Love on the Slopes

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Five years later

Pinks, oranges, and blues colored the early Monday morning sky over Sun Valley. Ry’s boots sank into the snow. It was late March, and the Idaho weather was perfect. The cold air stung his lungs, a familiar feeling he relished. He’d been spending too much time in the gym and doing physical therapy. He belonged outside on a mountain, the place he called home.

“Going to be a bluebird day,” he said to his friend and US Ski Team member Chas Morris.

“Sunny skies. A dusting of powder. No lift lines.” Smiling, Chas placed his skis on the snow. He was six foot two, an inch taller than Ry. “Nothing better.”

Chas had won two gold medals at PyeongChang and was the top male alpine skier in the US. He’d flown in from Europe after the final World Cup race. He might be the definition of a champion, but he wouldn’t be hauling in so many wins next season if Ry had his say. The two were friends and teammates, but also competitors. A good thing the podium was big enough for both of them.

A helmet covered Chas’s reddish-brown hair. He stuck his poles under his arm. “Feel good to be here?”

“Yeah.” The skis lying on the snow captured Ry’s attention. The sense of longing, always present since his accident over two years ago, grew tenfold. “Just wish I could practice.”

“You’ll be tearing up the slopes soon enough.”

This summer, according to his doctors. “I can’t wait.”

Since his ski crash during the downhill at St. Moritz, he’d faced numerous surgeries and rehab. His progress had been standing-still slow. He hadn’t been able to compete at PyeongChang. Worse, he hadn’t been able to do the one thing he loved more than anything—ski.

From the first time he’d strapped on skis at the age of four, skiing was all he’d wanted to do. All he’d done before destroying his right side.

“Until then, I’ll cheer for you and the other old farts,” he joked.

Chas made a face. “Some young ones want to chase us down to take their shot at making the national team, but I’m not ready for a walker yet.”

“Just a ball and chain.”

“You know it. Taylor is all mine.”

“Keep rubbing it in.”

“Sorry.” Chas’s smile spread to the edges of his helmet. “But she’s…amazing.”

The guy had it bad. Funny, given the number of women in and out of Chas’s life over the years, but Ry was happy for his friend and for Taylor Bradshaw. The two world-class, gold- medal-winning skiers would make lightning-fast ski babies together.

“You’re a lucky man,” Ry said.

“Sure am.” Chas kicked snow from his ski boots. “You’re doing well for yourself. Heard you’re dating another supermodel.”

“Nah.” Ry didn’t want a girlfriend. Even a casual hookup would distract him from his recovery. No one knew he hadn’t dated since his crash. Most assumed he was being discreet, not living like a monk, because of his reputation. He flexed his gloved fingers. “Strictly business.”

“Come on. Every time I open a magazine, I see you with a living-my-best-life grin on your face and a beautiful woman hanging on your arm. You can’t tell me nothing happens after the photographer leaves.”

“I’m just earning my keep and helping out the team.”

The US Ski Team was sponsored solely through donations—America’s team in every sense of the word. Mugging for the camera allowed Ry to pay his own way while he healed. After his father offered to make a seven-figure donation to the team if Ry modeled, he’d become the face of Guyer Gear. Ry wanted to keep the family company separate from skiing, but the benefit to the team made it impossible for him to say no.

“Though I’ll tell you”—he gave his friend a knowing look—“a photo shoot in a hot tub with a gorgeous model is hard work.”

“Hardly working.”

Ry rolled his eyes.

Chas laughed. “If there’s no supermodel in your life, you’d better find yourself a snow bunny while you’re here. The nights get chilly—”

“I’ll be fine. Nothing like having a bed to yourself.”

“Warm and not alone is better.”

Ry was used to being alone these days. Some nights he didn’t think about it much. Others, too much. But he’d made the right decision. The only choice. Reaching his goal was all that mattered. Coming back from injuries as serious as his wasn’t easy, but he was driven. He might have a high-paying job waiting for him, but he wasn’t ready to retire from competition yet. “I need to focus. Beijing is coming up.”

“Not until 2022.” Chas’s brows drew together. “Three years is a long time.”

“It’s not that long.”

One thought kept Ry going through the pain and the frustration of his injuries and recovery—the 2022 Winter Games in Beijing.

He’d been drinking the night before the race in St. Moritz. A stupid decision that could have killed him, all because he wanted to piss off his parents with his bad behavior—show his mom and dad they couldn’t control every part of his life. But the only person Ry had hurt was himself.

Though the injuries from the crash had only been the first wake-up call. There’d been a second one months after that. It hadn’t happened on skis but was way worse than his actual crash. One that had finally made him realize he was on the wrong path and put the partying lifestyle behind him. No alcohol or women. Some might call the lifestyle change rash, but he wouldn’t argue with the results. He was in better shape today, injuries aside, than when he’d won two medals in Sochi. If he kept this up, he’d challenge Chas for the gold in 2022.

And win.

Resolve made Ry stand taller. “Three more years is nothing.”

“When you decide you want more in your life…someone special—”

“I don’t. Won’t.” Can’t.

Winning a gold medal meant too much. Called for sacrifices. Ones he would gladly make before he took over the family company. That was his future. Guyer Gear. Until then, he wanted to make the most of the present.

With skiing, he could be himself, follow his passion and dreams. Here, he was Ry or Ry-Guy, not Ryland Guyer the Fourth, heir to Guyer Gear with the expectations of his entire family, generations living and dead, riding on his shoulders. The thought of being stuck behind a desk made him downright queasy, but he’d made a deal with his father and would do his part when the time came.

“Easy to say until you meet the right woman. Then, bam.” Chas secured his helmet strap. “She’s all you can think about.”

