“Youthinkyou’re doing what I said. Without me here to force you to lean forward you’re probably leaning back and gaining more speed than you’re ready for.” His eyes dart away just long enough for me to realize I’m right. “Dammit, Frosty. What were you thinking? You came up here alone, right before the lifts shut down—what if I hadn’t forgotten my bag in my locker? No one would know tolook for you.”
“I was only going to do one run. It just took longer than I expected.” He purses his lips, and I just know there’s a frown to match under those goggles, but his stubborn pout doesn’t sway me.
“You say that like it’s some monumental discovery when it should be common sense. Of course, it’s going to take longer when you’re breaking the whole way down the hill. And if that’s how you’re riding, you aren’t ready to ride on your own.”
I’m being an ass, but I don’t know how else to hide the fact he scared the shit out of me. That I’m relieved he’s okay. Whether that’s guilt from driving him out here orsomethingelse, I don’t know. I only care that I can finally breathe.
“Yesterday, you said I was doing great.”
I narrow my eyes.
“You did,” he insists.
I pop up to standing and offer him my hand. More out of a desire to get off the mountain than because I’m feeling nice.
“Yeah, I said you were doing great with me there to tell you when to turn and which direction. It’d take days, maybe even weeks, before you’d be ready to do that on your own. Did you really think you’d mastered it after a few hours?”
He huffs out a frustrated breath and pops his lips together. Still, he reaches for my outstretched hand.At least he’s not so pissed he can’t be reasonable.Once he’s back on two feet, I guide us forward.
“Heel side,” I bark at him.
“I know which direction to turn.”
“My bad. I’ll shut up.” And I do, keeping my lips pressed in a firm line as we glide across the hill, straight for another tree. “Are you playing chicken with the tree or are you waiting for me to give you instructions.”
“You said you were shutting up.”
“I decided I’d rather speak than crash. Toe side,” I command, and he leans on them just enough that our boards turn down the mountain, away from the looming tree trunk.
“Should I continue?” I ask wryly.
“Yes,” he answers through gritted teeth.
Our descent takes around fifteen minutes, more than double the time it would’ve taken me on my own but easily a quarter of the time it would’ve taken him. For a brief minute, that makes me think maybe I was too hard on him. After all, coming down so easily in tandem probably would make it seem possible to do on your own. Then I remember having him angry with me might uncomplicate my life. At least where he’s concerned.
As we reach the bottom of the run, I drop his hands and skid to a stop. “I assume you’ve got it from here?” I avoid looking at him by bending over to loosen my bindings.
“Yes.” He hisses, as he unstraps his helmet and tries to yank it off, only to wail when it doesn’t leave his head.
My chest constricts as the cry echoes around us, but I tamp it down and paste an annoyed look on my face. I step off the board and stand to my full height. “What now?”
“Get it off, get it off,” he squeals, clawing at the chinstrap.
I step forward and pull his fingers loose, forcing him to let go of the helmet. Some of his hair has slipped out from underneath his hat and—wet from one of his many falls—frozen around the strap right where the helmet covers his ear.Damn, this is a mess.
Clutching the stiff strands between my fingers, I roll them around, hoping that little bit of friction might cause the ice to melt.
“Are you playing with my hair?” His voice is testy behind his locked jaw. It makes me want to shut him up the way I did earlier, but since I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re in this mess I don’t.
“Fuck no. I’m picking the ice out of it.”
“Oh.” His voice comes out much softer, uncertain, though I can’t tell if that’s because we’re standing so close or because I just snapped at him.
Doesn’t matter, just fix it and get out of here.
“There,” I grunt as I work the strap free, making the mistake of peeking at his big doe eyes in the process. He looks so confused, and for a second, I’m tempted to reach out and stroke his flushed cheek. Give him some sort of reassurance after what must’ve been a scary ordeal. Then I remember touching him is the other thing that led to this little disaster, and I fist my hands at my sides.
“Don’t do that again,” I bark, spinning away before his dejected expression can pull me in.
