Chapter 3

Brynn’s snow boots clomped against the day lodge floor like cement blocks. She’d changed out of her practice gear but moved slow, trying not to limp. Her hip ached. She’d caught an edge, and the fresh snow couldn’t cushion the hard fall. Her bruise, however, hadn’t hurt as much as Coach Frederick yelling at her and then telling her to talk to Ryland Guyer. She’d skied straight to Coach Tolliver and asked if she had to speak with him. Tolliver had said do it.

An elephant pressed on Brynn’s chest. Anxiety spiraled.

Not what she needed before a make-or-break competition.

Don’t panic.

A few minutes spent with the last person she wanted to talk to again wouldn’t matter. She needed to grab a coffee first. The heat would warm her. The caffeine would clear her head.

She needed a podium finish in the super combined. No, a win.

W-I-N.

In both the downhill and slalom portions to prove she should stay on the team.

So what if she’d had the worst season ever? Finishing a race had become a reason to celebrate, no matter what place she ended up in the standings. People whispered her career was over. Washed up at twenty-four. She hadn’t met the team criteria though she’d been close. Many assumed her name would be left off the upcoming season’s nomination list.

No giving up.

Skiing was her life, and the US Ski Team was her family. The only one she had left besides two of her siblings. Forget the place she used to call home with her mom, dad, and five older brothers. That no longer existed, never had really. She couldn’t lose her spot on the team.

Wouldn’t.

A solid showing might earn her a coach’s discretion and keep her on the team. That meant racing her best this week. She didn’t need help from Guyer. She pulled off her gloves and shoved them into her parka’s pockets.

Her cell phone buzzed. She read the text.

Jax: How did practice go?

Of course, her brother would be checking up on her. Better answer or he would call. She typed a reply.

Brynn: Cold, but good.

Jax: Everything else okay?

Her heart squeezed. No, but she couldn't tell him the truth. She hated keeping secrets from her brothers, Jax and Ace. She’d always been closest to them, the two youngest of the five boys. Both played professional hockey, Jax for the NHL and Ace for the AHL. They had no trouble dragging problems out of her, even long distance, but this time, Brynn had to manage without their advice. She typed.

Brynn: All is well. Ready to race.

Jax: Great. Time to hit the ice.

Her brother must have practice. She tucked the phone into her pocket.

“Brynn.”

Chills shot down her arms. Guyer.

Ryland Guyer had broken her heart when she was nineteen, crumbling the pedestal she’d put him on and turning her crush on him to dust. He’d been twenty-three, fresh from medaling at the Games in Sochi and hot, oh-so-hot. He’d seemed perfect. A Prince Charming, who slayed black diamond slopes.

Only he wasn’t.

She’d been naïve, taking him to his room when she’d found him outside in the falling snow, but he’d been so drunk she’d worried about leaving him alone. She’d been young and stupid then. Way too starstruck and trusting. Lesson learned. One she’d shared with female teammates. A few others had a drunk Ry-Guy story. Only none of them had had their reputation ruined by his lies about what had happened in the hotel room that night.

Such a jerk.

“Brynn,” he repeated.

Pressing her lips together, she squared her shoulders and turned toward his voice. Her gaze collided with blue eyes; beautiful ones surrounded by thick lashes. His all-American good looks, the kind found on movie screens and glossy magazine covers, were more appealing than ever. No man had a right to be so attractive. A scruff of whiskers gave his handsome face a rugged edge.

Sexy.

Her pulse kicked up, racing as if she were speeding down the mountain, not standing inside a warm lodge with the aroma of coffee lingering in the air.

Stop.

No reason to overreact. He hadn’t changed. Pretty packaging, yes, but remove the wrapping and nothing was underneath but a rock-hard body. He was a player. Zero heart and compassion. A guy who thought she’d had sex with him once and would again when he hadn’t even remembered her name.

Loser.

And a liar.

Waiting, he stared at her.

Oh, yeah. Her turn to speak.

Brynn cleared her thick throat. “Hey.”

Guyer sat at a table by himself. His brown hair was longer than the short style he usually wore. His sweater showed off wide shoulders. Maybe the navy color was why his eyes appeared bluer. The lines around the corners of his eyes were more visible. Hard living did that to a person. Not that she cared what he did to himself unless his actions affected the team.

“Did Coach Frederick talk to you?” Guyer asked.

“Yes, but—”

He laughed.

The wicked sound curled her toes, annoying her more. She shouldn’t be reacting to him.

“I knew there would be a but,” he said.

Her hands balled. “Still full of yourself.”

“Better than being empty.” He motioned to the spot across the table from him. “Have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“The coaches are here.”

Tolliver could be hard-nosed, but the coach knew when to push and when to let up. Frederick seemed to search for a reason to get on skiers, but he wouldn’t find one now. Brynn sat. “I didn’t think they’d check to see if I showed up.”

“Frederick wants us to talk.”

