Snow Job by Tara Wyatt (best large ereader .txt) 📗

of months ago, but he wasn’t complaining. Yeah, he’d been the VP of marketing at a huge real estate development firm and had had a massive paycheck to go with it. He’d had a sweet apartment with a view of Central Park and a closet filled with designer clothes. But he’d also been a miserable, self-destructive asshole. Getting out of Manhattan had been one of the smartest things he’d done in a long time. Not that that decision had a lot of competition, as he’d mostly been making super fucking stupid ones for way too long.

Now, working as a snowboarding instructor at Blizzard Ridge, one of Vermont’s swankiest ski resorts, he was at least able to think clearly. He was still an asshole. Still struggling with all of the self-destructive tendencies that had started out as a remedy and turned into a sickness. But he was at least fifty percent less miserable than he’d been two months ago, and that was saying something.

Because fuck, he’d hit rock bottom so hard that his teeth had rattled. He’d lost his job, been kicked out of his apartment, drained his bank account. He’d been unemployed and crashing on his brother’s couch, and he had no one to blame but himself. No one to hate but the jerk in the mirror. And he didn’t want to feel that way anymore. He was thirty-four years old, for Christ’s sake. He wanted to get his shit together. He needed to get his shit together.

It had actually been his brother, Lucian, who’d given him the idea to head out here. All he’d asked him was when he’d been happiest in his life, and Sebastian hadn’t had to think about it for more than half a second. His happy place was hurtling down a mountain with a board strapped to his feet. It was diving into a half-pipe and catching as much air as possible, doing tricks and feeling so goddamn alive everything else paled in comparison.

There’d been a time in his life when snowboarding had saved him. But then it, like everything else, had been taken away, too. Really, that loss was what had started his ten-year downward spiral.

He rubbed absently at his right knee and then pulled on his navy blue ski jacket, emblazoned with the Blizzard Ridge logo. Snowboarding had saved him once. He was hoping it could save him again. Maybe it was a stupid hope, but here he was all the same.

Deciding that he did have time for that cup of coffee, he zipped up his jacket, pulled on his dark gray beanie, and headed out the door of the pro room. Vermont’s Green Mountains rose up around him, poking into the pale blue sky still tinged with the kind of soft pink you only saw in the winter. It had snowed again last night, and a pristine layer clung to the pine trees that covered the parts of the mountains too jagged and steep to ski on. A few wispy clouds hung low in the sky, and Sebastian inhaled a lungful of fresh, cold air. Cold was good. Cold was pure, and simple, and cleansing.

He slowed his steps as he approached the small log cabin that housed the staff commissary and rest rooms, his boots crunching in the snow. This was where he’d start over. This was where he’d figure it out. He’d get back to basics, back to who he was with all of the shit of the past ten years stripped away so he could figure out who he wanted to be. Because the man he’d been over the past decade—the man who took risk after risk just to feel alive, who paid guys to beat him just so he’d feel something, who couldn’t get out of his own damn way long enough to even try to be happy—he was gone. There was no room for him up on this mountain.

He pulled open the brightly painted red door and stepped inside, the scents of stale coffee and burnt toast assaulting his nostrils. He lifted his hand in a wave as he spotted his boss, Patrick, deep in conversation with another of the instructors and one of Sebastian’s new favorite people, Lane. She waved back, her sleeve tattoo poking out from beneath her blue Henley.

As he filled his coffee cup, he glanced over at Patrick, knowing that he owed the man, big time. They’d ridden together a lot as teens, competed together on the national circuit and cheered each other on during the Team USA Olympic trials. But when everything had gone to shit for Bastian, he’d bailed on the entire world he’d once loved, including his friends, like Patrick. But apparently his disappearing act was water under the bridge, because he’d offered him a job and a place to live when he’d needed it most. Bastian had only meant to come out here for a week or two to ride and clear his head, but Patrick had offered him a place to belong.

Lane waved him over. “ ‘Kay, settle something for us,” she said, licking her lips and then glancing over her shoulder. A few other instructors sat at nearby tables, drinking coffee, talking, and scrolling on their phones. Sebastian plunked down into the empty chair beside her, slapping Patrick on the arm in greeting. “I think I should ask Kendra out, but this guy swears she’s straight,” she said, jerking her thumb in Patrick’s direction. He shrugged and rubbed a hand over his shaved head, looking the tiniest bit sheepish. Just then, the ski instructor in question walked in through the door. Lane waved and then winked at her, and Sebastian couldn’t tell if Kendra’s cheeks were pink from the cold or Lane’s obvious flirting.

“I’m telling you, she had a boyfriend as of like three weeks ago,” said Patrick, crossing his arms. But Sebastian knew him well enough to guess that his interest in Kendra’s sexuality and dating life was purely selfish.

“And I’m telling you, she’s not as straight