Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
LAUREN
Park City, Utah
Today is going to be a great day. I can feel it in my bones. Things are starting to come together, to line up in just the way I need them to.
I pull out into downtown Salt Lake City traffic, and the office where I just verbally accepted a job offer fades away in my rearview mirror. After several years staying at home, first as a newly married wife and then as a new mom, I’ve finally made my way back into the world of sports marketing.
And I’ve done it on my own: no handouts, no nepotism, no connections. I got this job solely based on my own merit, and it’s the best feeling.
“So you haven’t even told Josh yet?” Petra’s voice carries through the speaker in my SUV as I approach a stoplight.
Petra’s one of my three best friends, but she’s the only one who knows the struggles Josh and I have had over the past year and a half as we adjusted to being the parents of twin girls.
Well, I’ve adjusted. He’s slowly pulled away.
“He hasn’t exactly been reachable these past few days,” I tell her.
“Where is he this time?” she asks.
Petra and Josh are both former professional ski racers. When she left skiing many years ago, she started a new career, first as a model, then as an event planner, and now she’s the host of a well-known TV show.
Josh retired more recently, and in the couple years since, he’s made his living skiing—traveling to ski resorts all over to promote different brands that sponsor him, filming videos and ads, and generally relishing the fact that he still gets paid to ski even though he’s no longer competing.
“Somewhere in Washington. They were at Stevens Pass, then I think they headed somewhere near Spokane a couple days ago. He’ll be home tonight, but I texted him earlier and haven’t heard back yet. At least after this trip, he’ll be home until Christmas.”
“Well, that’s a good thing,” she says encouragingly.
“I don’t know how you handle the load when Aleksandr is away,” I say. Her husband plays in the NHL, so he’s gone a fair amount during the season and together they have a seven-year-old adopted daughter.
“I just do.” I can practically hear her shrug over the phone as I change lanes to head toward the on-ramp for I-80, the road that will take me into the mountains and back to my home in Park City. “He was already traveling when we got together, so it’s all I’ve known.”
Josh was also already skiing professionally when we met and got married. He traveled a lot then, but since I’d quit my sports marketing job in Boston in order to move out to Park City with him after we got engaged, I was able to travel with him to his races that first year.
And I’d made some great girlfriends in Park City—starting with his physical therapist, Jackson, and her best friends Sierra and Petra.
They brought me into their group and we were all so close, but all three of them have moved away and gotten married over the past two years, right as Josh and I were starting our family.
With him still traveling a lot, I’m now often on my own with the kids, so his travel is hitting me harder than it used to.
But that’s on me, because I don’t have anything else in my life except for him and the kids—which is why the job is going to be such a big deal for me.
Having something to focus on besides my family will help me feel like a more well-rounded person, able to bring more to our relationship and our family than just my role as a mother.
I’ll finally have things to talk to my husband about again—things besides nap schedules and the infinite minutiae of what our girls did each day.
Plus, with my background in sports marketing and my general passion for hockey, getting to work for one of the NHL farm teams is a perfect mix of my interests and abilities.
But I thought the interview and offer process would take longer than it had, so I assumed I’d have more time to figure out how to tell Josh.
“Sooo,” Petra says when I’m so lost in my own thoughts I forget to respond, “how are you going to tell him?”
“It’s like you’re reading my mind right now,” I say.
“I’d hardly have to be a mind reader to know that’s what you’re thinking about. I know how he feels about you working.”
I didn’t know he was so old-fashioned about the role of wife and mother before I married him.
I guess that’s what happens when you have a whirlwind romance and marry someone you’ve known for six months.
At the time, it was all so romantic, and he was so attentive and passionate and protective.
Completely unlike any of the guys I’d dated up until that point.
I used to joke that I was going to marry the first nice guy I dated, and I held true to that—I just wish that the Josh I’d dated and the Josh I’d started a family with were the same person.
“He’s going to have to adjust,” I say. “We’ll work out childcare. Morgan mentioned that one of her friends might be looking for a part-time nanny position, so I’m going to talk to her as soon as possible.”
“That’s great,” Petra says. Morgan is my younger cousin and Petra’s personal assistant.
