by Sarina Bowen
“We should probably get up,” she said after a time. “I have to go to the hospital and figure out if I still have a job.”
“Of course you still have a job. But they haven’t put you back on the regular schedule yet, right?”
Callie knew he had a point. It’s just that Dr. Callie didn’t lounge in bed when her future was uncertain. It was almost a physical need—to park in the doctor’s lot, and make sure that her ID card still opened all the important doors. In the bright light of morning, giving up the study was terrifying. She’d put it on the resume she’d sent to California. How would she explain that she was no longer part of the project? The familiar hum of anxiety she always carried with her began to buzz in her ears.
“It’s a snow day, baby.” Hank rubbed her back again, and the heat of his hands began to smooth down the harshest edges of her worry. “We’re going to drink some coffee, and then we’re going to do my second favorite thing in the world.” As he said it, he reached under her T-shirt again and cupped her breast. When his thumb slid over her nipple, the worry train in her mind hopped the tracks.
Holy hell. Callie melted into him.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what that is?” Hank chuckled. “My second favorite thing?”
“Hmm…?” Callie asked, not really caring about the answer. As long as it involved Hank, and the rich sound of his laugh, and the warmth of his hands.
“We’re going to the ski mountain, of course.” The warm hands fell away. Rolling onto his back, Hank grabbed the landline off his night table.
Callie caught his hand before he could dial. “Seriously?” She would have thought it was the last place he’d want to go. Hank shook her off and tapped one of the speed dial buttons. “Yo, Stella,” he said a minute later. “Are you going over to the hill?”
Because she was lying practically on top of Hank, she could hear a thin version of his sister’s answer. “Do you even have to ask? I got the call at six this morning. It’s all hands on deck.”
Hank paused. “Except mine, I guess.”
Stella didn’t answer right away. “Did you really expect to get that call? Who would ask that of you? But hey—you’re free to take my place,” Stella offered. “I’ll take the powder day, and you can sell season passes.”
When Hank chuckled Callie heard it through his chest. “Kind of you to offer, but let’s do it the other way around. Do you know where all my winter gear went? Callie and I are going to need goggles, helmets and snow pants.”
“I guess I can swing by the parents’ place on the way over. You’re not going to try out your new toy already?”
“You bet.”
“Don’t tell Mom,” Stella said. “She’ll worry.”
“What are we, twelve?”
“You don’t want to be grounded like me.”
“Eh. I’m good at sneaking out.”
Through the phone, Callie heard Stella’s laughter. “That you are.”
“See you over there, Sis.” He disconnected the call.
“What are you plotting?” Callie asked.
He reached under the covers and gave her ass a playful smack. “You’ll see. But first, we need coffee.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hank listened to Callie curse under her breath as the chairlift swung around into position behind them. “Ready?” he asked, biting back a laugh.
“No!”
“She’s fine,” Bear promised.
When the bench approached, Hank pressed down hard on the two specially designed ski poles in his hands, lifting the seat of his sit-ski (and therefore his ass) a few crucial inches into the air. He felt the lift catch him underneath, and then they were flying—slowly—over the bunny hill. Hank reached back to tug on the back of the chairlift, making sure he and his new contraption weren’t going to slip off.
“There aren’t even seat belts,” Callie muttered from the other side of Bear. “How is this legal?”
Hank tipped his head back, allowing more of the morning sunlight to warm his face. “The bigger question is how a girl could have grown up a couple of hours from Lake Tahoe without ever learning how to ski or ride?”
“Seriously,” Bear echoed. “That’s just plain wrong.”
When they’d arrived at the hill an hour ago, Callie had flat-out refused to try a snowboard. “I don’t want to feel like my feet are tied together,” she’d insisted. “Actually, I don’t want to slide downhill at all. But if I’m going to do it, I’m doing it on skis.”
Then Bear—who was either the best friend on the entire planet or bending over backward to get Hank to do his movie—had actually rented a pair, too.
