34. Kyle
KYLE
Morning had come way too fast, and the three-and-a-half hours of sleep Kyle had gotten weren’t nearly enough to make him feel functional.
Still, as his phone alarm vibrated on the nightstand, he turned it off, checking to see if it had woken Sloan beside him. She was curled toward him, head resting comfortably against the edge of his pillow, lips parted ever so slightly.
Who would have thought that pretty mouth had such a deliciously filthy side too?
He resisted the urge to wake her and slid out of bed soundlessly, grabbing his phone and shorts. The dogs followed him as he left the room, clearly ready to go out, and he made a pit stop at his bedroom and donned a hoodie.
On his way to the back slider, he grabbed a cookie from the rack in the kitchen. Charlie hopped up, setting her front paws on the counter and he knocked her down with a shake of his head. “These are mine,” he said, moving the rack to the top of the fridge. He’d transfer them to a bag later.
After letting out the dogs and making a cup of coffee, he made his way to the dining room—still mostly empty, save for a round table with four chairs he’d convinced Sloan to let him grab from his storage unit. Not nearly the right size for this space, but a proper table, at least.
They’d both been so busy that furniture seemed to have fallen to the bottom of the priority list lately.
And I’m supposed to move out in two weeks.
As he opened his computer and logged into the online meeting, he lifted his mug of coffee and leaned back in his chair.
Who knew how last night’s events would affect his plans, though.
In a way, it felt like a weird, insanely sexy, fever dream.
Between how wired Sloan had been, the paint, and the hot-as-hell shower blow job, his brain hadn’t completely wrapped its mind around the reality of moving into a physical relationship with Sloan.
If that’s what it was.
She’d said she loved him.
He hadn’t said it back.
Because he did, and he had, but . . . a part of him was still stuck on that moment, eight years earlier, when she’d screamed in his face, saying how much everything between them had meant nothing to her.
. . . and now it was a lot harder to say it again.
“The efforts you’re making in dressing for this business meeting are impressive,” Tomas’s voice came suddenly from the computer.
Kyle’s gaze snapped down to the screen to see Tomas’s face. He cocked a look at Kyle.
“I’m an outdoor influencer who focuses on adventure travel—just trying to stay on brand,” Kyle said with a smirk. He pushed back his hoodie, though.
“Oy. Put it back up again. Your hair’s sticking up every which way.”
“Bite me.”
Tomas burst out laughing. “Bit saucy this morning, are you, mate?”
Kyle lifted his mug. “Coffee hasn’t quite kicked in.”
They were interrupted as another person joined the meeting—the representative from Blue Ridge Sports, whom Kyle had been talking to for the last two weeks.
The man appeared painfully awake—clean beard line, pressed polo with a Blue Ridge Sports logo, smile just a little too bright for this hour. He made Kyle instantly hyperaware of his scruff and unkempt hoodie.
That bastard Tomas will never let me live it down.
“Morning,” the man said. “Kyle? I’m Shawn.”
“Yeah. Hey.” Kyle nudged the laptop back an inch and immediately nudged it forward again when the camera caught too much of the empty room behind him. “Good to finally meet you.
“Likewise. And, Tomas, you’re joining us from Tokyo, right? Must be late over there.”
“Vampires never sleep,” Tomas said with a wolfish grin. “And neither do actors.”
Shawn laughed. “Occupational hazard.”
Kyle took a swallow of coffee and set the mug down before his hand started doing that faint shake he experienced when he’d slept like hell. He wouldn’t change the reason for that lack of sleep, but damn the timing wasn’t ideal.
Shawn set his hands down on the table in front of his screen. “So, I went through your proposal again last night. The episodic structure, the behind-the-scenes angle . . . that stuff’s exactly what we’re trying to lean into this year with our sponsorships.”
Kyle felt a small, tight knot in his chest ease. He needed this sponsorship so much—for things to fall into place after all the time he’d spent the last few weeks. “Yeah, I think people are burned out on perfect highlight reels with awkward pauses that feel like commercials.”
“Exactly. They want the mess. The prep. The parts where things suck a little.”
Tomas’s mouth curved with a look that Kyle knew meant he believed Kyle was spectacular at messes.
“And your audience follows you because you actually do the things,” Shawn went on. “You’re not just narrating from the sidelines.”
“Most of the time,” Kyle said, shifting in the chair. His shoulder pulled, a dull, stubborn reminder that he’d slept on it wrong. Again. Since he’d crawled into bed with Sloan weeks ago, he’d chosen her over comfort, even though sleeping alone was better for his shoulder.
“Yeah, but you’re not precious about it.
If something goes sideways, you leave it in.
People trust that, especially athletes. Athletes don’t believe in perfection without sweat.
They believe in grit. And that’s what we’re all about at Blue Ridge, so I’ll get straight to it.
We want to sponsor you for five episodes—gear, budget, the whole package.
You do you for three of those episodes.”
Tomas frowned. “And the other two?”
“There’s an event we sponsor in mid-January called the Teton SkyRun.
It’s a mountain race in ski mountaineering—also known as skimo.
Really exciting sport that’s starting to get a lot of traction.
For our event, it’s teams of two racing uphill on lightweight skis, transitioning to crampons for boot packing, then one more transition to downhill skis.
You haul your own gear, navigate your own line.
It’s part endurance, part mountaineering. ”
Jackson.
Jackson fucking Hole.
Kyle’s lips pressed to a line, his fingers curling into his palms. The shame of it was, he’d always loved Jackson and the Tetons—before he’d been arrested there. That had unfortunately left a permanent mark on the memory of it.
