Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Bash
I'm at the top of the X Games course, snow pristine beneath me, and the crowd is roaring in anticipation.
The white powder gleams under the stadium lights, untouched and waiting for my board to carve the first line.
I inhale deeply, savoring that familiar pre-run adrenaline rush—the electric tingle that starts in my chest and radiates outward, making my fingertips buzz inside my gloves.
Nothing in the world compares to this feeling.
The announcer's voice echoes through the mountain air, bouncing off the surrounding peaks: "Sebastian Montgomery, two-time gold medalist!
He's attempting the never-before-landed triple cork.
Will he be the first to make history tonight, ladies and gentlemen? "
I adjust my goggles, flex my knees, and launch myself forward, pushing off with purpose.
The initial descent sends wind whipping past my ears as I gather speed, my board responding to the slightest shift of weight.
I can feel it—that perfect balance, that sweet spot where everything aligns.
The crowd fades to a distant hum as I approach the massive jump.
The world around me slows down, the way it always does in these crucial moments.
My breathing steadies. Time stretches. I hit the kicker at precisely the right angle, my body launching skyward.
I’m spinning, rotating and the world becomes a blur of lights and dark sky.
One rotation. Two. The third beginning perfectly, exactly as I'd practiced hundreds of times on the foam pit.
Everything is perfect, textbook execution, until—
Pain sears through my leg, jolting me awake.
The clock reads 5:03 AM. Too early, but I'm up. Always the same when my knee decides to remind me of what I lost.
I sit up slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment before putting weight on my right leg. The familiar throb pulses through my knee, a souvenir from the day my career ended.
Three years ago. Men's Knuckle Huck event. My moment.
I'd been working on that trick for months. Perfecting the rotation, the timing, the landing. My coach had warned me it was risky, but I'd been so damn confident. That was always my problem: too much confidence, not enough caution.
I remember the sound more than anything. That wet pop as my ACL tore completely, MCL following suit, meniscus shredding like tissue paper. The crowd's collective gasp as I crumpled, my screams silenced by shock as medical staff rushed forward.
Three surgeries later. More months than I can count of physical therapy. Countless hours of rehab exercises.
And here I am, thirty years old, rubbing my knee in the pre-dawn darkness of my home, trying to massage away phantom pain from a career that feels like someone else's life now.
Well, I’m not getting any more sleep now so might as well move.
I stand carefully, testing my weight. My knee holds, though it complains with each step to the bathroom. Cold morning plus an old injury equals a bad combination.
I turn the shower on, cranking the heat until steam billows against the ceiling.
Stepping under the spray, I let hot water pound my shoulders, easing the tension that's gathered there over the past week and what a fucking week it's been.
Seven days ago, I was just a guy moving to a new city, into a new townhouse, about to start a new job.
Now I'm Charlie’s fake boyfriend, signed up for a week-long charade in Colorado.
The whole situation would be laughable if it wasn't so complicated. If I wasn't so attracted to her. If I hadn't screwed up so spectacularly already.
I soap up, replaying last night's dinner.
Charlie across from me, stunning in that black dress, pretending she wasn't affected by my nearness while her pulse visibly jumped at her throat whenever I brushed that strand of hair behind her ear.
The way her eyes widened slightly when I called her Charlie instead of Charlotte.
That moment in the parking lot when I almost kissed her but pulled back at the last second.
"Smart move, Montgomery," I mutter, rinsing shampoo from my hair. "Can't decide if you're playing the long game or just being a coward."
Tyler's words from yesterday echo in my head: "Don't fuck this up again, man. You've got a second chance most guys would kill for."
Is that what this is? A second chance? Or just a complicated arrangement that's going to blow up in both our faces?
I shut off the water, grabbing a towel. My knee feels better after the heat, the familiar ache dulled to background noise as I dry off and head to the kitchen for coffee.
The espresso machine whirs to life, and I lean against the counter, scrolling through emails while I wait. Three from Amelia, one from marketing, and—huh—one from Charlie.
I open it immediately.
From: Charlotte Whitaker
Subject: Adrenaline Athletics and Aspen Logistics
Sebastian,
Attached are the final slides for tomorrow's Adrenaline Athletics presentation and the preliminary booking information for our Colorado trip.