“I thought you were a snowboarder,” Callie had said as they struggled into the stiff boots.
“Yeah,” Bear had said with a wink. “I guess you could say I swing both ways.”
And now all three of them were gliding up the hill, an impossibly blue sky overhead. It was a Tuesday in November, which meant that the only people on the hill were local kids who’d been granted the gift of an early snow day. And all of them had been skiing since preschool. The bunny hill would be deserted.
Conditions were perfect for terrifying Callie.
“How shall we play this?” Bear asked as the end of the bunny lift appeared.
“Maybe I could just ride back down,” Callie suggested.
Hank grinned. “Not a chance. Bear, just give me a shove, and then see if you can keep Callie vertical.”
“Might work,” Bear agreed.
Then the landing was upon them. Hank leaned forward and felt himself disengage from the chair. He put his odd ski poles down to meet the ground—they had little skis on their bottoms—and glided forward, the monoski underneath him skimming over the snow.
Callie shrieked, so he swiveled his torso to look for her. And that did him in. The sit-ski tipped, and he went down. But Hank had only to dig the back of one ski pole into the snow and lever himself upright again.
That wasn’t so bad.
Balancing now, he poled away from the lift area and waited while Bear helped Callie to her feet.
She shuffled awkwardly forward, a grim expression on her face.
“Now, remember,” Bear coached. “Parallel skis make you go fast. Wedge your toes together when you want to slow down. When they teach this to kids, they say that ‘french fries’ are for ‘go’ and ‘pizza’ is for ‘stop.’”
“Pizza it is, then,” Callie grumbled. “Where do I go?”
Hank pointed in the obvious direction. “Down.”
He watched while Callie, her legs quirked into the awkward stance of the terrified, pushed her skis into a wedge and eased down the bunny hill. Hank put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. “That’s it, baby!”
She fell down about a second later.
Bear swooped in to help her up, and they began again.
For a few minutes, Hank sat alone at the top of the little rise, just watching them. But eventually Bear stopped to lift his chin, checking on him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Bear had inquired when Hank asked for the sit-ski to be brought out of storage.
“Sure,” Hank had said, voicing more conviction than he felt. “Piece of cake.”
It was probably the biggest lie he’d voiced in his life.
Now Hank looked down at his equipment, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking.
Last spring, his snowboarding sponsors had all cut him off, one by one. Their checks had stopped arriving. And for the first time in years, Hank was no longer supporting himself.
But his favorite sponsor—a helmet manufacturer—had sent along the sit-ski, with a note. We don’t know whether you’ll want this, or when you’ll be ready for it. But we’d like you to have it just in case. P.S. Always wear your helmet.
Was he ready? Who knew. But, ready or not, he was seated above a metal crutch of sorts, which put his ass a couple of feet off the snow. His legs were zipped together in front of him on a footrest. Underneath this getup was
a single ski. For balance and mobility, he had two multi-purpose poles. Now he rocked a little from side to side, trying to get a feel for the balance of the thing. To steer, he was meant to tip his hips either left or right, edging the ski into the snow. The whole thing looked unwieldy. But people actually raced on these things in the Paralympics. How hard could it be?
He looked down the hill, and his heart rate kicked up a notch. This was his first time on the snow since that day. And it had all happened a few hundred yards from here. That’s why Hank had come out here today, on the very first ski day of the season. If he didn’t try this today, the moment would only grow in importance. Every day he didn’t do it would just make the problem bigger.
And right now, every minute he sat up here thinking about it did the same.
Fuck.
Without any more preparation, Hank shoved forward on his poles and leaned downhill. The ski beneath him did its job, its waxed surface compressing the snow underneath, propelling him forward. And then gravity had its say, too. Hank began to accelerate. He leaned a bit to the right, experimenting with steering. Not a whole lot happened, except that Hank began to travel downhill even faster. So Hank leaned farther, edging the ski into the snow. He turned, hard, and quickly skidded to a fall, a plume of snow rising up around him. He landed on his forearm, the ski poles clattering around into his sit-ski contraption. And then it was quiet.
