy and spirit, and was skiing better than ever.

  Arapahoe Basin, just over an hour away from where we’d been working at Beaver Creek, had opened some amazing new expert terrain aptly named Steep Gullies. I’d checked it out the week before, and decided it’d be a great test for Stacey. I wanted to give her a day off from race training, and put her on unfamiliar terrain to make her concentrate and think ahead.

  I’d checked in before leaving, noting they’d done some blasting up on East Wall to take care of overhanging cornices and accumulated snow, but other than that, conditions seemed prime. The slopes were fairly quiet for a weekend, which would mean quick lift rides and plenty of snow time. Couldn’t ask for better.

  Sweaty and jubilant, after another twenty-minute hike from the lifts, we paused for a drink before our next attack. “How’s that knee?” I asked, pulling out my phone to check for any weather alerts.

  “Never better,” she said cheerfully, fishing her own cell from inside her jacket.

  “Good. If you feel anything that’s not right, stop immediately. You’ve got everything you need to reach the top, Stace, and I want to make sure it stays in one piece to keep you there.”

  Stacey flashed me a beatific smile. “You’re real sweet, coach. You know that?”

  I returned with a cocky grin. “I have been told that a time or two before.” Turning slightly away, I pushed my Camelbak mouthpiece between my lips, and read a text from Cate.

  Gem wanted to finish that assignment, so we’ll just come up for the afternoon. Meet you at 12 for lunch? You were gone and bed cold when I woke up, NOT happy. Love you xo

  Smiling, I glanced at the time. Almost twelve. Oops. “Right, last run.” I tapped out a quick response, letting Cate know we’d be down the bottom in twenty minutes or so and crossed mental fingers that it’d send. As I zipped the phone back into my pocket, I said, “I wanna see less hesitation, okay? Make a decision and go with it, don’t second-guess yourself. Trust your gut, trust your body.”

  As the words left my mouth, a tremor moved through my skis, then a split second later a crack echoed across the slope, the sound reverberating through my belly and chest. My first thought was to wonder why they were setting off fireworks in the middle of the day. Then I heard the unmistakable thud, dull like someone being hit with a pillow. I swung toward the sound and my stomach lurched down to the bottom of my heated boots. The snow cloud seven hundred feet or so above had already started rushing down by time the sound reached us.

  My brain tried to make a calculation of light versus sound but all I could think was if I’ve heard it, it’s too late. Stacey’s eyes snapped back to me, her mouth open. “Is tha—”

  “Yes,” I blurted. “Remember your avalanche course?” I started yanking the straps on her gloves and helmet tight. “Stace, this is the gold medal run. Do not stop until you’re safely at the bottom. Fast but careful. Go!”

  She opened her mouth again, but I cut her off with a firm, “Right behind you.” I gave her a shove. Then she was gone.

  I estimated seven seconds before it hit me, if I moved right away. Tugging my own backpack straps tight, I jumped off. The air rushing from the avalanche pushed me down the mountain, buffeting me with wind and making my turns rough and unstable. I gritted my teeth, fighting the push, and concentrated on getting down as fast as I could.

  Stace was easily recognizable with that ridiculously bright orange helmet and she’d sped up to overtake the guy we’d been trading runs with all day. She was brilliant. I made silent pleas to whoever or whatever might be listening. Please let her stay upright. If she fell, she’d never recover and she’d be lost. Sending her ahead had cost me a few seconds but if I could get myself further down the mountain, I’d be closer to a quick rescue.

  There was no way I was going to out-ski the avalanche, even if I could find the eighty-plus miles per hour I’d regularly skied at my peak. The laws of physics simply wouldn’t allow it. I was still too high, too far away from the nearest station, skiing powder instead of a groomed racecourse. I just needed more speed. Pointing my skis straight down the mountain, I gave in and let myself fly. The slide was going to catch me, what did it matter if I tumbled a split second before it hit?

  I felt it then, something over the top of the fear. Something I hadn’t felt in years. Exhilaration. I almost laughed at the delicious irony. Of course I would find my lost mojo while trying to beat an avalanche. With every passing second I became aware of the strangest sensation that I wasn’t rushing away from it, but rather skiing toward something else. Toward Cate and Gemma. Toward our future.

