“I can’t imagine you ever getting old and boring. You’ll still be doing airs when you’re eighty. With your walker.”

He laughs and pulls me close. I should get up, but it’s so warm here in his bed. I snuggle up against him.

He strokes my hair. “Ever done any flips?”

“Not deliberately.”

“Do you want to?”

“I have to.” I’ve been aware for some time that I can only go so far with straight airs and spins. To climb higher up the rankings, I need to add some flips to my pipe routine. Saskia can do McTwists.

“I’ll teach you,” Brent says.

“Cool.”

“I’ll spot you on the trampoline later if you want.”

“Wait—there’s a trampoline here?”

“Yeah, at the gym.”

“Shit, how did I not know that? I bet Saskia uses it all the time.”

“Yep.”

I groan into his chest. “I haven’t been on a trampoline for years. I did gymnastics until I was eleven. I used to be able to do backflips.”

“Should have kept it up.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. My parents couldn’t afford it.” They put all they had into my brother’s rugby coaching. It paid off—Jake plays for the Sheffield Eagles—but I still feel stung.

When I was fourteen I got a Saturday job at the local dry slope, so I switched to snowboarding because I could ride for free. I got where I am without help from anyone. It’s part of what drives me. My way of giving Dad the finger.

Brent’s hand slips under the hem of my T-shirt to my hip. “We’d better get going. Unless . . . ?”

“Will you have any energy left for training?” But my body is already responding.

He grins. “You’re talking to the face of Smash, remember?”

My phone chimes with a text.

“I’d better get that,” I say. “My brother’s having knee surgery this week.”

I delve into my backpack for my phone, but the message isn’t from my brother. It’s from Saskia.

I’ve ordered you a coffee. See you at the cable car for the first lift up?

Snowboarding with Saskia, or bed with Brent? The decision is easy. I scramble out of bed. “Sorry, I forgot I’m supposed to meet Saskia.”

“Saskia?” There’s an edge in his voice.

I pull on my clothes. “You have a problem with her, don’t you? Is she like an ex or something?” He’s shaking his head. “But you slept with her?”

“No.”

The vehemence of his answer startles me. She clearly stirs strong emotions in him but I can’t work out why. He’s dressing too, now.

“I won’t have time for breakfast,” I say. “Do you have any Smash handy?”

Brent gestures to the crate in the corner. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks. See you on the mountain.”

“Sure.”