“There are no coincidences.” Granny’s voice sparked through his memory.
“It’s about thirty miles total,” Shawn continued on, undeterred by the silence from Tomas and Kyle. “But most of it is straight up or straight down. The winning team this year took just under eight hours.”
Tomas let out a low whistle. “That’s not a fun jog.”
Shawn laughed the benign laugh that corporate folks used when they spoke of things they never actually did themselves.
“It depends on how you define ‘fun.’ The point is, we want someone covering from the ground. Someone who can give the public an insider view of what it takes to run a race of this caliber. These races would also be a major opportunity to showcase much of our product line. Those would be the first two episodes we sponsor for you, of course—the other three contingent on you completing this.”
Yeah. Kyle restrained his grimace. Highlight your product line while battling ice and wind so cold it cuts.
“So, you want us to make two episodes covering the SkyRun in January, and then we have your sponsorship for three additional episodes?” Kyle repeated.
“Well”—Shawn shifted in his seat, tugging on his collar—“we don’t just want you covering it.
We want you in it—racing it. Letting your audience see what that actually looks like.
We realize you’re not professional athletes, but that’s exactly what we’re targeting.
Every day athletes and hobbyists at home. ”
“In it.” Kyle’s words came out flat. Oh fuck.
They had no way of knowing, of course. His family had done a great job of keeping his accident and injuries private, like he’d asked them to.
But . . . January?
He almost pounded the table with his fists. God dammit.
Kyle rolled his shoulder before he could stop himself. The joint protested, a tight, ugly pull that shot down his arm and made his fingers curl.
January. Could he possibly train for a race like that? January would be just shy of a year after his injury. “How long of a run is it?”
“Depends on how you count the suffering.” Shawn’s grin was starting to annoy Kyle, for all the wrong reasons.
“About thirty miles. A lot of vertical. It’s not a casual race.
You would need to train for it. And we’ll cover the cost for two weeks of travel before the race so you can acclimate to the change in atmospheric pressure. ”
Kyle’s mind drifted to thin air. Scree and switchbacks that never seemed to end. The way his lung had burned the first time he’d tried to run more than a mile without stopping. “And you want this as part of the sponsorship?”
“Exactly. You keep doing your show. We come along for the ride.”
“We’re not racing to win it, though?” Tomas asked with a furrow of his brow.
Win it? No fucking way they could. He’d probably tear his rotator cuff again just trying to prep for this.
Thank God for Tomas’s acting skills right now.
Tomas was up for a lot of challenges, but he hated snow.
He was doing a much better job not giving anything away than Kyle, whose jaw clenched despite his best efforts.
“Of course, we’d love to see you compete , but our priority is to show potential consumers what goes into a race like this.”
Kyle’s hand tightened around his mug. His family would kill him.
Sloan would kill him. Thank fuck she was asleep right now instead of listening from the kitchen.
But instead of saying no and explaining his injury outright, he said, “I’ll need to see the details.”
“Of course,” Shawn said. “I’ll send everything over today.”
“Okay.”
“Looking forward to working with you,” Shawn said before his window disappeared.
Kyle stayed where he was as Tomas studied him through the remaining window. “That’s a lot,” Tomas said with a low whistle.
His brain kept on spinning, trying to think of a way—anyway—to make this work. “Yeah.” Five months. Could he train in five months?
“We don’t have to take their offer. We can pitch someone else. Or tell them you’re injured and can’t take their offer as-is.”
“I get the feeling they’re more interested in highlighting their SkyRun than our show, given the amount of time he spent talking about it.”
“Yeah, but that’s irrelevant.” Tomas leaned back in his seat. “You can’t do it. And I’m going to be honest, Kyle, I’m not up for it. You’re the one who always does the mad things. I’m happy to narrate and do behind-the-scenes bits, but this is out of my league.”
Kyle propped his jaw between his hands and exhaled slowly. “We’ll figure it out,” he said flatly, then said his goodbye. Closing out the chat, he slammed his laptop screen down, frustration rankling him.
Fuck.
He was so close to being back to normal, too.
But January?
Maybe he could talk to his surgeon and see what he could handle.
He’d been making a swift recovery. But with Tomas sounding doubtful about participating at all, the smart thing to do would be to say no and move on.
Finding another costar who wanted to do something like this—and would be physically able to—wouldn’t be easy.
He sighed, resting his head on the top of his laptop, the plastic cool against his skin. He’d hoped to be able to lock this down. While he had some other leads on sponsors, none were as big as Blue Ridge and offered the same value in money and gear. Losing this would be a huge blow.
Before he could think about it further, though, the soft sound of light footsteps made him glance back. Sloan rounded the corner, a robe tied loosely around her, hair messy and framing her face.
Her nose was red, though—like she’d been crying.
He shot to his feet. “Sloan, what’s wrong?”
Sloan looked up and met his gaze, holding it, her eyes clouded with grief. “I have to go to San Francisco.”
Kyle closed the gap between them, his stomach dropping. “What’s going on?”
“My dad just called. He just landed at the airport and is on his way here because he wants to talk to me. It’s . . . Penny.” She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. Tears slipped onto her cheeks. “She has leukemia.”
Her words landed, and everything else—the sponsorship, his shoulder, the stupid fucking SkyRun—fell away. His problems felt ugly and irrelevant in the face of the things he already knew this could take from her.
He wrapped his arms around her, his heart squeezing tightly in his chest as she cried.
Penny had the same disease that had taken Sloan’s mother.