run, but everything about the place looked different from her visit during her orientation two weeks ago. Then, the best path down had been clearly visible, the tracks of other skiers etched between rocks and trees. Now everything was obscured.
“Then let us go,” Hagan said. Without waiting for an answer, he set off down the run. He disappeared in the swirling whiteness and Maddie followed him. But she had barely negotiated her first turn when she froze, and stared down the steep slope, heart pounding.
“You can do this,” she whispered, and gripped her poles with more strength. But there was no conviction in her voice. Inside her gloves, her hands were slick with sweat.
“What are you waiting for?” Hagan’s voice drifted up to her. She could detect his outline against the wall of snow and saw he had stopped partway down the slope.
“I—I’ll be down in a minute,” she said. She hoped he’d mistake the quaver in her voice for an effect of the wind. She planted her pole and told herself this time she would ski down. Straight to him without stopping. Yes, the slope was steep, and there was little room for error in the narrow chute, but she’d skied steeper and narrower before. She had the skills to do this.
She leaned forward, ready to go, and a wave of dizziness made her lurch back. The image of herself falling, bouncing like a rag doll down the slope, filled her head. The sickening sensation of having no control vibrated through every nerve. Nausea gripped her, and she clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt.
“Is something wrong?” Hagan asked.
Yes! she wanted to shout. I can’t do this. She had the skills, but she no longer had the nerve. That’s what her coach had told her when she’d tried to rejoin the team after her recovery. You’ve lost your nerve, Maddie. It happens after a bad injury sometimes.
She’d wanted to race so badly, but all the desire in the world couldn’t overcome the fear that left her shaking and weak.
“Then get down here!” Hagan shouted. “There is no other way off the mountain unless you want me to call Scott and tell him to send a snowmobile for you.” His tone was teasing, as if he was dealing with a reluctant tourist.
She shut her eyes. No! She’d be a laughingstock among the patrollers if she had to ride a snowmobile down the mountain. She was a skier, dammit! And as a patroller, she was supposed to be able to ski all the terrain. If she couldn’t ski, what else could she do with her life? Skiing was all she knew.
She took a deep breath, and shoved off, then half-skidded to the next turn. At every turn, she stopped and repeated the process, all the while fighting nausea and the sensation that she absolutely was going to fall, and maybe even die, before she got to the bottom.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded when she stopped beside Hagan. Though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his goggles, his mouth was set in a frown.
“Are you sure you are okay?” he asked.
“Leave me alone and ski!” She wanted to hit him over the head with her ski pole, but that would mean lifting it off the ground and risking losing her balance.
He opened his mouth as if to reply, then turned and raced down the run. She stared after him, envious of the perfect form with which he executed turns and maneuvered in the narrow chute. Guys like him made it look easy. She’d been able to do that once. Until the accident, when all confidence had deserted her. That loss hurt more than all the pain of her physical injuries.
She made it down through sheer determination, fighting panic the whole way, her heart pounding and her limbs shaking. Hagan was waiting for her at the bottom, but she slid past him, not wanting to hear any more of his cutting remarks.
On less steep terrain now, she poured on the speed, anxious to get off the mountain altogether. Let Hagan write her up or fire her or whatever he wanted—there was no one here she might run into and she needed to burn off the adrenaline that left her shaky and sick to her stomach.
To his credit, he kept up with her. “Maddie, wait!” he called, but she ignored him. She had nothing to say to Mr. Hagan Ansdar. She’d fallen apart in front of him and no doubt the news would be all through patrol by tomorrow. She’d be lucky to have a job, much less any chance of salvaging her pride. Just when she’d thought she’d sunk as low as she could go by working as a patroller, she’d proven to herself that she didn’t even have the guts to do that. Her life as a skier was over.
HAGAN WATCHED Maddie race away, confusion warring with anger. She had looked like a different woman up there on Peel. Gone was the graceful skier he had admired, replaced by a shaking, hostile amateur. If that was the true Maddie, she had no business on the mountain let alone on patrol.
She skidded to a halt outside the Gothic Center cafeteria, clicked out of her skis and hustled inside. Zephyr was emerging from the building and stared after her, then turned to Hagan. “What happened to her? She looked a little green.”
“We went up on Peel to check out the powder,” he said. “We got to the top of the run and she freaked.”
“You took her down Peel? No wonder she flaked on you.”
“What do you mean?” He brushed snow from his shoulders and frowned at his friend. “She ought to be able to ski double black. She was supposedly an Olympic-caliber skier.”
“Yeah, but she had that horrific accident.” Zephyr shook his head. “I bet it’s like post-traumatic stress or something. You know, where soldiers flash back to battle and relive horrible stuff? She was probably up there remembering her accident.”
Hagan stared at Zephyr. The man had such a stoner-rocker-boarder image he forgot sometimes that Zephyr was actually pretty smart. “I knew she had an accident. Was it really that bad?”
“Dude, it was sick! The video’s on YouTube somewhere. You should take a look.” He glanced toward the door where Maddie had disappeared. “Truth? I’m surprised she ever got back on a pair of skis again.”
HAGAN DID NOT SEE Maddie the rest of the day. He suspected she was avoiding him. He alternated between feeling guilty about talking her into skiing Peel, and anger that she had not spoken up and told him she was afraid to ski the steeps in these conditions.
Of course, in the same position, he would not have admitted he was afraid. But she was a woman. They were supposed to be better at admitting their true emotions, were they not?
After his shift he turned down Zephyr’s invitation to check out a new band at a local club, and headed to his cabin. After feeding Fafner and heating soup for himself, he logged onto the Internet and searched YouTube for “Skiing accident” and “Maddie Alexander.”
The film was in color, apparently part of the video from television coverage of the event, one of the final World Cup races before the Olympics, in St. Moritz, Switzerland. Maddie, wearing the skintight one-piece red, white and blue racing uniform of the U.S. team and a blue helmet painted with clouds, popped out of the gate and barreled down a steep slope that glinted blue with ice.
Though the sun was shining at the top of the slope, halfway down she momentarily disappeared from view in a cloud of blowing snow. She skidded around a sharp turn and fought for control, miraculously righting herself and tucking tightly to regain speed.
She
