A Matter of Trust

by Susan May Warren

  Pete’s mouth opened then. Just a moment of disbelief before he blew out a breath. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, and knowing how you felt about being betrayed—”

  Pete held up his hand. “Trust me, I feel more betrayed about the fact she acted like you two were dating.”

  Oh. That. “Sorry—”

  “Wait a minute. Pete, did you not hear him?” Brette said. “She lied to you.”

  Pete stared at her. Then, quietly, “I heard him.” Then he looked at Ty. “Miles wants us back at HQ. We need to get into Heaven’s Peak and pick up Gage and Ella. They found Oliver.”

  Then he turned and left, leaving Ty standing there, nonplussed.

  He looked at Brette.

  “He might not care who Jess Tagg is, but I do. And pretty soon, so will the world.”

  “Brette—”

  “No. She owes the world an explanation. She doesn’t just get to start over. She . . . she . . .” She was crying again, and he hated that even in her fury, he wanted to reach past it, pull her to himself.

  Tell her that if she just took a breath, she might see this from a different perspective. But then again, he understood exactly how it felt to feel bereft, to have life pulled out from beneath you.

  Longing to figure out how to find your footing again.

  “Please, just wait until we can talk about this—”

  “No. I trusted you. I . . . I thought you cared about me.”

  “I do care about you—”

  “And I even kissed you. How stupid can I be?” She shook her head, her voice falling, breaking. “I just never learn.”

  Never learn? “You’re not stupid—”

  “Stop.” She looked at him then. “Admit it. The minute you saw that I recognized her, you decided to run interference. That’s what the ride to PEAK, the babysitting was all about.”

  He shook his head, but he knew she saw right through him. “Maybe at first, but—”

  He could have punched her with less effect. She winced, and he felt it in his own solar plexus.

  He pitched his voice low. “Brette, I do care about you. And I know you think I should have told you, but it wasn’t my secret to tell. I got caught in the middle, but I promise you—that kiss, for me, meant something. Please, just trust me—”

  “Get out.”

  He took a breath.

  “I mean it, Ty. Any trust I had in you died the moment you chose Selene over me. You can’t have both.”

  “I didn’t choose—”

  “Get. Out!”

  He froze, then gave her a tight, sad nod. “Okay, Brette, if that’s the way you want it.”

  She drew in a breath, wrapped her arms around her waist. “What other way could it ever be? I’ll never be able to trust you again.”

  Then she rolled over, her back to him.

  He walked past his soggy ice cream sandwiches and out of her room.

  Gage needed to get off this mountain and back into his life.

  No, into a new life. One that included Ella.

  He sat at the mouth of the tent, holding a blackened stick, occasionally stirring the fire back to life. Reaching over to his pile of kindling, he added a thick branch that would have to do for a log. His fire wouldn’t win any Boy Scout awards, but at least he’d found kindling, enough low-hanging, dry branches to keep a feeble blaze alive.

  Sparks spit into the waning night. Already, the dent of morning pressed against the black, a shade of lavender with hints of gold against the jagged horizon to the east.

  He felt stupid to have to tell Kacey in the morning that they didn’t need to airlift Oliver out, but better that he’d been wrong about Oliver’s condition than to have the guy bleeding internally or going into shock. Gage had checked his bruising, and it hadn’t seemed to be deepening.

  Foolish decision, good outcome. This time.

  Behind him, in the tent, Gage heard stirring. Probably Ella tossing in her sleeping bag. He’d dozed off in front of the fire for a while, the heat from the flames melting the snow around the circle he’d built.

  Although Oliver’s gunshot seemed to have scared the pack away, Gage couldn’t be sure the wolves weren’t lurking in the ring of forest, watching.

  Waiting for Gage to let his guard down, make a mistake.

  He ran his hand over his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. Maybe he should have taken Ella up on her offer to let him sleep in the middle between her and Oliver, but it just felt too awkward. Besides, someone had to make sure they didn’t get eaten.

  Behind him, the zipper sounded, and he turned to see Ella climbing out. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “Stay in there and get some sleep.”

  She had pulled her hair back and secured it with a wool headband. She wore her ski pants and jacket and now settled beside him. “I can’t sleep.”

  “I won’t let the wolves get you.” He meant it playfully, but her eyes widened. “I’m kidding.”

  “About saving me from the wolves? I hope not.” Then she smiled, and he surrendered to the sweet comfort of having her sit beside him. She stared up at the stars, the faintest hint of the Milky Way still foggy in the sky. “So, what’s next?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Easy. We wait until morning, get on our boards, and head down. We just have to ski through the rest of the Cathedral, and then there’s a final five-hundred-foot drop down to the base. I call it Bishops Cap because there’s usually a pretty thick cornice at the top. Avalanche country.”

  She nodded. “Actually, I meant . . .” She bit her lip. “Well, what’s next . . . for us.”

  Us.

  He let the word settle in. A smile tipped his face, and he let it show in his eyes. “Us.”

  She shrugged, then looked away.

  “I like the sound of us,” he said quietly.

  “You said earlier that you were freaking out.”

