Page 21 of On the Edge

Speaking every word carefully, she asks, “Have you, any time in the past week, removed your shirt with the intention of me looking at your body?”

I take a step closer to her, noting that her hair smells like the coconut shampoo she favors. “If I have?” I reply, dropping my mouth near her ear.

She looks up, fire in her eyes. She drops her voice to a low, husky growl. “Then don’t youdareinsinuate that I’m somehow the problem here!”

And now I have to shut my own thoughts down because I’m honestly never more attracted to her than when she’s pissed off. I’m sure it stems from our high school days, when I used to do whatever I could to rile her up before every race because she skied better when she was mad. I was in love with her even then, and just waiting for her to catch up. I’m always waiting for her to catch up.

I step back, knowing I need to put physical distance between us or my body is going to respond like it always does when I’m around her. That’s the problem with being a guy and choosing to abstain from sex—your body isalwaysready, even if your mind isn’t. But until I make my way back into Jackson’s heart, my mind will have to win out because there’s no one I want but her.

“Go put your weights away,” she says, as she turns and walks toward the sports medicine room. I carry my two disk weights to the rack, and in an attempt to focus on anything other than my reaction to Jackson’s proximity, I force myself to think about business instead of pleasure.

My dad sent me another message this morning about the family business. He’s been trying to get me to join him in buying and managing commercial properties in Boston for almost a decade. And while commercial property has never been that interesting to me, owning and managing rental properties has. The company I started four years ago owns property at various ski resorts around North America and offers custom ski vacations, complete with a private chef and valet transportation. And now I’m looking to expand into the Park City market, hence my meeting with Whitney. But that’s just a small side project, not the one that has my full attention right now. Because in my spare time I’m working on my biggest property acquisition yet, one that I hope will help me win Jackson back.

Jackson is waiting for me at the door to the rehab room when I return from racking my weights, like she didn’t want to be cornered in the room when I stepped through that door. Some things haven’t changed, she cedes control slowly, if at all. “After you,” she says, her voice tight as she gestures me through the door.

“Hey,” I say softly after she enters the room behind me. I know this can’t be easy for her, having to be my physical therapist.

Though it’s a large room with plenty of space for multiple people to work on rehab and recovery, we’re the only ones here at the moment. She glances up from the clipboard where the athletic trainer had recorded all the details of the training session we just completed. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asks, her voice both curious and accusatory.

I focus on her mouth, the way her normally full lips are pursed together. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. That isn’t my intention. It’s just—” I pause. “You won’t even talk to me.”

“We’re talking right now,” she says quietly, like someone might walk by the room and overhear us.

“You won’t talk about anything that matters. You’re all business, all the time. You won’t let me explain what happened. You won’t even admit that you’re training me. You keep acting like this is all temporary.”

“Itisall temporary, Nate,” she says, the words harsh and impassioned.

“Jackson, at least for this season, you’re my PT. We can make this work, but you have to work with me and not against me.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” she says, stepping closer to me but dropping her voice lower, so it’s barely more than a whisper. “I’m doing everything I can to make this work in the short-term, to prepare you for racing even though you don’t deserve my help.” Behind her eyes I can see the volume of truth she’s keeping to herself. “But there is no way I can work with you all season. Not after how you left me—” She stops short as footsteps sound outside the doorway. Someone passes and keeps going, while both of us hold our breath. I want her to finish that sentence. It feels like the most honest thing she’s said to me since I’ve been back. Finally, she exhales. “Let’s go for a run.”

I’m so taken aback by her sudden shift that I’m not sure how to respond. “I just had a two-hour workout. I’m way too stiff to run. Are you trying to make sure I get injured?” I’m not sure I’d put it past her right now.

“No, I’m trying to loosen up your muscles so we can stretch them out, and we can’t have this conversation here,” she says, gesturing toward the doorway and the variety of athletes and trainers working in the space beyond.

“Fair enough,” I say.

She says nothing as I follow her out of the training room, along the corridor, and out the glass doors. Once outside, she kneels first on one leg, then the other as she tightens the laces on her sneakers. I twist at the waist while I wait, trying to loosen up my lower back which is a little stiff from the workout. It feels like the temperatures are falling, but we’ll be warm when we start moving.

“Stretch out your quads too,” she says as she returns to standing. “It looks like Alex really worked them out today and I don’t want them seizing up while we run.” She squats down like she’s sitting in an invisible chair with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and leans into her stretch with a small groan that pulls at the memories of the times I caused that sound. She alternates legs and then waits for me to finish stretching. “Ready?” she asks and she takes off running and expects me to follow.

From my vantage point I can take in her body without her disapproval. It’s amazing because she’s probably lost at least twenty pounds of muscle since I last saw her, but she somehow looks smaller without being diminished. The muscles in her upper back and arms—revealed under the loose racerback yoga tops she seems to prefer—flex as she gently swings her arms back and forth. Her thighs, which used to be nearly as big and strong as mine, are thin cords of muscle now and I watch as her hamstrings flex and release with each step she takes.

“Are you checking out my ass?” she calls over her shoulder.

I’m totally checking out your ass.I raise my eyes to meet hers. “Nope, your hamstrings,” I tell her and her lips quirk up on one side as she resists a full-on smile.

“Stop looking at me,” she grumbles.

“You’re running in front of me. How would I not look at you?” My words come in short pants as she picks up the pace. I increase my stride so I’m running next to her on the deserted road. Around us, golden grass sways in the breeze and enormous white cumulus clouds float through the bright October sky. Its blueness belies the cold air sweeping in over the mountains and I notice the goose bumps prickle her arms.

We run in companionable silence for about a mile, and I never stop wondering what she’s thinking about. There is so much I want to know. So much I want to tell her. Waiting for her to be ready to hear it is killing me slowly.

I’m about to ask her how her girls’ night was on Friday when she slows dramatically, a small squeak escaping like it slipped up her throat without her permission.

---