Well, okay then. He had falling all figured out.
Hank fished the ski pole out from under his body and levered himself up and vertical again. Even though his heart was hammering, he didn’t wait. Pointing the ski downhill, he immediately made a gentle turn to the left. That seemed to go okay, so he made another one to the right. Left again. Right. He steered around a guy who was putting up a sign that read Slow: Learning Area.
He picked up some speed, but it wasn’t welcome just yet. So he made his next turn a deeper one and slowed himself down. That’s it. Nice and easy. Left… Right… He’d forgotten how this felt—to lose himself completely in a physical activity. His mind was cleared of everything that wasn’t the snow, the ski and two poles. No thinking allowed.
Before he was ready for it to end, Hank surprised himself by arriving at the bottom of the hill. Using the momentum that gravity had provided, he made a careful arc around the chair-lift loading area. Then he stopped, planting both poles down for balance, and rested. He was breathing harder than he would have guessed.
Two thirds of the way up the little hill, Bear and Callie stood together. Bear was gesturing with his hands, probably teaching Callie some valuable nugget of ski wisdom.
They looked like they’d be a while, so Hank poled forward into the loading area. The lifty hit the lever and slowed the chairs down to half speed. Now that was mortifying. Nobody had slowed a chairlift down for him since he’d graduated from kindergarten. On the other hand, falling off the lift was not on his to-do list for today. So Hank decided not to worry about it. When the chair came, he pulled himself on carefully and sat back for the ride.
Overhead, the sky was so blue that it almost hurt his eyes. And when Hank looked down, he could pick out the S-shaped turns he’d carved into the snow. And damn if that didn’t put a big old lump in his throat.
He’d been two years old the first time he slid down this hill on little-kid skis. There was a picture somewhere of Hank skiing with a pacifier in his mouth. At seven, he’d traded up to a snowboard. He’d grown up right on this spot, eating chili and burgers in the ski lodge, watching bigger kids practice their tricks in the half-pipe.
His whole life had happened on these hills. As an adult he’d ridden his snowboard at every major resort in North America. But it had all started right here. And that’s why it had been right and necessary to come here today. He couldn’t be afraid of this place. He wouldn’t be afraid.
At the top, he pushed himself off the lift this time, fumbling his hands onto the poles just quickly enough to avoid another crash on the dismount. On the crest, he paused to watch Callie skiing. She was doing a little better now, her body less tense. He saw her turn twice before falling in a puff of snow, legs akimbo. She flopped onto her back in the snow, dramatic but uninjured.
Smiling to himself, Hank pointed his ski in her general direction. It was a smoother trip this time, now that he had a better feel for the arc of the seat over the ski’s edges. Taking care to keep his speed under control, he made it down to Callie in six or seven turns. He did a quarter turn around where she lay, used the uphill to kill his speed, and then pivoted to fall down into the snow beside her. “Come here often?” he asked her.
“What, like it’s obvious?” she asked from flat on the ground.
Bear laughed. “You’re getting better, I swear.”
Hank pointed uphill. “You can take a run, dude. I want to talk to my girl.”
With a shrug, Bear skied away.
“He’s a very patient teacher,” Callie said. “But his student is not very bright.”
“I think she’s pretty great.”
Callie pulled herself up onto an elbow, her blue eyes taking him in. “Are you doing okay?”
Hank walked his forearms closer to her, and she took the hint, leaning in for the kiss. He laid one on her, and there was nothing subtle about that kiss. “I am doing great,” he said against her lips. “And thank you for asking.” He kissed her again, drawn in by her sweet taste.
“I saw you,” she breathed between kisses. “It’s not really fair that you can ski on that thing the first time out.”