  A log fell, and sparks lit the sky. “Yeah, I know. And if I sit here and think about my mistakes, and how I don’t deserve another chance with you, I’ll freak out again.” He glanced at her, painfully aware of his heart, beating and vulnerable, on his sleeve.

  She was looking at him, however, so much emotion in her eyes, it took his breath away. “Kind of like how I felt when you walked back into my life—I longed for a way to tell you I was sorry. I’ve spent the last three years wishing to rewind time, wishing I could fix the past.”

  “It’s done, Ella. It’s over—”

  She was shaking her head. “I need to tell . . .” She sighed, and he frowned when she looked up at him, her eyes wet.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You know why I became a lawyer?”

  “To make your parents proud?”

  She shook her head. “Because I hate injustice. And recklessness. And the fact that people make selfish decisions that affect the lives of others. That’s why I opposed this bill on loosening the regulations on the use of recreational marijuana. People put their personal comfort over the well-being of others and it’s . . . wrong. And there’s nothing to protect people from the carelessness of others.”

  She was crying now, and he couldn’t help but reach up, thumb a tear away.

  “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Being on the PEAK team has taught me that.”

  “I just hate that people like you have to put their lives on the line for . . . people who don’t deserve it.”

  “But it happens every day, and just because people are careless, or even intentional in their recklessness, doesn’t change the fact that we have to go out and rescue them. We do it not because they deserve rescue but because that’s what we do. That’s who we are.”

  “I know. And that’s why . . .” She took a deep breath. “You have to know that I fell in love with you three years ago, Gage, because you were this guy. The kind of guy who tries to do what is right. I just got confused with all the shock of Dylan’s death. His parents, and then the case, but . . . I realized today that . . .”

  He stilled.

&nb
sp; “I’m still in love with you.”

  Her words rushed over him, taking with them his breath. He could barely scrounge up his voice.

  She loved him.

  And yeah, the response forming inside felt like leaping off the Weeping Wall or plummeting down Angel’s Wings, a rush of heady adrenaline, even a little fear. But he had come this far. “I never stopped loving you, either.”

  She gave him the smallest hint of a smile then, and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and captured her beautiful lips with his. Hers were still warm from the tent, and he reached up and cupped her soft cheek with his hand.

  Ella loved him.

  She leaned into his touch, surrendering into him, and he moved his hand behind her neck, scooted closer, and deepened his kiss.

  And wow, he loved her back. The fullness of it rushed over him, took hold. Yes, they’d get off this mountain and then . . . then . . .

  Kissing Ella tasted like the past he’d lost, the cheers and dreams and epic heights of being a champion, and yet . . . so much more. She was kissing the man he’d been but also the man he wanted to be. The man trying to break free of his regrets, reaching out to freedom, forgiveness, a fresh start.

  A man who longed for tomorrow.

  Suddenly, that old stir of adventure, of abandon ignited inside him. Cascaded through him, caught fire.

  He leaned away from her, caught her eyes. “Ella. I don’t know what it is about you, but seeing you again has made me wonder if maybe . . . I don’t know. I’ve been stuck. Like I never really escaped that avalanche, but I was afraid to dig myself out because I knew that I didn’t have a right to start over, be free. But then you said . . . you said that you wanted to believe in a God who was on our side.” His eyes burned, and he blinked away the smoke.

  “The thing is, I haven’t exactly been on my knees much after Dylan’s accident. In fact, I’ve been pretty mad at God. See, God and I had a deal. I knew the danger and I could handle it. I didn’t expect God to rescue me. Then Dylan came along, and I thought that since I was trying to actually protect him that God would have my back. But he didn’t—and Dylan died. And it felt like God broke the deal.”

  “God doesn’t make deals.”

  “I know. But I never thought that doing something I thought was right would backfire . . . and when it did . . .”

  “So, what you’re saying is that you don’t trust God.”

  He looked away. “Yeah. And why would God help someone who didn’t trust him? I don’t deserve his help.”

  He reached out, caught her hand, and laced his fingers through hers.

  “But then God saved us from an avalanche, and helped us find Bradley, and even kept your brother alive . . . and maybe we’re not alone out here.”

  He stared at her hand in his.

  “I grew up with parents who told me that my life mattered—and to go do something about that. And then I landed inside my own limelight, and it blinded me. I forgot who I was and why I was there. I started to believe that my fame was about me. And then when it began to drown me, I labeled it as evil. But what if—what if it wasn’t? What if I was supposed to use it for good?”

  “To whom much is given . . .” she said softly.

  He frowned at her.

  “It’s something my parents used to say.”

  “Hmm. I was thinking . . . Maybe I could start competing again and . . .” He turned to face her. . “You could come with me.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Like a groupie?”

  “Like . . . a girlfriend. Or . . .” He swallowed.

  She caught her breath, and her widened eyes suggested that he might be bombing the hill, picking up too much speed.

  Clearly, yes, because she pulled away. “Wait, Gage, you have to know something. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you . . .”

  Her tone stilled him. Oh no. “You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

  “What? No. Just . . .” She closed her eyes. Winced.

  Her expression shot a chill through him. “You’re scaring me a little here, El. What’s going on?”

