Page 87 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

“I still owe you a rematch from last time,” I tell her, already grinning.

Her lip quirks. “You mean the time you swore you’d win and ended up face first in a snowbank?”

Octavia explodes, laughter spilling out until she’s wiping at her eyes. “Oh my God, I remember, you were two turns from the finish, took the corner completely wrong and went straight out of it, Piper just sailed past you.”

I catch Arlo’s eye, there’s a small, almost soft smile on his face and my chest threatens to burst.

For a beat I let myself imagine what we might have been without the heat and hatred that burns through him.

I shake the thought off and decide to enjoy this side of him while it lasts, until he inevitably decides to ruin it.

Call me naïve, but I still hope, that one day we might put the bad blood between us to rest.

We leave the shop with skis in hand, but as we step outside Arlo takes them from me without so much as a word, not giving me the chance to protest.

The boots are cumbersome and heavy, it’s awkward to walk in them.

We don’t have far to go, a member of staff collects our lift passes and nods toward the open four seat chairlift.

We queue, fasten our boots into the bindings, and when the lift arrives we take our places, me, Arlo, Octavia and Milo, settling in for the slow, steady climb.

Nobody speaks much. I take a photograph of the pines, heavy with snow, and the slope laid out below us, a clean, untrammelled white that takes the breath away.

The chair doesn’t pause at the top, it keeps moving, and we step off while it glides.

Octavia lets out a whoop and charges down the red, Milo is on her tail.

I push off after them, and Arlo follows a beat later, and we give ourselves to the slope.

We do a few runs, up and down until the muscles warm and the cold loses its edge, and somewhere between lifts we lose Milo and Octavia to the faster line.

We catch Piper and Hunter on the next queue, the staff check our passes, we sling our skis under the bar and take the same open four seater.

At the top we slide off and head to the run. Piper pauses at the lip, takes one quick look back through her goggles and gives me a small, almost shy smirk, then points left, toward the black run.

I hesitate for a heartbeat. I’ve skied every winter of my life, my father insisted on private coaches when we were small, so I know my turns and my speed.

I’m certain I’ll get down in one piece. But Piper isn’t just skilled, she lives on the ice.

Skating is her world, skiing is little more than another surface she owns.

She pushes off before I can make up my mind.

Hunter snaps from behind me, “For fuck’s sake, she didn’t just take the black.”

I grin and push off, slotting into Piper’s line. The wind hits my face, and the world narrows to speed, ice and the low rasp of skis on snow.

Arlo falls into place a beat behind me, then pulls level.His voice drops, dangerous. “You’re going to pay for that.”

Hunter surprises me by passing and actually pulls level with Piper.

When we brake at the bottom, Piper is first, Hunter second, Arlo hasn’t bothered to race, he’s beside me when I slow and matches my pace when I pick up speed.

We don’t hang about. We queue for the lift again.

At the top, Adelaide and Isaak are already waiting, Octavia and Milo with them.

Milo rubs his hands together. “I’ve worked up an appetite,” he says. “There’s a restaurant up here, looks decent.”