“No!” Curtis shouts. “It’s not safe. Stick to the lift line.”

Brent huffs and turns around.

“Perfect for a backflip,” I say as Brent reaches me. “We’ll hit it on the way down.” I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t.

“Sure you’re up to it?” he says. “If you’ve not ridden since—”

“Oh, don’t start.” This overprotectiveness reminds me of why I ended things with him. I was actually joking about the backflip, but now I’m going to have to try one.

Dale turns. “Always liked to play it dangerous, didn’t you, Milla?”

Something about his tone bothers me. I stare at his mirror lenses, wishing I could see his eyes. Was that a gesture of respect—an attempt to renew our friendship?

Or was it a threat?

Now that I think about it, it’s odd that he was prepared to leave Heather on her own. It’s as though he knows nothing bad will happen to her.

Because he and Heather are the ones behind all this.

If so, what exactly does he intend to do with the rest of us?

CHAPTER 28

TEN YEARS AGO

I watch intently as Saskia drops into the half-pipe. “Does she still go bigger than me on her first hit?”

“Hard to say,” Brent replies.

I sigh. “I’m going to take that for a yes.”

Brent and I sit at the bottom on a snack break. Last night was cold and clear, and the pipe still hasn’t softened. He’s bashed his knee, I’ve tweaked my wrist, and we both hold wads of snow against our injured parts.

A gasp goes up as someone hits the deck hard. Shit—that was Curtis. He dusts snow off his jacket, then scrambles up.

“He’s trying Haakon flips,” Brent says. “He was doing them on the tramp yesterday.”

Jacinta is waiting at the bottom of the tow lift. Curtis adjusts the strap on her helmet and they ride up together. They’ve barely been apart all week. I turn away. But if he has to date anyone, I’m glad it’s her. She’s lovely.

Saskia is watching them too, and she doesn’t look happy. Wants all her brother’s attention for herself.

Odette drops in and flips high above the lip. McTwist—a big one. I sigh again. “How can I compete with that?”

“She’s not doing the Brits, is she?” Brent asks.

“No, thank God.”

“So don’t worry about it. Not yet.”

“I could train twelve months a year and I still won’t be able to ride like that. My survival instinct’s too strong.”

“Chill, Mills.” Brent slides an arm around my back.

I push his arm away. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t have a survival instinct.”

Brent just laughs and I want to punch him.