Page 7 of On the Edge

I try not to react to the disbelief in his voice. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. “Yeah, kind of stupid.” I roll my eyes. “Must be the jet lag.”

“You sure this has nothing to do with that medical file I left in your office?”

I flip the camera and hold it above tonight’s reading material, focused on the name at the top of the page.Nate Davenport. “You mean this one, you traitor?”

“Jackson,” TJ says, his voice consoling and admonishing at once.

“Don’t ‘Jackson’ me,” I say, flipping the camera back to my face. “You could have warned me. You know, a text or something while I was away. Or you could have at least told me before I went into my office, instead of leaving that file on my desk like a coward.” Hopefully the lighting is low enough that TJ can’t really tell how upset I am—both about Nate’s reappearance and what feels like TJ’s betrayal.

“I only found out two days ago. I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react. You know crying chicks aren’t really my thing.” TJ’s lips are set in a firm line, like he wants to shut this conversation down.

“I hate you so much right now,” I say. “And I wouldn’t have cried. Any tears I had for Nate dried up years ago.”

“I know, but I was worried about what youwoulddo. Sometimes your unpredictability is your strength,” he tells me, and I have to hide the smile that springs to my lips over how surprised Nate seemed when I punched him. “But it also makes it hard to have difficult conversations with you.”

“Don’t blame this on me! You just didn’t want to have the hard conversation in the first place.” I’m thankful that my boss is also a close friend and that I can be brutally honest with him outside of work. One of TJ’s most infamous stories is about how he ended up in Park City. He moved halfway across the country because he was too chicken to tell his college girlfriend that he didn’t want to stay together after graduation. Put him toe-to-toe with a livid male athlete and he can more than hold his own, but TJ doesn’t do well in confrontations with the female half of the population.

“Hey ...” he says, but two sharp knocks at my door draw my eyes away from the screen.

“Gotta go,” I tell him. “Josh is at the door.”

I hit the button to end our video call and slide the phone into the pocket of my hoodie as I make my way toward the door. Two sharp knocks is Josh’s signature arrival. In my head I run through all the things I want to say to him.What kind of asshole just up and retires without telling their physical therapist? How could you just desert me like this without any notice? Did you know that Nate would be added to the team and I’d be training him?

Of course, I won’t say any of that, both because I respect him and because his wife Lauren is one of my best friends.

As I unlock the door, I ponder why it didn’t occur to me to stop and see him and Lauren on my way home since they live just down the hall.Oh wait. Shit! Double shit!While I was gone, they moved into the house they were building up on one of the mountains overlooking the valley. I think I forgot to respond to the message Lauren sent with pictures while I was in Italy!

I’m a terrible friend!No wonder he didn’t bother telling me he was retiring, I didn’t even respond to his wife’s text.

I throw open the door, ready to start groveling.

My breath catches in my throat. Standing there in my doorway, with a plate of brownies in his hand, is the man I’ve spent most of my life alternately loving and hating.

* * *

At first I’m too stunned to speak, but I can’t help my eyes roaming down Nate’s body. He’s wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt that molds to the hard planes and ridges of his upper body, and fitted sweat pants that show off his huge, muscular thighs. He’s also wearing shearling slippers.What the hell?

“Peace offering?” One of his eyebrows is raised and a cocky half smile graces his lips as he holds the plate of brownies toward me. His hair, which used to be blond, has darkened to a shade closer to light brown. It’s damp and a little on the wild side right now, as if he’d gotten out of the shower and forgotten to brush it.

I just stare at him, not even acknowledging the plate. “How are you in my building?” He’s not wearing a jacket. He looks like he came from next door, not from wherever he’s living now.

“I live here.” He shrugs, a movement that is so classically Nate. The familiarity of it pulls something deep inside me, like an ache in my heart that’s also connected to other regions which have a decidedly happier reaction to Nate’s physical presence.

I’m having a hard time forming words. Usually the opposite is true, and it’s only through practice that I’ve gotten good at controlling my reactions.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor,” he says, but his voice is kind. “I’m subletting Josh’s place.”

“You’re WHAT?” Given the volume of my voice, I’m surprised my neighbors aren’t opening their doors to see what’s going on.

“I’m pretty sure you heard me.” He looks past me, his eyes glancing around my condo. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Absolutely not!” I draw back a bit in shock that he would even suggest it. Having to see him at work is one thing, but this is my home—the place I come to escape everything else.

“Why?”

“Are you for real? Five years without a word from you. Not one text, not one call.” I was in the ICU after my crash at Val d’Isère, France for a week after he left, and he didn’t even come back to see me. My brutal tone reflects my anger. One thing I’ve figured out very clearly since he’s been gone is that it’s easier to be angry with him for walking away from what we had than it is to focus on how completely he shattered my heart. “Now you show up here with no notice and I’m supposed toworkwith you? And come to find out, you’relivingdown the hall from me. And you don’t know why I’m not inviting you into my home?”

“Could you give me a chance to explain? I want to make things right.”

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