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CHAPTER ONE

paige

What is a girl to do when the foundation in which she has spent the entirety of her life dedicated to comes crashing down?

Escape into the mountains, of course.

Just as any sane twenty-four-year-old would do if she found herself in my position, I’m sure.

When my best friend Kylie told me about an exclusive invitation she got to a luxury ski resort and spa that had recently reopened in a remote mountain town in Canada, I couldn’t say yes fast enough.

It only dawned on me after that I basically invited myself.

Not that Kylie wouldn’t have invited me, per se, but it’s only in hindsight that I realize this might have been a trip she probably wanted to take with her boyfriend.

Oh well. He can go on the next one.

As someone who is dating a hardworking influencer with an insane amount of followers and gets invites to go on lavish trips all the time, Kevin should be thanking me for giving him a break.

Especially since they were just in Bora Bora for a makeup brand trip a month ago.

Kevin can let me have this one. I’m keeping the excitement alive for him. Can’t have him getting too spoiled by this kind of lifestyle, now.

Never mind the fact that this is, technically speaking, my first vacation ever.

And maybe that is why I forgot to abide by proper vacation invitation etiquette.

Because I don’t know it.

In my defense, though, I was already a bottle of wine deep when Kylie called, had just gotten done talking to my brother who likes to plant self-care ideas in my head like he’s my therapist when he’s more messed up than me, and suddenly, for the first time in my life, found myself with an open calendar.

Safe to say—I panicked.

But that’s what happens when you lose a skating partner for the second time in two years.

It starts to give your already existing self-doubt a bigger complex.

Thankfully, Kylie either knows a best friend of eighteen years ranks higher than a boyfriend of five or, as my best friend, she’s all too happy to share in a little girls’ trip at Christmastime with me because she didn’t immediately laugh in my face, telling me I was crazy.

No, being the kind and generous person she is, Kylie welcomed me without hesitation.

Yeah, it’s one of those reasons. I just know it.

Definitely not because she knows I panicked. Practically on the verge of tears for the duration of our entire conversation.

Some people will call it divine intervention that she called me at the exact moment I was about to throw my ice skates out the fire escape window, but I know for a fact her call came from a higher power.

My surly, overprotective older brother.

Austin is just as much at fault for my hasty escape from the city and my problems as I am.

The cold bites into my skin as I step off the shuttle, exhaling for the first time in what feels like days.

I sink into the relief that deflates my body, savoring in the sensation for about two seconds before the frigid cold penetrates my thick jacket.

“Ohmygod.” I shiver, watching as my breath plumes in a cloud before me. I always loved seeing it as a kid, pretending it was smoke from a cigarette I knew I would never kiss. But I do not love it now, as I am very quickly solidifying into an anxious-depressive popsicle—guaranteed to not taste good.

I’m barely aware of the resort staff coming out to load our bags up on trolleys before I snatch my suitcase from the mix and make a run for the lobby doors, careful not to jostle the carry-on slung over my shoulder as I do.

Coldcoldcoldcoldcold is the only coherent thought in my head as I race through the threshold, charging into the lobby, where I’m quickly cocooned in the most blissful heat.

But it’s not enough. It’s not defrosting me fast enough.

I stomp and shake and rub my hands together to get my blood flowing, but it probably looks like I’m on the verge of a medical emergency.

Once I’m able to bend my fingers without feeling like they’re going to break off, I undo the zipper of my carry-on, peeking inside.

Two beady, red eyes glare at me.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I whisper, careful to not draw any further attention to myself by alerting people that I’m talking to the inside of my bag. “I didn’t know it was going to be so cold here.”

Snowball, my albino hedgehog, remains unimpressed. His tiny shivers only add to his annoyance.

We’ve traveled to a lot of cold places together, thanks to my job, but something feels different about this place.

Maybe it’s the altitude. I’m not quite sure how high up we are, but it was enough for my ears to pop on the shuttle ride from the airport. Or it could be because there’s a storm coming.