She does most of her work remotely and because her schedule is so flexible, Morgan has been immensely helpful in watching the girls when Josh is out of town and I need to be somewhere else, like at today’s final interview when they offered me the job.
“When it comes to talking to Josh,” she continues in that husky voice she’s literally famous for, “I’ve found that a good meal and good sex can convince a man of just about anything.”
“I must finally be learning,” I say with a laugh, “because that’s pretty much exactly what I have planned for tonight.”
“Yes.” The word is a low hiss. “I’ve taught you my ways and you’re going to have Josh eating out of your hand before the night is over.”
My smile spreads. “I mean, the man’s been gone for a week and a half, so there’s a good chance you’re right.”
Petra’s one of the few women I know who is as unabashedly driven by sex as most men. She’s also straightforward to a fault, strikingly beautiful, powerful in her own right, and intimidating as hell. If you’d told me years ago when I met her that we’d end up being incredibly close, I’d have laughed.
She intimidated the shit out of me when we first met. But love, marriage, and an adorable daughter have softened her hard edges just enough, without dulling the intense, passionate aspects of her personality.
“When are you going to tell Jackson and Sierra about this new job?” she asks.
“Probably tomorrow. I just want to talk to Josh first.”
Not knowing how Josh is going to feel about me going back to work is taking a bit of the shine off this victory, but I remind myself not to let that dull my joy in this moment.
“Lauren,” she says, and there’s a warning in her voice. “Do not back down. Don’t let him talk you out of this. Don’t let him convince you that you’re not a good wife or a good mom if you go back to work part-time. It’s only three days a week. Everything will be fine.”
I take a deep breath through my nose. “I know. And don’t worry, it’s going to be fine. He knows I need this. I really do believe that me going back to work is going to bring Josh and I closer, and I’m positive I can make him see it that way too.”
“Good. But if the conversation doesn’t go well, or if you need anything,” she says, “just call. I don’t care about the time difference.”
“Thanks, Petra. I really couldn’t have taken these steps without your encouragement.”
“You one hundred percent could have,” she says, her voice emphatic. “You’re a badass, and you’re doing the right thing taking this job.”
Her confidence in me is often the boost I need to believe in myself. “You’re right. This is the perfect job, at the perfect time. Things are going to be great.”
I toss the bottle of balsamic glaze into my cart on top of the flank steak and come around the end of that aisle into the produce section.
Josh always eats like crap when he’s on the road and loves to come back to a good home-cooked meal.
I hate cooking and don’t do it often, but tonight I’m making his favorite: seared flank steak stuffed with spinach, garlic, butter, and Parmesan, along with creamy mashed potatoes, and green beans sautéed with garlic and topped with a balsamic glaze.
I still haven’t heard from him, which is a little odd. Normally, he texts me when he gets on the road to head home. Maybe he lost his charger again, like on his last trip. Sometimes he’s a little scattered like that.
It’s a long drive from Washington, so I figure I still have time to get home and spend a little time with the girls, get the food prepped, put the girls to bed, and have dinner waiting when Josh walks in the door.
I’m pushing my cart through the produce section toward the front of the store when it happens—it feels like the floor drops out from under me, and I have the sensation of falling. The moment replays in my mind, so vividly that I’m forced to relive it.
The music is pumping, and the crowd is clapping in sync with the beat as I finish a sequence of artistic moves and then go through a series of backward crossovers to gather the speed that will take me into the most difficult jump in my routine: a triple axel.
I’ve landed it in competition before, but never on a national stage—this is going to make me a household name.
That’s what I’m thinking about as I turn forward, push off the outside edge of my left skate, kick through with my right leg to get the height I need for the three and a half rotations of the jump, hug my arms to my body, and spin through the air on the perfect axis.
And when the blade of my right skate hits the ice and I’m about to kick my left leg out behind me, I know I’ve executed a textbook perfect jump.
Then the ice is coming at me with alarming speed, and I don’t know what happens after that.
Dozens of experts have analyzed the footage and no one can quite say why, instead of sticking that landing and clinching my first national championship, I end up on the ice, the side of my head connecting with the rink hard enough that I’m completely knocked out.