  I pulled my hands out of the straps on my poles so they’d fall away when I was swallowed. When, not if. Strangely, the thought of being buried wasn’t frightening. I’d been caught in a few avalanches, even half-buried once and obviously survived. But this was bigger and quicker, and it sought me out like a predator stalking prey. I’d made it almost five hundred feet down when it found me.

  Thrown forward, I instinctively, and stupidly, put my hands out to break my fall. The pain in my left wrist was immediate and agonizing, tearing a scream from my throat. Flung around, I paddled with my right arm, kicking and rolling, fighting and clawing my way out of the tide of snow. I breathed in snow and choked on it, then was pulled back to the surface for a second to draw in clean air. My goggles were torn off, snatched away from my helmet. My left glove tugged off by an invisible hand.

  It felt like being tumbled in a washing machine. A very cold washing machine. In another time, it may have been fun. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming. A giggle burst out my mouth, and I inhaled more snow, coughing and choking on the cold crystals. Don’t stop moving, Aspen or you’ll sink. Keep kicking. Something heavy slammed into my back, forcing the air from my lungs and I gasped, choking back another scream.

  There was no distance or space. Time was both long and short, but after a year, or a second, or a week I began to slow. The fear had finally caught up to me and it was almost comforting, an old friend to keep me company while I struggled. The rushing sound began to dissipate and I felt the snow packing around me.

  Still kicking and squirming frantically, I sucked in as much oxygen as I could—getting more bonus snow—and brought my right hand up to cup in front of my face, shaking my head back and forth. Gotta make air pockets, need to breathe. Then everything just…stopped.

  Silence.

  Stillness.

  Pain.

  Desperate not be constricted by the remnants of the avalanche I twisted and jiggled as much as I could while the snow settled around me. It was done with me, had its fun and spat me out again but I was still fighting. My helmet had stayed on. I could move my feet but there was a searing pain in my left arm. My ears were blocked. A bruising ache spread through my back and ribs.

  My left hand was trapped against my helmet, jamming my elbow at an awkward angle. I was desperate to hold my wrist and support it but couldn’t. It hurt so badly and waves of nausea rolled through my stomach. Puking not advisable. I clamped down on the churning in my stomach. Just breathe. In and out. Slow. In. Out. Good. After a few long, deep breaths the nausea receded to an ignorable level, but the clamminess remained, intensifying the chill.

  I gave myself a moment to just be scared. Then I could think of what I had to do. Just a moment to panic. Drawing in a shuddering breath, I let myself cry. Just for a moment. A long moment. I let the pain and the fear take me until I could grasp it and stuff it
somewhere out of the way. I was an expert at pushing things into a place where I didn’t have to think about it, and I jammed this new fear into a box and slammed the lid closed.

  Now what?

  My beacon, safely in the front pocket of my jacket, would send a signal for people to find me but if I could get some part of my body above the surface to be seen it’d make things faster. I was desperate to swallow but instead, I pushed a gob of saliva past my lips. It dribbled down over my chin and slid over my left cheek. Process, think. My head was higher than my feet and I was twisted onto my left side. Upright is good. I could work with that.

  Stacey must have made it down. She had to. Stinging on my chin. Pain radiating along my left arm to my fingertips like my nerves had been flayed and dipped in acid. Something was broken for sure. Shuddering, I drew another unsteady breath as my watch alarm sounded to let me know training time was up. Midday. Meet you at 12.

  They’d be safe.

  Beep beep.

  Beep beep.

  They wouldn’t be anywhere near here.

  Beep beep.

  Beep beep.

  If I’d been able to move my hands from near my face, I’d have thrown the damned watch off a cliff. The beeping made me think of my beacon again. I’d changed the batteries a few weeks ago. Did I turn the transceiver on before setting out this morning? It was second nature but what if I hadn’t this time? Breathe in. Out. Think. Yes, Aspen, you turned it on. You always turn it on.

  The box of fear cracked open, releasing a flood of irrational thoughts. I hadn’t looked into Cate’s eyes or heard her voice this morning. I hadn’t seen my sister and her family since I’d visited right after coming home from Australia. There was so much to do, so many people I loved.

  Focus. This isn’t that bad. Someone’s coming. I realized it wasn’t so much that I was afraid of dying, or of leaving Cate and Gem and my family, because I was on a populated ski field and likely to be found relatively soon. They’d know I was up here. Somewhere.