Chapter Four
Sophie
Thankfully, I don't have to ride in the van with Harlan.
By the time we make it to the slopes, I'm mostly calm.
I also deeply, deeply regret not agreeing to forget this entire stupid bet.
But I refuse to let him think that I'm some delicate little flower who needs to be wrapped in bubble wrap. Hell no.
I've danced entire seasons on broken toes and fractured bones.
I've performed in pain that most people wouldn't understand because that's the price I knew I was willing to pay to dance when I was still just a little girl.
You don't get to hide from sacrifice and be a professional ballerina at the same time, so I made my sacrifices willingly.
And I've never—not once—regretted a single one of them. Even when the entire damn ballet world was in an uproar about my company signing a "fat ballerina" as a principal, I didn't regret it.
I regret this stupid bet.
But Harlan doesn't get to sweep in now and decide for me what I can and can't do when that's always been my decision to make. I don't need to be protected. I've never needed that.
The wind is biting at the top of the slopes. And my heart is hammering so loud I'm pretty sure everyone can hear it. But as soon as he climbs from the second van, straightening to his full height, I plaster a bright smile on my face and pretend I'm not scared as hell.
Let's be clear: I am.
Let's also be clear: hell will freeze over before I let Harlan "You're a Breakable Little Ballerina" Ward know that. I'll die first.
People have underestimated me since I started dancing. I really hate that Harlan's doing it, too. I'm not an athlete to him. And, apparently, I'm not smart enough to keep myself safe, either.
Maybe skiing is risky, but it's no more of a risk to me than it is to any of the other dozen professional athletes standing out here with me…including him. Breaking something on this mountain could end their careers, too. But he isn't trying to stop them, now, is he?
No.
He stomps toward me, his boots crunching in the snow, and reaches for my skis without a word. Before I can even react, he's squatting beside me to fit the bindings to my boots.
When I try to protest, he flicks his gaze up, pinning me with it.
My mouth snaps shut.
He grunts when my toes crunch down, and my balance wobbles, but he still isn't satisfied. He checks the skis carefully, making sure the bindings are fitted perfectly to my boots.
"Harlan," I manage, "I'm good."
He rises to his feet without a word. His hands run down my arms, over the straps of my helmet, and then he tests to see if I'm zipped, velcroed, and harnessed in all the right places.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, my heart thudding against my ribcage.
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he finishes his inspection, then meets my gaze. His eyes are so serious that I forget to breathe. "If you die on this mountain, I'll spank your gorgeous ass."
"If I die on this mountain, I'm haunting you," I grumble, scowling at him. "And I'm going to be an annoying ghost."
"Yeah?" A grin flickers at his lips before he hoists me onto the chairlift. "Haunt away, baby."
He sits beside me, pressed so close I feel his heat even through our combined layers. I try to ignore him, taking in the scenery, but just like last night, he's impossible to ignore. Not even the miles of snow stretching out around us compete with him beside me.
I should hate that a lot more than I do.
"Have you always been this stubborn?" he asks.
"I'm a ballerina, so yes," I snap. It's the truth. You don't get this far if you're the type who gives up easily or shrinks under pressure. Making it takes the tenacity of a terrier and the skin of a dragon.
His fingers wrap around a wayward strand of my hair, tugging gently. "You're beautiful when you're angry."
I swat him away. "And you're annoying when you're touching me."
"You didn't unblock me," he murmurs.
"Nope. I've been told my whole life that I'm good for a fat girl, that I'm not a real athlete, that I'm just a silly ballerina, that dance isn't a sport, that I was a pity hire or an experiment," I say, swatting his hand away again.
Geez. He doesn't give up, does he? "I learned a long time ago not to give my energy to the people who say those things. I block them to protect my peace."
That gets his attention. He freezes with his hand in midair, his denim eyes narrowing on my face. "I'm not them, Sophie."
"Could have fooled me," I say, and then laugh, even though this whole situation is deeply unfunny.
"You know what? You actually did fool me.
I thought you were different. I was actually fa…
" My voice cracks on the truth, and I quickly trail off, refusing to finish that sentence.
"But it doesn't even matter anymore. I'm winning this race, and then I never have to see you again after the wedding. "
"You were what?" he says, his voice intense. So is his gaze as it bores into me, like he can pluck the truth from my mind if only he stares hard enough.
"Nothing," I mumble as the lift shudders to a stop. I throw myself off it, just to avoid any possibility of telling him that I was falling for him before I read that stupid article. It's true, though. I was falling for him, so fucking hard.
That's why finding out what he really thinks hurt so much.
It's been a long time since anyone said anything that got to me.
What he said got to me because he's the one who said it.
Yet again, I wasn't good enough. I'm used to that.
But it's a different kind of ache when the person who caused it is the one you've let into your heart.
"See you at the bottom!" I shout.
He startles, panic in his gaze. "Sophie! Goddammit!"
I hurl myself forward, the cold wind instantly freezing my face. My skis chatter as I lean into the slope, ignoring the fact that I have absolutely no idea how to control my speed beyond a vague memory of Austin and Sidney trying to teach me a few years ago.
Behind me, I hear the thunk of Harlan launching off the lift, and then he's coming after me, his enormous body eating up ground so fast I want to scream.
I risk a glance back. Bad idea.