At least, according to the woman who sat next to me on the bus. She also mentioned her last therapy session, and as someone who has had some of her most humiliating moments publicized on national news, there are just some things we don’t share with strangers.

Snowball keeps glaring at me, persistent in his wants.

“Okay,” I tell him, quickly glancing around at the busy lobby bustling with enough people that I feel like I’m here for a competition, “but we have to be quick.”

He stomps his short leg down on the array of blankets and scarves I lined his carrier with, as if to say, Hurry up, lady, I’m cold as fuck.

With one more glance around, I slip him into my oversized coat pocket. His little body slinks right in, his favorite place to nest. The fact that I made him stay in his carrier for both the flight and ride here is a crime he will punish me for months to come.

But for now, he’s happy.

I’m about to take out my phone and text Kylie that I’ve arrived when an old lady wearing a name tag and a uniform similar to the bellhops outside walks over. Her wrinkle-laden face creases with concern and a tightness cinches my chest.

“Hello,” she says in a practiced, aged voice.

Suddenly, my pocket feels very, very heavy. A voice in the back of my head whispers, This is it.

For the last four and a half years, I’ve smuggled Snowball into almost every hotel I’ve had to travel to for my figure skating competitions.

There are no kennels for hedgehogs to leave him at, and I can’t trust my neighbor’s daughter to watch him again. Not after the one and only time I trusted the little spoiled brat with his care, I came home to his light, cream-shaded fur dyed an array of pinks and purples. His poor toenails were even painted blue.

So I bring him with me now, his stowaway passport getting stamped as much as my real one, and despite always knowing there has been a risk in getting caught, it’s never happened.

Until now.

“Um—” I scramble for what to say. He’s my emotional support animal? What if they ask for his certification? A certification he doesn’t actually have because I’ve never been particularly motivated to fill out the paperwork?

“I noticed you standing here,” the resort’s employee starts, and I nod my head along. Yes, yes, you did. The apology, excuse, explanation ripe on my tongue. Her wisdom-filled eyes meet mine. “You look absolutely freezing. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

I blink, unsure if what I’m hearing is what she actually says or just my wishful thinking because I would kill for a hot chocolate any day of the week.

She smiles, gesturing to a cart I didn’t see next to her. A cart filled with hot chocolate.

Oh, thank God. The tension wanes from my chest. “I’d love a cup, thank you.”

She hands me one, the warm mug instantly seeping into my still-cold bones, and meanders away.

Looking down, I see a little festive gingerbread cookie done up to look like an elf, one arm hanging over the cup’s lip. Pinching the limb between my fingers, I bring the dessert to my mouth and bite the elf’s head off.

Humming at the spiced ginger mixed with the sugary sweetness of the icing. Delicious.

I might not like the holidays, but I sure do love their desserts.

I’m about to wash it down with some cocoa when something solid crashes into my side, almost knocking me over.

At first, I think the old lady has come back and rammed me with her cart, knowing about the contraband padding my pocket.

But then I realize it’s not hard metal knocking into my slightly numbed legs, but two arms wrapped tightly around my torso. Quickly chased by an excited, “You’re hereeee!”

A smile pulls at my lips at the familiar, bubbly voice.

Kylie.

“I’m here,” I echo back, enthusiasm I’m not entirely sure I feel coloring my tone, as I return her squeeze, careful of the hot chocolate in my hand, sinking into the comforting embrace I’ve wanted to feel since our call.

My best friend.

I don’t know who is holding on tighter. Kylie, because we haven’t seen each other in a few months, or me, because I just need the girl who’s always been my sister in all the ways but blood to be my strength for a few breaths.

I need someone to lean on. For just a moment. Then I can go back to being strong.

But not yet.

As Kylie rocks us back and forth, joy practically pouring out of her, I don’t have to be. And that is such a devastating relief, I almost buckle under the weight of that knowledge.

Tears prick my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep them at bay as we pull away, I muster my best, practiced smile.

It feels like a grimace.