He ignored her complaint, kissing her more aggressively now. And the appreciative noise she uttered made Hank want to take his time.
“Mister, are you okay?”
Reluctantly, Hank pulled back from Callie and looked up. A little girl, maybe six years old, had paused on the ski slope, staring at them.
“Should I get the ski patrol?” the little creature asked.
“Nope. Nothing to see here,” Hank said. “Move it along.”
“Why don’t you get up, then?” the little girl pressed, tilting her head to the side like a puppy. “Were you giving her CPR?”
“No!” Callie said, her tone full of horror. “Everything is fine. Really. Just, um, taking a little break.”
“Bye, now,” Hank tried, waving at her.
The little girl gave them one last suspicious glance and then skied off.
Callie met his eyes, and then they both laughed. But Callie’s laugh turned into a groan, and she propped herself up on her elbows. “That last fall is going to leave a bruise. But at least I know who to turn to for CPR.”
“I’m always available for mouth-to-mouth.”
“Hank, there’s a reason I never learned to ski,” Callie said, rubbing a fist down her outer thigh. “And it wasn’t fear.”
“No?” He hoped she wouldn’t be too sore from her ski lesson. Though if she was, he could always suggest that they fulfill one of his Jacuzzi fantasies.
She faced him again. “Squaw Valley was only a day trip from Sacramento. And in high school, my friends invited me to go with them. But the lift tickets and the equipment rental was over a hundred bucks. So I told them no.”
“I see,” Hank said. But now he felt like an ass. Every November, his parents had handed him a brand-new parka with a season pass tucked into the high-tech ID window on the upper arm. Their equipment shed was crammed full of late-model gear, which was traded in each time he and Stella grew out of the old stuff.
“Staying out of trouble at the hospital isn’t just academic for me.” Callie looked down at her hands. “I need that job. I’ve done well for myself, but it will still be a few years until I’m out of debt.”
Hank cleared his throat. “I hope I didn’t screw that up for you last night.”
“I really don’t think you did,” she said immediately. “I’m just telling you why the idea of breaking the rules gives me the cold sweats. I don’t want to be that boring girl. But I just can’t afford to be reckless.”
“The last thing you are is boring,” Hank chuckled. Callie’s chin snapped upward, and he could read on her face that she didn’t believe him. “You’re smart, and it’s really sexy. I was always too much of an adrenaline junkie to stop and appreciate that in people. But there’s more to life than jumping off stuff. You’re the only woman I’ve met who makes me laugh every single day.”
She actually blushed then, and looked away. “What is that guy doing?” she asked, pointing downhill.
In the center of the bunny slope, an employee stood with a shovel, scooping snow into a pile over a wedge-shaped wooden box.
“He’s making a jump,” Hank explained. “They make little terrain features here, to keep the kids out of the bigger terrain park. When I was a kid, I spent hours in my front yard, doing that. I had to build my own jumps. Now we do it for ‘em.”
“You won’t make me jump today, will you?”
Hank shook his head. “Callie, I won’t make you do anything. I’m just glad you came out here today with me. And tried it once.” He reached down and unclipped himself from the sit-ski, shoving it away so he could sit more comfortably beside Callie.
She turned that blue gaze on him again. “I’ll try skiing again. Really. I don’t think I’ll ever be good at it. But it’s fun to do something badly once in a while. It takes you out of your own head, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Hank whispered. Out of nowhere, he found himself almost choked up with appreciation for her. The journey he was on was not an easy one, yet she was on it, too. He hoped so anyway.
“Sometimes…” Callie said, her face grave. “…Sometimes I dig my own ruts. I carve them nice and deep, and then I get stuck inside them.”
Reaching for her hand, Hank yanked off one of the gloves that Stella had lent her. “I’ll haul you out,” he said. Then brought her palm up to his lips, kissing her.
When he looked up again, her eyes were brimming. “Would you?” Callie whispered. “I’d like that.”
