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Chapter 1
Jax
This is it. This is how I die. I’m going to freeze to death in Bumfuck, Colorado.
I can see the headline now: Hockey star Jax Whalen wins the Darwin Award for stupidest death of the year. That’s if they ever find my body. No one knows I’m here. A bear or a mountain lion could drag me into the woods for a late-night snack. I’ll just be some has-been athlete who disappeared without a trace after a busted knee ended his season—and probably his career. Maybe I’ll be featured on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries.
After taking years of abuse on the ice, I’d started to believe I was invincible. I was wrong. One bad fall was all it took. After surgery and physical therapy, I’m almost back to my peak shape. But almost isn’t good enough. Not for my coaches, my teammates, or my fans.
And certainly not for me. If I can’t be the best, there’s no point in competing at all. What can I say? I’m a cocky motherfucker. It’s made me one of the best players to ever swing a stick.
It’s also going to be the cause of my premature death.
At least part of the blame falls on Jerry, one of my physical therapists. He told me about this so-called Mountain of Youth, home to a hidden hot spring with healing powers. He claimed there were records of Native Americans bathing in the spring centuries ago, and that it had been rediscovered by a group of hikers in the 1960s. They were lost, dehydrated, and had suffered frostbite on their fingers and toes. After twenty minutes in the hot spring, they were not only cured but in the best health of their lives. They even reported feeling younger.
“Give me a break, Jerry,” I’d said. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m serious,” he’d insisted. “My aunt was one of the hikers. In fact…” Then he’d made his sales pitch: he’d shared the location with two of his former patients—high-profile athletes like me who’d suffered catastrophic, career-ending injuries. After one visit to the hot spring, they were once again at the top of their game. And he’d give me the directions for the low, one-time fee of $5,000.
I told him to get bent.
But then the hockey season started without me, and I was depressed, anxious, and bored as hell. I fell down a research rabbit hole, discovering that hot springs actually can help with healing. Even if they don’t have magical healing powers. I could’ve—should’ve—booked a stay at a luxury spa with a hot spring. But I couldn’t get the thought of Jerry’s Mountain of Youth out of my mind.
Hot springs don’t have magical powers. In my brain, I know that. But I’m a desperate man, these are desperate times, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
So, I paid Jerry for the information. What’s five grand to me, anyway? I had no problems following his directions to Frosty Crest, Colorado, and then to McAllister Drive. But he failed to mention that McAllister Drive is a person’s driveway, and it’s barred by a steel gate.
I parked my rental car, grabbed my duffel bag containing my swim trunks, a plush bath towel, and a change of clothes, and hopped the gate. The moon illuminated the driveway, which disappeared into the woods. No worries, I’d thought. I’ll just follow the driveway to the house, knock on the door, and dazzle the homeowner with my fame and money. They’ll be more than happy to lead me to their hot spring.
After thirty minutes of walking, there’s still no house in sight. Clouds now obscure the moon, turning the driveway into a black hole. Worst of all? Big, fat snowflakes the size of goose feathers have started to fall, fast and furious. It’s bitterly cold, and I’m starting to feel like one of those lost hikers from the 60s that Jerry mentioned.
Should I turn back now… or keep walking?
My pulse quickens as a sense of panic overwhelms me. I hear a twig snap in the woods, and adrenaline surges through my body. I start to run. Busted knee be damned. This is a driveway, so there has to be a house. I’ve already walked a couple of miles, so I must be close now. I round a bend and laugh with relief when I see a light up ahead.
My relief disappears in an instant as the loud crack of a gunshot rings in my ears.
Chapter 2
Jax
I dive for the ground, burrowing into the blanket of snow, not entirely sure if I’m dead or alive. It’s cold… so very cold. Is that because I’m bleeding out, or because I was already half-frozen before faceplanting into the snow?
My ears still ring with the sound of the gunshot, but the sound is accompanied by a rhythmic booming. Boom. Boom. Boom.
My heartbeat. So, I’m alive. But for how much longer? There’s a maniac with a gun nearby. Was he aiming for me?
Should I make a run for it? Or play dead?
A boot nudges me in the side. “Roll over.”
The voice is cold and hard, but it doesn’t belong to a man.
“Am I shot?” I ask the woman.
“Not yet,” she says. “Lucky for you, I can’t aim for shit.”
I roll over, looking up at her through the falling snow. It’s too dark to make out her features, but her voluptuous curves are on full display. Despite the snow, she’s standing over me in underwear, a t-shirt, and snow boots. Her wild, curly hair swirls in the air, making her look like a goddess from Greek mythology.
