I hate that he’s caught me. I glance at the toilet door to make sure Saskia’s still in there. “She cost me half a day of riding when she lost my snowboard.” Not to mention stealing my goggle cloth to sabotage poor Jacinta. “Why shouldn’t I even the score?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Are you her minder or something? She’d be able to get a replacement. She’d just have to produce her ID at the ticket office.”

“You know she’ll retaliate.” The toilet flushes behind him. Curtis closes the distance between us. “Give it to me.”

I hold it out of reach.

A little muscle in his temple tightens. “I don’t want to fall out with you over this, Milla.”

“So stay out of it. Or help me beat her.”

His face twists. “You can’t ask me to do that. She’s family.”

The toilet door opens and Saskia prowls into the room, raising her eyebrows when she sees us together. “This looks cozy. Am I interrupting something?”

Behind my back, I let the pass fall to the floor and head to the front door. “Actually, I’m not hungry.”

CHAPTER 33

PRESENT DAY

Brent sits at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the function room, rubbing his head.

I ease myself to the step beside him. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve had worse.”

Curtis stands with his palm over the light switch, ready to press it when it goes out.

“What happened?” I say.

Brent blinks. “I don’t know.”

He smells of alcohol. “Did you have anything else to drink?” I ask.

He frowns. “No.”

I shoot a look at Curtis. Did Brent fall because he was drunk? I can tell Curtis is wondering the same thing. Then again, Brent pulled a backflip just minutes ago, so he can’t be that drunk.

“He was just sitting here when I found him,” Heather says.

I saw Brent concussed a few times that winter, and he was usually up and riding again pretty fast. This time looks worse than that. His eyes are glazed and unfocused; he’s looking around like he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Did someone push you?” I say.

Brent grips his forehead. “I don’t know.”

Did Saskia push you?

But it could have been Heather or Dale. Even Curtis. Curtis was the one who sent Brent upstairs, after all; he could have pushed him before he found me in the bathroom. I glance at Curtis again, still shaken by our earlier conversation. He looks back, sorrow in his eyes.

Brent hauls himself up and staggers sideways.

Curtis grabs him. “Hey, take it easy, mate. Maybe you should sit back down.”

“I’m all right,” Brent says.

But he’s off-balance, gripping the rail for support.

Curtis remains at his side, ready to grab him again. He checks his watch and swears.

“What time is it?” I say.