“Taylor.”

Chas nodded once.

Not going to happen.

“I’ve never met a woman who made me feel that way.” Ry had thought he’d found the one and bought her an engagement ring, but she’d been more interested in his family’s money than in him. The devastating breakup and finding out she’d been stealing from him since the beginning of their relationship had led to his don’t-care-party-hardy attitude at the age of twenty-one. He never wanted to put his happiness—and his heart—in someone else’s hands. Best to focus on his goals. Next season would be his first on skis in over two years. He wanted to show the coaches he was serious about competing at an elite level again. Being cut from the team was not an option. Speaking of which… “You’d better get up top or Coach will chew you out.”

Chas stepped on the skis. His boots clicked into the bindings.

The sound greeted Ry like a long-lost friend. He wanted to race again, feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Pushing himself to the edge to cut a hundredth of a second or tucking on a straightaway to go faster, finding the perfect line down the course and flying to the finish line.

Not being able to ski had left a huge gap in his life. He’d be happy to snowplow like a beginner down a green run serviced by a tow rope. Anything to feel the snow beneath his skis and the wind on his face.

“Yeah, Coach has been riled up.” Chas lowered his goggles. “Don’t need him on me more than he is.”

“Tell the guys to kick your butt up there.”

“As if they could.”

“Just wait until I’m back.”

Chas waved a pole. “Can’t wait to beat you again.”

“In your dreams.” Ry headed toward the lodge, an inviting building constructed of logs and rock with paned glass windows. A large sun deck offered plenty of room for skiers to sit outside, but everyone was inside on this chilly morning.

Stragglers passed by on their way to the one lift operating for early practice runs.

“Guyer.” Coach Mike Frederick’s deep voice bellowed across the snow. Pushing sixty, the alpine men’s head coach was solid and strong, a six-foot-tall wall of muscle. His steely-eyed gaze narrowed. “About time you showed up.”

“The trainer had me in the pool first thing this morning and then sent me off to the gym to be tortured with a new killer workout.”

“And?”

“I survived. Did better than expected.” Ry pushed back his shoulders. “Should be ready for summer camp.”

“Good. Chile and New Zealand haven’t been the same without you.”

During the summer and fall, the team trained in the southern hemisphere when snow was difficult to find closer to home. A feeling of pride flowed through Ry. “Looking forward to it.”

“Excellent.” Coach drove the team hard and demanded results, but he cared about each athlete. “I want you to work with a skier this week. Talented. Thought this would be a breakout season with her early World Cup results, but she lost focus. Talk to her. See if you can help her get back on track.”

No wonder the coaches had asked him to come to Sun Valley for the final event of the season. To be honest, the call had surprised Ry. He’d been settling back into his rehab and training schedule following a photo shoot in LA and an impromptu stop in San Francisco to help out a friend of a friend. “Who is it?”

“Brynn Windham.”

The name brought a rush of memories. Waking up with her in his hotel room, finding his sweatpants and shirt she’d been wearing, washed and folded, in a bag on his doorknob later that day, but the rest of their time together had been sucked into a black hole. He’d assumed what happened that night even if he hadn’t remembered. Brynn, still on the team, had avoided him ever since as if he were radioactive.

“I’m not the right person for this.” At team functions, she acknowledged his presence with a hard glare or the evil-eye, so he kept his distance. She’d done the same with him. “Taylor had trouble focusing last season before her knee injury. She’d be a better choice.”

“Coach Tolliver agrees you’re the one.” Kate Tolliver was the women’s head coach.

“But—”

“Wes thinks so, too.” Assistant Coach Wes Smith’s friendly teddy bear personality was the opposite of the men’s head coach’s grizzly demeanor. “What you’ve been through since St. Moritz makes you the perfect one to help Brynn.”

“When was she injured?”

“Her issues aren’t physical, but they’ve been as debilitating to her success. Brynn has the speed, but since December, she’s dropped from the top of the standings to the bottom. She needs to pull herself together. We downsized the team last year. There may be more cuts.”

Next season’s preliminary team nominations would be announced in May. To be nominated, skiers had to meet the set criteria for their team level—A, B, C, and Development. Brynn’s spot must be in jeopardy because she didn’t meet the requirements, or the coaches were unsure about granting a discretionary selection to keep her on the team.

A shiver shot down Ry’s spine. An injury discretion would put him on the team for the upcoming season. But if he didn’t rank high enough this time next year, he would find himself in a similar place as Brynn.

Still, he hesitated. “She may not want my help.”

“You two have a history?”

Crack. The sharp sound filled the air. An icicle dropped from an eave. “More like a mistake. We put it behind us.”

At least Ry had. He’d never spoken to Brynn again, so he didn’t know how she felt.

“No problem then,” Coach said in a matter-of-fact tone.

His voice might as well be a judge’s gavel signaling a verdict. No appeal. Sentence nonnegotiable. Ry swallowed. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Coach handed him a US Ski Team lanyard. “This will give you access to places Brynn might want to go.”

Ry studied the team assistant badge. An odd taste, like he’d chewed moldy bread, coated his mouth. He preferred wearing an athlete’s lanyard.

“I’ll send Brynn into the cafeteria after practice,” Coach said. “Wait for her there.”

Ry’s throat clogged. The team had stood by him. The least he could do was talk to Brynn. He placed the lanyard into his jacket pocket. “Okay.”

“Thanks.”

He hadn’t expected gratitude from the in-your-face coach who had developed him into a champion and been at his bedside when Ry had woken up from his first surgery. “Wait until you see what happens before you thank me.”

He might crash and burn worse with Brynn Windham than he had at St. Moritz.