And Kylie’s big brown eyes are orbs of concern as she looks at me. One look. That’s all it takes for me to really know why she didn’t tell me to fuck off when I invited myself on this trip.

She knows I’m on the verge of a breakdown.

I pull away, hugging the mug of cocoa to my chest. Miraculously, none of the sugary liquid spilled in our collision.

Good . I focus on the mug as I take a slow, meticulous sip. I try to convince myself it’s because I don’t want to burn my tongue with the scalding temperature and not because Kylie arches a perfectly waxed, sepia-shaded brow at me, knowing exactly what I’m doing in my deflection.

That’s the thing about knowing someone through all the phases of your life—they won’t let you hide from them.

I take another measured sip.

“Paige.” She shakes her head, and pieces of her wavy light brown hair get stuck in her lip gloss.

“Have you tried this hot cocoa? It’s amazing.” You’d be surprised how many places don’t do it right. Using water instead of milk, not including marshmallows… I’m not just saying that to distract from a conversation I’m not ready to have.

Not right now. Not ever.

I’d prefer to shove it in the box where all my regrets live, locked away in the recesses of my brain where I keep them buried, in the hopes one day they all will just suffocate and die.

Kylie plays along. “I haven’t, but where does it rank on your list?”

“Hmm.” I take another sip to get a better idea. “Definitely in the top twenty, maybe top fifteen.”

She lets out an impressed whistle. “High praise.”

“Completely unbiased.” Then add, “Feel free to use it in one of your videos for this place.”

While I’m here to hide away and lick my battered wounds, Kylie is here to work. I know in the past when she’s gone on trips like this, she’s been paid for at least a handful of deliverables. As a thanks for letting me tag along over Kevin, I told her she can put me to work, so I might as well start earning my keep.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Actually, that reminds me. I should get a video of the lobby.” She takes out her phone and starts to record. “Oh, I also booked us a reservation at their spa in one hour. I figure it would be a great way to get the travel grime off us and kick-start our relaxation vacation.”

God, I don’t even know if a thousand deep tissue massages would be enough to release the tension I’m carrying like oversized luggage on my body.

As Kylie films, I take in my new home for the next couple of days.

Hotels, at this point, feel more like home than my apartment. Being a professional figure skater has me constantly going from one competition to the next. Some local, some regional, and some international. So, I feel like I’ve been in my fair share of places to say this is one of the coziest, luxe resorts I’ve ever stayed in.

Everything about it makes me want to curl up on a couch near one of the fireplaces with this hot chocolate and watch internet videos on my phone.

I don’t even mind their Christmas decorations, and normally, I’m not a fan of how in your face people can be with them.

Kylie has told me it’s because me and my brother Austin are baby scrooges when it comes to the holidays, since they never meant anything to us growing up. But I like to think it’s because red and green are just very in your face colors.

But here, it’s like a winter wonderland explosion of creams and golds and silvers, playing with the rustic architecture of the building, and done up in a tasteful, mindful way that just looks part of the everyday decor of the setting.

Everything except for the large, expansive Christmas tree that sits dead center in the lobby, stretching all the way to the high vaulted ceilings, practically kissing the roof with its adornment on top.

That feels a little excessive, if you ask me.

But Kylie oooh s and aaah s, under its bejeweled spell. I don’t even think she realizes she starts walking towards it.

I follow after, gently patting the pocket Snowball is burrowed into as I do. He rustles, silently demanding I go away.

Message received.

“This place is so pretty,” Kylie coos, and I nod along. It is. Even the ride up the mountain was beautiful, driving us through the town the resort resides in.

Sugar Peak Resort and Spa, located in Sugar Peak, British Columbia.

There’s something familiar about the town’s name, but it’s like an answer that sits on the tip of your tongue, only to be swept back into the shadows of your mind, escaping you.

“I mean, look at that view!” she continues.

A massive window encompasses the back wall of the room, giving everyone a breathtaking picture of the resort grounds—cabins that fork off on both sides, the ski lift already hard at work bringing guests up to the slopes, but it’s the snow-dusted mountains that the windows frame perfectly that really steal the show.