Why? Guyer might be an expert in picking up women, hiding hangovers from the coaches, and lying to impress others, but Brynn wasn’t interested in learning those tricks. “You haven’t competed in over two years, so I’m not sure how you can help me.”

“I competed nonstop before my injury.” His voice took on a defensive tone. “The coaches haven’t competed in years, but they know what they’re talking about.”

“You’re moving into coaching?”

“No.” The one word spoke volumes. “Coach asked me, so here I am.”

The coaches wanted this, so Brynn would play along though she didn’t know why she tried so hard with Frederick. He was distant and unemotional, never pleased with what she and her teammates accomplished. In some ways, he reminded her of her father, Sully, who coached minor league hockey in the American Hockey League.

Every muscle tensed.

He had never forgiven her for being a girl. She’d screwed his chance to field a hockey team of sons. The first of many failures he had never let her forget. When he traveled on long road trips when she was a kid, her brothers missed him so much. Not Brynn. That was the only time she could relax and not be compared to her five older brothers.

He’d seemed clueless on how to bond with a daughter. Whenever her school had a father-daughter dance, he would be too busy to attend. No matter what she did—no matter how many Father’s Day, birthday, and good luck cards she made him—he remained detached. As she’d found out in December, her being a girl wasn't the only barrier to their relationship.

Yeah, he and Coach Frederick had a lot in common, including Brynn’s mom.

She blew out a puff of air. “Let’s get this over with.”

Silence.

Brynn shouldn’t have expected anything else from Guyer. She fought the urge to bolt, but knowing the coaches were nearby kept her seated in the chair. “So…”

Guyer pushed one of the two coffee cups on the table toward her. “For you. Two sugars and a dash of cream.”

That was how she drank hers. Her mouth watered, but she squinted. “Never saw you as the stalker type.”

“I’m usually being stalked,” he admitted. “But you can learn almost anything in less than five minutes on the internet. Your favorite color is orange?”

“Yes, the brighter the better.” Brynn sipped her coffee. The liquid was hot and sweet, the way she liked it. “Why did you go to the trouble to do a search on me?”

“If we’re going to work together—”

“Stop.” She raised her left hand, palm facing him. “Neither of us wants to work together, so let’s not pretend otherwise.”

He didn’t contradict her. Brynn wasn’t surprised, but she didn’t appreciate the sting of disappointment that came out of the blue. “Give me some advice now, and we’ll call it good.”

“That’s not what Coach has in mind.”

“He’ll never know.”

“Yes, he will.”

Guyer tapped his fingers on the table. His nails were clean and in better shape than hers. Then again, he’d been modeling, according to her roommate, Lila Raines, so maybe manicures were part of his photo shoot prep.

“Coach knows everything,” Guyer added.

Far from it. Frederick might know skiing, but he was clueless about other stuff. But no one else knew that except Brynn.

She wrapped her hand around the coffee cup. The warmth didn’t take away the chill. “The coaches want to say they did everything they could before I’m cut from the team. Everyone knows I don’t meet the selection criteria for a nomination. My only hope is a coach’s discretion spot.”

She expected Guyer to show a sign of relief—he’d avoided her over the years the way she had him—but his expression didn’t change.

He picked up his coffee. “I didn’t know until this morning.”

“You haven’t been around.”

“I’m here now.” He raised his coffee. “Don’t make this a wasted trip for me. My dad let me take the company jet so I could fly direct and bypass the drive from Boise.”

“Rough life.”

“Doesn’t suck.” Ry took a sip. “So, Coach said you’re not injured. That means something’s going on in your head. Have any idea what?”

“Everyone who’s tried to help me has come up empty.” Of course, she hadn’t told them the reason she’d lost her focus. She’d promised her mother not to tell anyone and hadn’t. Couldn’t. “We’re talking sports psychologists, counselors, coaches. The best around.”

A part of Brynn wished someone could help her, but telling the truth might get her kicked off the team faster than having poor race results. She didn’t dare.

“Why do you think you can do better?” she asked.

“Don’t know if I can, but Coach wants me to try. If you’re not interested, that’s fine, but I won’t lie to him about what we’re doing.”

“Why not? You used to lie all the time.” His lies had been infamous and used in a drinking game. Something to joke and laugh about until he’d spread lies about the two of them having sex. Suddenly, people viewed her differently. And not in a good way.

Denying the rumors had made her appear guilty and heartbroken over Ry-Guy. Granted, only the younger guys had expected her to put out, but she hadn’t appreciated the curious looks she’d received from others, including the team staff.

Guyer’s mouth tightened. “I don’t do a lot of things I used to do.”

Her curiosity piqued, she drank more coffee to keep from asking him questions.

“What happened in Åre?” he asked.

His question about the race in Sweden was unexpected. Unwelcome, too.

Memories careened through her head like a possessed jackhammer, the noise more deafening than the cheering crowds at the finish line. “I had a bad run.”

