Page 1 of On the Edge

OCTOBER

CHAPTER1

JACKSON

Park City, Utah

The door to the training center hasn’t even closed behind me when TJ calls out, “Please tell me you’re not engaged to that man-whore so I don’t have to fire you?” He’s already walking toward me with his arms wide open and sweeps me up in a quick hug.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the gym scent that’s so familiar to me in the off-season—rubber and metal and sweat. The tangy smell never ceases to bring me back to my own days as a ski racer. These days I’m relegated to training the men’s team instead.

He steps back and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Please.”

I hold my bare left hand out and raise my eyebrows in mock disapproval. “Nope. And just so you know, you could get in big trouble with HR for threatening to fire me for getting engaged.”

“If half naked pictures of you and Marco keep making the front page of every newspaper in Italy, we’re going to have a PR nightmare on our hands.”

“We were on a boat, in the middle ofLago di Garda. How was I supposed to know the paparazzi were camped out on the shores, and why the hell does it matter if I’m photographed in a bathing suit while on vacation?” I know my frustration is evident in my voice, even while I try to play this off like it was no big deal.

“Uh, that was half a bathing suit, Jackson,” he says. TJ’s neck gets red when he’s embarrassed, which doesn’t happen often, but clearly this conversation is out of his comfort zone.

“No,” I clarify, “that was a lucky angle for some photography hack who was able to make my one-piece with almost no back look like I was topless. Besides, you know I’m not looking to show off my scars to the world.”

“Please, Jackson, just think about how your relationship with Marco looks,” he says as he guides me down the row between some of our simulators and weight equipment. “You’re a physical therapist for the Men’s Alpine Team. You’re responsible forourmenbeing in peak shape”—he gestures around the Elite Training Center like I need to be reminded that I’m here to train our athletes—“and you’re dating an Italian. He’s the competition. And it doesn’t help that he’s the reigning world champion of pretty much every event in ski racing. Like I’ve been telling you all along, this could easily be seen as a conflict of interest. If this were an Olympic year, dating Marco would be career suicide.”

“I can’t help that he’s the competition.” I shrug. But even as I feign nonchalance, I know this is a dangerous game I’m playing, pitting this relationship against my career. I thought any objections to me dating Marco had settled down, but this damn photo seems to have riled things up again.

“Don’t let yourself become a liability to this program.” TJ slings an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, and says, “I’m giving you this advice because you’re at the beginning of what promises to be a great career, and our program can’t afford to lose you. But there are some higher-ups making noise about your relationship.”

“Duly noted,” I say, elbowing him in the side. He doesn’t budge, just hugs me tighter to his side in that protective way he has about him. I sigh and rest my head against his shoulder. “Thanks for looking out for me, I do appreciate it. Really.”

“I love you like a little sister,” he says, and pulls my hair just like I imagine a big brother would. “As your boss, I can’t tell you not to date Marco. But as a friend, I hate seeing you take this kind of a risk with your career.”

TJ has been supportive through many ups and downs—my terrible and very public breakup with my ex-boyfriend, my recovery from a catastrophic career-ending ski injury, successfully completing my doctorate in physical therapy—and then took a risk hiring me as a physical therapist right out of grad school two years ago. But despite all this, there are some things I can’t make him understand, no matter how close we are.

“So, there have been some changes to the team,” he tells me when we reach my office, which is separated from the gym by a glass wall.

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “This close to the start of the season?” It’s only October, but we’re due to ramp up our training this week and we’ll be on snow in a few weeks.

“Yeah, Josh decided to retire. He’s making the announcement this afternoon.”

“What?” My voice squeaks several octaves higher than normal. “He’s not going to race anymore and he didn’t even have the decency to tell me in person?”

I mean, of all the people to keep this a secret from!

“He’s having a hard time with it,” TJ says. “He knows it’s time to go, that he’s not helping the team anymore. He didn’t want you to try to talk him into staying.”

“I poured my heart and soul into that man,” I grumble. As his physical therapist, I’d traveled with him to every World Cup race around the globe. I was the reason he came back from a torn hamstring that his previous physical therapist said was career-ending.

“And you got a couple extra years out of him when he was past his prime. But when was the last time he was in the top ten with any kind of consistency? He knows he’s not at the level he once was. You have to know it too.” He looks at me like he expects some sort of confession. And while thirty-four-year-old Josh definitely wasn’t finishing on the podium as often as he had in his twenties, he still had some good races left in him.

But, if I’m being really honest with myself, it was getting difficult to keep him in fighting shape. Sometimes it seemed like the harder I pushed, the more afraid I was that I’d eventually break him. Retirement, rather than a catastrophic injury, probably is his best option. It worries me a bit that he recognized that reality before I did. It’s my job to make those assessments and recommendations, and maybe I was too close to see it—maybe I was seeing his success as my success, believing that if he retired it meant I’d failed him.

“I wasn’t ready to give up on him,” I say, glancing away so I don’t have to meet TJ’s eyes.

“This is the most elite level of alpine skiing. Don’t be the patron saint of lost causes.”

I cross my arms over my chest in what I’m sure is a too-juvenile reaction for someone nearing thirty. “You really know how to welcome a girl back from vacation.”

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