I come to a full stop in the middle of the aisle, relieved that the store is so empty. I’ve broken out in a full-body sweat, and I bend at the waist, resting my forehead on the bar of the grocery cart and taking a few deep breaths to get my bearings.
I don’t know what it means when I relive that moment like this. It’s only happened a few times since I recovered—and each time it has felt like a terrible omen.
That’s when Josh’s name lights up my phone screen.
“Hey.” I take a breath, ready to launch into the story of what just happened.
“Is this Lauren Emerson?”
The unfamiliar voice has me standing up, gripping the phone so hard I’m surprised I don’t bend it.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Ma’am,” he replies with a steady, deep voice, “this is Lieutenant George Marshall from the Blaine County Sheriff’s Office in Sun Valley, Idaho.”
I’m pretty sure my heart stops. Josh isn’t in Sun Valley, Idaho. He’s in eastern Washington. This has to be a mistake. Except, he’s calling from my husband’s cell phone.
“Is everything okay?” Even as I ask it, I know how ridiculous the question is. The sheriff’s office doesn’t call because everything’s okay.
“Are you somewhere where you can sit down?”
“I’m in the grocery store right now.” I glance around self-consciously, but the only other person in the produce section is an employee stocking apples along the far wall.
“Do you want to go somewhere more private so we can talk?”
“No!” My voice is shrill even to my own ears. “I want to know why you’re calling from my husband’s phone!”
My words are verging on hysteria. I need to talk to Josh. I’m going to tell him about this new job, and he’s going to be proud of me. We’ll get back to everything being good between us again.
I can hear the concern in his voice when he responds, “Okay, ma’am.
Your husband was skiing out of bounds at Sun Valley Resort with a small group of people.
We’ve had heavy snowfall over the past five days and the avalanche threat was considerable.
Their group triggered a substantial slide earlier this morning. ”
An avalanche is a skier’s worst nightmare, especially if you’re skiing in the backcountry. Josh was a ski racer—he’s best on smoothly groomed trails where he can go as fast as he likes. He’s not a backcountry skier. What the hell was he doing out of bounds? And why was he in Sun Valley?
A sob bursts out of me as I consider my husband buried under all that snow, like being trapped in frozen concrete, injured and in pain. “Is he going to be okay?”
On the other end of the line, he pauses, and let’s out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry ma’am. He didn’t make it.”
I sink to my knees still clutching my phone to my ear. “What?” This doesn’t make any sense. Josh is too smart to ski out of bounds when there’s an avalanche threat. Isn’t he?
“Rescue crews got to them as quickly as possible, but they were buried under too much debris. No one survived.”
My body feels frozen in shock and my chest heaves as I try to draw a breath. Everything around me seems to be spinning. I think I’m hyperventilating, but I have no idea how to calm myself down.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m here,” I squeak out, then take a few ragged, gasping breaths.
“I’m going to have someone in my office call local law enforcement and get them to come to you and make sure you get home safely.
Please stay on the line with me until they arrive.
” He asks the name of the grocery store I’m at and where in the store I’m located, and, while he keeps me on the phone, he answers my questions to the best of his ability given that “the investigation is ongoing.” All he’s able to tell me is what time the avalanche happened, and how long Josh and his fellow skiers were buried before rescue crews were able to dig them out.
There were no survivors. That sobering piece of information is winding itself around my brain. I have so many questions—about why they were in Sun Valley and why they skied out of bounds when there was an avalanche warning—but anyone who could answer them is dead.
I feel like I’m trapped, suffocating, as I sit on the floor shaking uncontrollably.
It feels like an hour, but is probably only a few minutes, before two police officers are walking up the aisle to me.
The older one helps me up while the younger one takes the phone and speaks to the officer in Sun Valley.
“We’re going to get you home,” he says as he puts his arm around my waist to support me.
The wrinkles around his eyes crinkle as he smiles a sad smile.
The younger officer says something to him, but while his lips are moving, it sounds like he’s talking underwater.
I feel like I might pass out. “It’s going to be okay. ”
And in that moment, looking up at the older officer, I’m certain nothing is ever going to be okay again.