And your dad, too, a little voice inside her added. Don’t forget.

As if she could. He’d collapsed at Ashley’s funeral from a heart attack and had died en route to the hospital.

With them both gone, Lily’s mom had decided leaving town was the best way to heal. She retired and sold the house. So Lily had taken off, too, meeting up with her mom once a year, or as often as their paths crossed—not easy, since her mom loved to travel. Lily was only back in Cedar Ridge now because she needed the job. But standing at the trailhead she suddenly knew she’d also come back for something else—to somehow find forgiveness.

Maybe then she could finally really move on.

She was still standing there when her phone rang. Not recognizing the number, she hit IGNORE. A minute later came a text from that same number:

If you’re looking for something bad for you, try me instead.

Lily stilled. She didn’t have to be told who it was, she could hear Aidan’s voice as she read his words. But how …? Where …?

She whirled around, searching above her for the security camera she hadn’t realized was out here. Though it made sense. In the past ten years, Cedar Ridge’s popularity had boomed. It was much more remote than the most well-known Colorado ski parks, but for the people who wanted extremely challenging, rugged, and out-of-the-way adventure, it was here at Cedar Ridge for the picking.

She couldn’t find the camera, but knowing she was being watched, she hit REPLY:

How did you get my number?

She got a reply in seconds. Jonathan.

She growled, then hit DELETE and left. A few minutes later she received another text:

Good choice.

Funny, coming from Aidan. Oddly enough, back when she’d known him, he hadn’t been a natural risk taker. He’d been sharp and ready, willing and up for anything, and maybe a tad bit feral—but though he’d often found trouble with his brothers, he’d been smart about his walk on the wild side.

In truth, he had been her complete opposite.

Still was. Now he’d become the risk taker—firefighting, S&R—and she the cautious one.

And he was sitting in front of the security feeds somewhere, watching her, aware of what she was doing and knowing she’d failed.

Her thumb hovered over DELETE, but somehow her wires got crossed and she typed a response instead: Just out trying to acclimate to altitude again.

His reply was immediate: You were born acclimated.

Yeah, maybe he was right. But she was no longer that girl he’d known, kissed, and found lacking.