Chapter 4
FOUR
MAISY
“I know it’s been several years since I was a beginner at something, but I’m almost certain we should be on a bunny hill right now and not halfway up the fucking mountain, Sterling,” I shout over the whistle of the wind.
It’s my first day of snowboarding lessons and Sterling decided we’d start where the pros go. But I’m no pro.
Not at snowboarding at least.
“You’re too good for a bunny hill, Hart. You just need a crash course in technique, and you’ll be taking off down the slope just like everyone else.”
“You sound like you have a lot of confidence in me,” I say, looking at him now, but I can’t see his eyes hidden under his goggles.
“‘A lot’ is a bit of a reach,” he mutters, but I catch it.
Dick.
“Alright.” Sterling claps his hands together, but his thick gloves mute the sound. “Let’s start with figuring out which one of your feet is your front foot.”
I blink at him. “Don’t you already know that? You’ve seen me ski a thousand times.”
“Yeah, but snowboarding’s different.” He steps closer, boots slightly sinking into the packed snow. “So we’re gonna test it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Test it how?”
Sterling plants his big, gloved hands on my shoulders and gives me a sudden shove.
“Sterling!” I squeal, stumbling forward in the snow. My right foot shoots out instinctively to catch myself.
“Ah-ha.” He points, smug as hell. “Right foot goes forward. That’s your stance.”
I turn and glare at him. “You can’t just shove someone down a mountain to figure that out!”
He chuckles, the sound low and infuriating. “But it worked, didn’t it?”
“I should report you to my brother.”
“You do that, sweetheart. After this lesson.” He shoves his goggles up onto his helmet and kneels in front of my board, brushing snow off the bindings. “Okay, let’s get you strapped in.”
I awkwardly balance on one foot as he secures the first strap, his fingers moving with ease despite his thick gloves. He tugs on the second one, then frowns.
“What?” I ask, suddenly nervous.
He tugs again, harder this time, then sits back on his heels. “These bindings aren’t right.”
“Not right how?”
“They’re too loose. You’ll have no control over the board if your foot’s sliding around. Who set you up with this rental?”
“Jeff, from the rental shop.”
Sterling mutters something under his breath I can’t quite catch, but it definitely isn’t flattering. Then he looks up at me, eyes shadowed by his goggles. “If you’d tried riding like this, you could’ve wrecked your ankle. Or worse.”
A chill runs through me, one that has nothing to do with the cool mountain air.
The memory of the crash three years ago flashes through my mind—the snap of my ski, the blinding pain shooting up my spine before everything went numb, the way the world blurred as I lay there knowing in my gut something had broken that couldn’t easily be fixed.
I barely clawed my way back from that, and the doctors weren’t subtle when they told me another serious injury could mean goodbye, not just to snow sports, but walking altogether.
That thought alone makes my stomach turn. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to push the fear down before it swallows me whole. Sliding down mountains has been my entire life. Without it…who even am I?
“Don’t look so scared,” he says, softer now. “We’ll fix it. But from now on, you don’t ride during my lessons unless I’ve checked your gear first. Got it?”
I bristle at his bossy tone, but the way his voice dips lower makes my stomach flip.
“Got it,” I mutter, even though I want to argue.
Sterling nods once, decisive, and starts working the straps tighter. His gloves brush my boots, and for one reckless second, I wish it were his hands on my bare skin instead.
He tightens the last strap with a grunt, then looks up at me from where he’s crouched in the snow and the sight hits me like a sucker punch. Him, on his knees in front of me. Goggles pushed up on his forehead, brown eyes on me.
For a split second, it’s three years ago, his hands on my thighs instead of my boots, his mouth against me, his gaze pinning me in place as if I were the only thing in his entire world. Him worshipping me until I came completely undone.
Heat rushes through me so fast it’s dizzying and I blink hard, snapping myself back into the present.
“Alright,” Sterling says, straightening, oblivious to the storm he just triggered inside of me. “That should hold. Try shifting your weight, see if it feels snug now.”
