Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
AJ had landed in Navesink Bank with the hope that this would finally be her chance to settle down, to put down roots, to stop running. When she saw an ad for a house rental, something inside her screamed that it was too good to be true. But she couldn’t afford to question it further, signing the papers, and moving in.
Only to come home one day to find a man asleep on her couch.
Both parties are determined to find a way to make the situation work, and Atlas and AJ come to an agreement. She gets to stay. In exchange for helping him recover.
As Atlas and AJ navigate the uncharted waters of their newfound connection, they discover that healing can be found in the most unexpected places. But as the shadows of AJ's past loom closer, Atlas must reconcile his lifelong drive to explore, and his growing desire to suddenly stay in one place…
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Atlas
Even with the polarized goggles on my face, the sun flashing on the snow was almost blinding as I waited for the chair to finish its ascent up the mountain.
There was a blanket of fresh powder from just a day ago, which was the only good time to attempt this slope.
Affectionately—or was it?—known as the Swiss Wall, Pas de Chavanette, was too steep to be pisted, which meant that it was chock-full of moguls the size of small cars from other skiers constantly taking turns at the same place, making humps in the snow that could send any amateur flying.
I’d been training for this for years, taking on other ‘dangerous’ slopes before I dared to bring myself to the one that had one of the fastest descents in the world.
I was confident in my ability to do it.
As with any slope, though, the most dangerous part wasn’t necessarily the terrain itself, or even your own abilities.
It was the other skiers who didn’t know what they were doing, who overestimated their own abilities, leaving them panicky and uncontrollable. And right in your way.
You weren’t supposed to ride this slope if you were anything less than an expert skier. But a lot of intermediates thought that they were better than they are. Or, increasingly, someone wanted to show off for their social media followers.
I wasn’t against that. I had my own camera clipped to my helmet. Because if you were going to spend your time messing around in extreme sports that others enjoyed, but would never attempt, why not make money off of their interest?
I had videos posted on various sites that brought me in a passive ten grand a month. It helped fund more and more trips, more interests to explore, more travels.
And, hopefully, this video would fund next year’s three-month-long skiing marathon I had planned.
Damn.
I guess I wasn’t the early bird this morning. Half a dozen other skiers were already standing there, all geared up, trying to peer down the icy slope.
From what I understood, that was pointless.
With an incline of about seventy-six percent you couldn’t see the face of the wall at the drop-in point. This was not the kind of slope you could look down and prepare for. You had to nut-up, drop-in, and trust your instincts.
I joined the crowd, wondering how many actually did belong here, and how many were going to regret this decision in a few moments.
You’d think that the sign, warning that a fall here could prove fatal, would scare off people who weren’t one hundred percent sure they could take this on.
But I knew from many past experiences, both skiing and other hobbies, that people were, well, stupid.
They likely didn’t do the research. Or thought the warning sign was just to cover their asses, or for the insurance company’s sake.
Six to ten people die on this slope each year.
I nodded at another guy with a camera on his helmet, hopefully a pro, not just someone doing shit for clicks and views, then lined up.
It wasn’t that I was immune to the sensations of risk, of fear. It was that I sort of, I don’t know, thrived on it, got high on the adrenaline that surged through me the second I pushed through the fear, and knew that this was it, there was no going back.
The moment you stepped off a bridge, needing to trust your bungee and the person who strapped you into it.
When you took a deep breath, then dropped out of the plane, hoping when you pulled the string that your parachute worked.
I lived for this shit.
So when it was my turn to move up to the edge, I took a deep breath, and trusted the only thing I had here on this mountain.