Details of when my parents, Emily and I are flying out and which airline.
Dates will be December 15-21.
The family expects us to all travel together.
Let me know your thoughts.
Charlotte Whitaker
Marketing Projects Manager
Titan Marketing Group
Formal. Distant. Like we hadn't just had dinner last night together working out how to convince her family we're madly in love.
I type a quick reply:
From: Sebastian Montgomery
Subject: RE: Adrenaline Athletics and Aspen Logistics
Morning, Shortcake. I'm clear for those dates.
Happy to book a flight today.
I'll swing by your office before the meeting to talk travel details.
Looking forward to both.
Bash
My finger hovers over the send button. Too friendly? Too flirty? Fuck it. I hit send and put the phone down.
Coffee in hand, I move to head back to my room and into my closet, deliberating over what to wear. I scan my closet and end up reaching for navy slacks and a crisp white button-down. Simple and classic.
As I dress, I can't help wondering again at what I've gotten myself into. A week back in Colorado. Pretending to be Charlie's boyfriend. Sleeping in the same room with her. Meeting her family. All while navigating whatever this tension is between us.
I check my watch: 6:21 AM. Plenty of time to get to the office early and get a plane ticket booked.
I lace up my brown Oxfords, spritz cologne on my shirt—just enough to notice, not enough to announce my arrival before I step into a room.
My keys jangle as I scoop them from the counter, tucking my phone into my back pocket and slinging my laptop bag over my shoulder.
I pause to work out a lingering tightness in my knee.
Outside, the morning air nips at my face, that unmistakable crispness that whispers winter’s here.
My phone buzzes as I slide into my Explorer.
Did you screw up the dinner?
Ty
I roll my eyes.
No, dinner went fine. Planning our Colorado love story.
Please tell me you kissed her goodnight
Ty
I hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Almost. Decided to be a gentleman.
Translation: chickened out
Ty
It's complicated
It's really not. You like her. You're pretending to be her boyfriend. Step 1: Act like her boyfriend. Step 2: Become her boyfriend. Simple.
Ty
Easy for him to say. Tyler hasn't seen the way her eyes go cold when she remembers my previous actions.
How carefully she's been maintaining distance between us, physically and emotionally at work.
How deliberately she uses "Sebastian" instead of "Bash," creating space with those extra syllables. All up until yesterday.
Heading to work. Talk later.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and start the car. As I pull out of my driveway, my mind drifts back to the moment last night when she'd laughed genuinely at the absurd nickname joke I made, guard down for just a second, eyes bright and warm.
That's the Charlie I want to see more of. The one who isn't braced for disappointment, who doesn't measure each word before speaking. The woman I glimpsed that first night at The Velvet Room. The woman that was confident, playful and magnetic.
Traffic is light this early, and I make good time to the office. The Titan Global Marketing building is quiet when I arrive, just security and a few early birds in the lobby. I take the elevator to our floor, surprised to see lights already on in Charlie's office.
So much for beating her in.
I set my things down in my office, then pause in her doorway. She's focused intently on her computer, one hand absently twirling a strand of hair, lips moving slightly as she reads something on the screen. She's wearing a deep navy dress today and her hair is styled in soft waves. Beautiful
I should announce my presence, but I allow myself just a moment to observe her unguarded. No pretense, no performance. Just her, a brilliant marketing executive, completely in her element.
It hits me then, with unexpected clarity: I'm in trouble here. This isn't just attraction or chemistry or the thrill of the chase. This is something deeper, there’s a pull towards her that feels both exciting and terrifying.
And in two days, I'll be pretending to be in love with her in front of her family, her ex, and probably half of Aspen.
The question remains, how much of it will be pretend?
I take a breath and knock lightly.
"Morning, Shortcake. Ready to talk flights?"
She looks up, startled.
"Sebastian? What are you doing here so early?" She checks her watch with a frown.
I lean against her doorframe, hands in pockets. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well be productive." I gesture toward her computer. "Seems like great minds think alike. Or are we both just insomniacs?"
That earns me a reluctant smile. "Sometimes I like getting in before the chaos. It's the only quiet time around here."
"And here I am, ruining it."