He's gaining. Also, my skis immediately cross, and I'm airborne for one dizzying, slow-motion heartbeat.
I land. Not gracefully.
I manage to recover, but I can hear him breathing now.
Jesus Christ. It's like racing a freight train, only the freight train is a hot hockey player and he's actually good at this. Why is he so damn fast?
I scream and dig in, committing to the next curve until my knees ache. But Harlan is still right behind me. Worse, he's laughing like this is the most fun he's ever had.
Clearly, he needs his head examined because delusions like that are not normal. Flying down a mountain on death sticks to win a bet is the height of insanity. Why did I agree to this?
I slash snow at him, praying he'll skid out. But he just shrugs it off, then grabs the back of my coat, sending us both careening off the main run into a bank of powder.
"Harlan!" I shriek as we tumble, our skis dislodging, limbs everywhere. Somehow, I end up on top of him, straddling his chest.
For a second, he looks up at me with this blissful expression, like I just handed him the Cup, and I want to kiss him and just never stop. Our bet be damned, I want to stay right here, with him looking at me like he is right now.
I bite his shoulder instead, hard enough to leave teeth marks in his coat.
He just laughs and drags me down. Our helmets bash together before his mouth collides with mine. And then he's kissing me like there's nothing else he'd rather do right now. He tastes like winter and mint, his hard body setting mine on fire right there in the snow as his tongue tangles with mine.
I give myself three seconds to enjoy the way he annihilates me with his mouth before I bite his lip and then knee him in the balls. Hard.
"Jesus!" he yelps, curling in on himself. "What the fuck, Sophie?"
"Cheating has consequences," I pant, scrambling to my feet. I somehow manage to detangle my poles and reattach my skis without landing on my face. Don't ask me how. I can't even feel my legs right now.
He's still writhing in the snow, clutching his balls. I don't feel guilty. At least, not very much. He's the one who crashed us into a snowbank.
"See you at the bottom, cheater." I plant my poles and take off.
I'm whooping as I get to the last stretch, the muscles in my thighs quivering. It's ridiculous. I can stay en pointe for hours, but one damn mountain, and my thighs are ready to tap out.
The bottom of the slope is in sight when I hit a patch of ice.
I'm not sure if the world goes sideways or if I do, but I absolutely obliterate a small spruce, my arms pinwheeling, my skis ejecting in opposite directions. All the air leaves my lungs in a single, humiliating whoosh as I hit the ground, sinking into the snow.
I'm alive, but I can't breathe. It's fine, though. Oxygen is overrated anyway. And I'm perfectly content to lie here, staring at the sky. I can be a speed bump on the course.
"Sophie!"
There's a massive rumble, and then Harlan is on top of me, his expression nothing but panic and terror.
"Don't you dare be dead," he rasps, his voice cracking. "Don't you fucking dare."
He rips off my helmet, then my goggles, and buries his face in my neck. "Breathe," he commands. "Goddammit, Sophie, please—"
I suck in a ragged gasp. "I'm…fine," I wheeze, even though I can't feel my ass and I think my eyelashes are frozen together. "You…cheating…asshole."
I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of his relief. It's half a groan, half a choked sob. He hauls me upright, cradling my head in his hands. The way he inspects my face makes my throat tight.
His big, rough hands shake like he can't quite get himself under control.
I don't know what to do with that. I've never seen him anything but sure, steady, and infuriatingly immovable.
Seeing him look at me like he's seconds from losing his mind shreds whatever stubborn pride was holding the rest of my anger together.
It just…dissolves, floating away like I never felt it at all. When it does, I'm left facing the truth I've been trying to run from.
He matters. He matters more than anyone ever has. And I don't have the first clue what to do about that, not when the thought alone scares the shit out of me. Not when it might change everything.
I'm not sure I'm ready to face the implications of that.
Love is easy when I'm faking it on stage.
Even when it gets messy or tragic, it ends when the curtain closes.
In reality, there is no shutting it off at the end of the night.
If it goes bad, you don't get to curtsey and call it a day. You have to feel it.
And I have a feeling there will be a whole lot of bad if whatever is between us gets messy.
People think I'm brave or strong or whatever, but they're wrong.
I'm just a girl who loves to dance. And I'm one stubborn enough to dance even when everyone says I shouldn't.
I've never been one courageous enough to risk her heart.
I don't even know how to be that girl.
Something about Harlan makes me want to find out how, though. And that's why he's so dangerous.
He makes me want to be brave.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, his voice shaking. "I thought you were dead, Sophie."
"I told you I'm not breakable," I say, but I'm shaking so hard, my teeth chatter. "Just…ugh. Don't let go. I'm…just…"
He wraps his whole body around me, tucking me into his chest. "You're not leaving my sight for the rest of the trip," he swears.
"You're not the boss of me," I say, but it comes out soft. Weak.
He tips my chin up with his hand, then kisses me so gently I want to cry.
"You don't need a boss, baby. You're the bravest person I know," he says. "And the most stubborn. And the sexiest when you're pissed."
I want to tell him that he's wrong, but I can't, not when his eyes are so goddamn blue, and everything hurts less with him holding me.
"Unblock me," he whispers. "Please."
I know he isn't just asking me to unblock him online. He was never just asking for that. He's asking for me to unbend, stop running, and let him in again.
He's asking me to keep falling.
I swallow hard…and nod.