  “Please, let me get this out.” Her low tone sounded more like a prayer than a request to him. Then she blew out a breath and looked at the flames of the fire.

  And now he was freaking out.

  “There’s something you need to know about the civil case.”

  He let out a sigh. That was what the fuss was all about? “No, Ella, let’s not talk about that. It’s behind us—”

  “You weren’t to blame for Dylan’s death.”

  Huh?

  She swallowed, met his gaze. “Dylan McMahon had marijuana in his system when he went down Terminator Wall.”

  He couldn’t breathe; her words were a blow right to the center of his solar plexus.

  “What? How do you know that?”

  She cringed then. “Oh, Gage, I’m so sorry. You deserved to know, but I wasn’t allowed to tell you. Even now, it’s in violation of my code of ethics, but I just can’t bear you believing you’re at fault. You didn’t cause Dylan’s death.”

  He frowned at her words. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did. I shouldn’t have let him go down the Wall.”

  “He told you himself that he would go without you. What choice did you have?”

  He looked away from her.

  “Dylan’s parents had an autopsy done on him. The lab report came back with evidence of THC.”

  With her words, her expression turned stricken.

  Oh Ella. Always finding a way to blame herself. He took her cold hand. “That doesn’t mean he was high that day—THC stays in your urine for days. And if Dylan was a regular user, it could be found in his body up to ten days afterward, sometimes longer.”

  Gage didn’t want to go back to that day, to remember Dylan suited up and waiting for him at the chopper. He hadn’t checked, hadn’t asked, just warned him to stay on his line.

  Gage wasn’t unfamiliar with the telltale signs of weed, a guy too stoned to ride. If he’d done more than gotten on the chopper, practically ignoring Dylan, if he’d taken a moment to think past his run, and how he’d make it epic for the cameras . . .

  “But here’s the important part,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if he was high or not. The test would have been enough to cause reasonable doubt, get the decision reversed.” She swallowed then. “And if I’d had the courage to stand up for what I believe in, you’d still have your career today.”

  He stared at her, her words hitting home.

  “You could have saved me?”

  Slowly, she nodded.

  “And you didn’t.”

  Her mouth tightened into a bud of grim assent.

  He just stared at her. Moved his hand away.

  “Gage—”

  “Stop. Just . . . I need a minute here.” He stared at the fire.

  “I had to tell you . . . I thought, how could we start over if—”

  “No. How could we start over. Period.” He looked at her. “That lawsuit destroyed everything I’d worked for, Ella. My career, my awards, my sponsorships, gone. And yes, I made mistakes, but the press eviscerated me. They tore my life apart, some even called me a murderer. My mother practically had a nervous breakdown, started drinking. And I lost everything I loved.”

  She just stared at him. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He had nothing. Then, tightly, “You’re sorry. Yeah, well, me too.”

  “Gage—”

  He held up his hand, a stiff arm to her words. “Don’t.”

  “Gage! You’re not the only one whose life was destroyed over it. I quit my job—”

  “You became a senator. I chase down hotshot skiers. Big difference there, honey.”

  She sucked in a breath, as if he’d slapped her, and he had to look away.

  He didn’t know why her words skewered him. He’d agreed with the lawsuit, agreed with his own culpability, and if he had to surrender everything to help the McMahon family cope with their loss, it was a smal
l price to pay. He’d practically begged his lawyer to settle the case.

  Maybe if he hadn’t, his attorney would have pushed harder, found the truth, but Gage agreed to everything the plaintiffs asked for without a blink.

  Still, he could way too easily conjure up the image of Ella sitting across the room with the enemy camp, again feel a fist closing over his heart as he watched her betray him.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  “I can only say I’m sorry so many times,” she said finally.

  “Me too,” he said quietly. “The difference is, I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep Dylan from killing himself on the slopes. You’re sorry because you knew the truth but let me burn anyway.”

  Her quick intake of breath made him want to turn, to push it all away—the hurt, the anger, the way the night had turned crisp and dark, the stars winking out as dawn approached. He wanted to rewind time back five minutes and take her in his arms, forget the past and even the future and hold on to the place where none of it mattered but now.

  But it did matter. All of it. He didn’t move.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I did.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Her own words sat like a stone in her heart as Ella considered Gage. He sat, his knees drawn up, his arms hanging over them, staring into the fire. Her words seemed to flicker in his eyes.

  “You knew the truth but let me burn anyway.”

  She blinked, hating the rim of tears, and turned back to the tent. “The sun will be up soon. I’ll make some breakfast.”

  He nodded, and she caught her breath when he didn’t even look at her.

  She should have known this would happen. Of course he’d feel betrayed.

  “That lawsuit destroyed my life, Ella.”

  And she’d dragged him out here, rekindled the past, even hinted at a future, all the time harboring the secret she knew would destroy him all over again.

  She glanced back through the doorway. Gage hadn’t moved.

  Probably thinking about how she’d manipulated him, again.

  Or . . . maybe thinking about how he could reopen the case, maybe get the judgment against him vacated.

  Which would mean betraying her to the authorities. Which, probably, she deserved. Still . . .

  To whom much is given . . .