“More than one. You were DQ’d in multiple events.”

She stared into her cup. “Everyone has a bad competition.”

“You’ve had an off season.”

Her muscles tensed, knotting themselves like the tangled fringe on her old scarf. She’d had a chance to finish on the podium at Lake Louise the week before Are but hadn’t. Her loss caused “Dad” to go off on her. She’d tried her entire life to prove herself to Sully, to earn his love, to make him as proud of her as he was of her hockey-playing brothers. At least she’d discovered why pleasing him had been an impossible task. Sully wasn’t her biological father.

“I’m doing the best I can,” she said finally.

“You believe that?”

“No.” She might be withholding the truth, but she wasn’t a liar. “Or I wouldn’t be here with you.”

A smile spread across Guyer’s face. “A sense of humor is good, but so is being focused. I watched a few clips of your recent races. You’ve lost your focus.”

“Yes.” But she couldn’t say why. Brynn gnawed on her lower lip.

“Do you want to stay on the team?” he asked.

“Yes.” The word catapulted from her mouth. “More than anything.”

Doubt filled his gaze.

“It’s true.” She sounded defensive and on guard, exactly how she felt. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Does that include working with me?”

Brynn didn’t reply. Instead, she sipped her coffee.

“You were skiing great until the middle of December,” he added. “Something changed.”

Finding out about her mother’s past affair with Coach Mike Frederick was the something. Brynn’s world had collapsed, and poor skiing had been the result.

Not that she blamed anyone. How could she?

Her mom was a quiet woman, attractive but browbeaten in a family of athletic, active boys, with a distant husband who lived and breathed hockey. She’d put aside her ski racing dreams and never mentioned the sport until enrolling Brynn in ski lessons. Turned out her mom had dated Coach when they were younger. They’d reconnected twenty-five years ago at a wedding for a mutual skier friend and slept together after the reception. Brynn had been the result.

Bet Grandma had no idea what happened that weekend she watched the five boys.

Sully didn’t know who Brynn’s birth father was, but he put his name on her birth certificate. Part of his and her mother’s deal when they agreed to stay together after both had cheated—Sully during multiple road trips and her mother at the wedding.

No one was supposed to know Brynn was the result of her mother’s affair.

When Brynn had discovered the truth due to a slip of the tongue, she’d begged her mom to tell her more, and her mother had, not in detail, but enough so Brynn knew the circumstances of her conception. Only two people knew the identity of Brynn’s father—she and her mother. Coach Frederick had no idea her mom had gotten pregnant. She’d asked him never to contact her because she wanted to make her marriage work for her children’s sake.

“At Åre, you didn’t lose your focus, you fell apart,” Guyer continued. “Imploded like a snowball against a brick wall.”

She peered over the lip of her cup. “Gee, thanks.”

“Am I wrong?”

Brynn hesitated. “No.”

“Did some guy break your heart? Dwyer?”

“Puh-leeze.” Jon Dwyer was a teammate and Guyer clone who treated women as sexual objects, was a player extraordinaire, and should be avoided at all costs. She lowered her cup. “Give me some credit.”

“Tell me what’s going on so I can help.”

Brynn couldn’t tell him. Her five older brothers had no idea she was their half sister. Her mom had admitted being worried about the fallout if the truth came out. The family would be split down the middle.

Her mother had promised Sully to never see Brynn’s father again and hadn’t. She’d also promised that Brynn would have no contact with her birth father though that had been out of her mother’s control once Brynn moved up on the national team. If Sully found out Coach Frederick was her father and had become a regular part of Brynn’s life, who knew what he’d do? As for her brothers…

Ace and Jax would take their mom’s side—and Brynn’s. The two had a complicated relationship with Sully. Her brothers’ teams weren’t in the same franchise or in Jax’s case league as Sully’s, but their father was competitive about everything. The oldest three, who were entrenched in their careers and families and especially close to their father, would take their dad’s. Eli worked for Sully. He would do whatever his dad asked, including keeping his kids away from their grandmother. Grandchildren were her mom’s pride and joy. Her mom didn’t want to risk family turmoil and not being able to see them.

“No worries.” Brynn’s insides shook, but she feigned confidence. Something she’d been doing since December. A lot longer if she thought about her childhood. “I’ve got this.”

“And if you don’t?”

Being on this team meant everything to Brynn. After feeling ignored and thinking something was wrong with her, she’d found herself on the slopes, a drive to make something of herself, a confidence to go fast and never back down. She didn’t know who she was outside of skiing. Even though the last thing she felt was indifferent, she shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

At least I hope so.

“Brynn…”

The urgency in his voice prickled her skin. She didn’t need pity. Not from him.

Go. Now.

Her instincts had never failed her. They wouldn’t this time. She pushed away from the table and stood.

Ouch. Standing made her hip throb. Another reason to leave. She needed to ice the bruise from her fall this morning.

Brynn didn’t glance at Guyer. “I’ve got to go.”