I shift my weight, rocking heel to toe, testing the snugness. “It feels secure now.”
“See?” Sterling says, stepping back, brushing snow from his gloves. “Now you won’t go flying out of your bindings the second you point your board downhill. That’s always a good start.”
“Comforting,” I deadpan, earning myself the faintest smirk from him.
He plants his board flat in the snow and motions toward me. “Alright, for your first lesson, you’ll learn proper technique and probably figure out how to stand back up after a fall without looking like a turtle on its back.”
“Great. Can’t wait to be a professional turtle,” I mutter, struggling to shift myself upright. My legs wobble, the board fighting me, and I almost pitch backward.
Sterling steps in immediately, steadying me with a gloved hand on my arm. “Relax. You’re fighting it. Let the board do what it’s built to do.”
“Oh, so I’m supposed to trust the giant slippery piece of wood strapped to both my feet?”
“That’s kind of the point, Hart.” He crouches slightly, showing me how to angle my knees. “It’s not that different from your skis—you trusted those to carry you, right? Same idea. Center of gravity low, chest over your knees. Like this. You’ll feel more balanced.”
Trusted my skis. I don’t trust them anymore. Not since that day. Not since everything went wrong.
I mimic his stance, shaky at first, but when I settle into it something clicks and the wobbling eases.
“There you go,” he says, his voice low and approving. “Now try a little slide.”
“A what?”
He grins. “Just lift your front foot and let the board glide a few inches.”
I do it, sliding maybe two feet before the board jerks awkwardly and I squeal, arms flailing. Sterling’s laugh echoes across the snow as he grabs my elbow to steady me again.
“Not bad,” he says, his eyes crinkling. “Better than I expected, honestly.”
“Wow. I love how much faith you have in me,” I shoot back, but I can’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
“Don’t worry,” he says, dropping his voice, almost too soft for the wind to carry. “I’ve got you.”
Sterling pulls his goggles back over his eyes and steps behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him even through all the layers.
“Okay,” he says, low and steady, “your shoulders are stiff. You’ve got to let them turn with your hips.” His hands come down on my waist, firmly, guiding me through the motion.
The contact nearly short-circuits my brain. His palms are exactly where they used to be—where I used to want them—and it’s all I can think about.
“Like this,” he murmurs, twisting me gently.
I swallow hard, trying to pay attention, but my knees feel weak, my heart pounding like I’m back in one of those moments where his touch meant everything. The distraction is enough that when I try to shift my weight, my balance tips.
“Shit—”
I start to go down, but Sterling reacts instantly, wrapping his arms around me in an attempt to keep me upright. It doesn’t work, and we tumble into the snow, with him taking most of the fall.
When the world stops spinning, I realize he’s braced over me, one arm sunk into the snow beside my head. His chest presses into mine, his face only inches away, and my breath catches.
And then—God help me—I realize his thigh is wedged firmly between my legs, pressing exactly where I don’t want to remember how good he used to make me feel.
The silence stretches, thick and charged. I can feel his breath fogging against my cheek. I may not be able to see his eyes through the goggles, but I know his gaze is locked on mine.
No. Absolutely not.
I shove at his chest, hard enough to topple him sideways into the snow.
“Smooth,” I snap, sitting up and brushing snow from my jacket before shoving my goggles up. “Real professional. I bet all your students get this level of hands-on service?”
He smirks, propping himself up on an elbow and pushing his goggles up too. “Only the difficult ones.”
“Difficult?” My eyes narrow.
“Yeah.” His grin widens. “The ones who fight me every step of the way, but secretly love it.”
I let out a fake laugh, reaching down to unclip from the board before pushing myself to my feet and brushing snow off my pants. “If you’re waiting for me to start loving it, you’ll be waiting longer than three years.”
“Oh, yeah? How long, Hart?”
“A lifetime,” I growl. “Eternity.”
I grab the board, deliberately turning my back on him before he can fire back, but even with my back to him, I can feel his eyes on me. Heated and dangerous.