It’s like looking through a snow globe.

I’m hypnotized until Kylie gasps beside me, grabbing the arm not holding my hot chocolate, thankfully, or else it would’ve spilled everywhere this time.

“Oh my god, Paige. You’re never going to believe who’s here.” Kylie’s usually friendly tone takes on an edge I don’t often hear from her.

No. Something heavy and painful drops to the pit of my stomach, my mind only surfacing with one person.

Please don’t be him. Please don’t be Cole.

I just came all this way to escape the mess he didn’t have the decency to clean up.

“Who?” I’m not even sure I ask the question or if it just leaves in an exhale of anxiety.

But it’s not the name I think she’s going to say.

It’s worse.

Much worse.

“Nate,” she practically spits.

It’s like a record scratching in my head, and for the second time in mere minutes, I think I’ve misheard what is being said to me. Because there is no way, no possible way, that Nate is here.

That heavy feeling in my stomach intensifies, making me feel sick as Kylie points a festively manicured nail across the room.

Right at the man I am cursed to never forget.

Nathan Ford.

What is he doing here?

“It’s just not fair how the worst people can be so attractive. Why didn’t you tell me he’d gotten this fine?” Kylie shakes her head, while I try to take a deep breath.

“Because he hasn’t.”

“Girl, I know we hate the guy, but please tell me you’ve been to your eye doctor lately because there is no way we are looking at the same man and not thinking he isn’t walking sex on a six-foot stick.”

Six-two, I correct silently, before forcing myself to look at Nate. Really look at him.

As my eyes sweep over his familiar form, I’m immediately hit with regret.

Nate Ford has always been too attractive for his own good. And he knows it, often using his genetically blessed features to his advantage.

The sad thing is, he barely has to try. The man has pretty privilege.

With his charming smile and laid-back attitude, paired with his tattooed forearms on display, the rich black ink disappearing under his pushed-up sleeves, alluding to more hidden away, and his not one but two onyx stud earrings in each earlobe, it’s a lethal combination of seduction on a good day.

But here? As I stare at him from across the lobby, even I start to feel a little flush brush against my body as I take in his bearded face.

A beard.

He has a beard.

I’ve never seen Nate with a beard.

Occasionally, I’ve seen him sport some scruff from two days worth of not shaving, but figure skating is very big on a certain image. Tattoos are easy enough to cover up, if not limiting on costume choices, but facial hair is a big no-no. While I’ve seen some skaters have a very minimal amount at some competitions recently, it’s nothing like what Nate’s sporting now.

Thick and dark, like his hair that’s hidden behind one of his signature backwards hats, it makes him look… Not older but more rugged, like he’s built for the outdoors. More of a mountain man or hockey player than figure skater.

Not that he’s never not been an ice skater, but there’s always been this roughness about him that’s refused to polish. He approaches the sport so differently than his competitors, making him stick out as different. Not wrong, but untraditional. It’s what makes him so captivating to watch when he skates.

But as comfortable as he is on the ice, I’ve never seen him look more at home than with the sugar-capped mountains stretched behind him.

Not that I’m paying a lick of attention to the view.

My entire focus is glued to Nate.

The person I won gold with. The one who snuck past all my defenses.

The man who broke my heart. In more ways than one.

My ex-partner. My rival.

I tell myself it’s because I’ve never seen him look like this, like he’s a completely different person. Transformed into someone he’s most comfortable being.

But that doesn’t explain why my fingers twitch at my sides, yearning to know what his beard feels like between them.

What, wait—no. You thirsty hussy .

With gritted teeth, I flex my fingers before carefully curling them into fists—one finger at a time. There will be no more of that.

Especially when the wounds I’ve come here to tend, the box I’ve kept tucked away, all of it— all the pain and hurt and tears I’ve shed. Everything I’ve tried to run away from comes rushing back to the surface as a familiar shade of royal blue eyes meet mine.