The Single Dad's Christmas Proposal
Author
Ella Hayes
Reads
16.6K
Chapters
16
PROLOGUE
‘YOU’RE OFTEN DESCRIBED as fearless. Are you?’
Dax D’Aureval felt a string of nerves tightening in his ribs. Was the microphone clipped to his jacket picking up the quick beats of his heart? He could feel his blood rushing, pounding in his ears. He drew a slow breath, allowing the familiar feelings to settle, then he looked past the camera lens and into Pierre’s expectant face. ‘Really? You’re asking me this again?’
Pierre’s nod was slight, but his eyes held a gleam.
Dax let out a slow sigh. Pierre filmed all his snowboarding exploits for the sponsors, but for the documentary features action shots alone weren’t enough. They needed interview material to use as voice-over, talking head stuff because his fans liked to see his face. The whites of his eyes! They wanted to know what made him tick. As if he even knew! All he could ever do was answer Pierre’s questions, in whichever moment they came, as honestly as he could, dialling up the charm, of course. He had over a hundred and seventy thousand followers on social media and his job was to keep the brands he represented in the spotlight. If that meant schmoozing to camera, coming out with little quips that could be used as teasers for the documentaries, then that was fine. It was part of the sponsorship gig, part of the life he’d created for himself. Free riding was his passion so talking about it wasn’t a hardship, except that at that moment his insides were chaos, and his throat was dry. He was about to take on a Chamonix classic—the Mallory Couloir on the north face of the Aiguille du Midi—and what he needed was to be taking a moment, sifting through his fear, sorting it into good and bad, not answering questions about it.
He flicked a glance at the lift. His support team was hovering by the doors, waiting for him. His guides. His friends. Crazy steep-skiing machines! They all spent their lives romancing the slopes. He wasn’t the only one.
He took a breath, strapping on his game face. ‘I wouldn’t describe myself as fearless... Not at all. You can’t do what I do and not be scared.’ He swallowed. ‘Like right now I’m really scared, but I don’t try to block my fear because it’s useful, even if it’s annoying.’ He smiled, principally to loosen the tightness in his cheeks. ‘Fear primes you for danger. It keeps you on your toes. It’s a strange fear, though...’ A tingle moved along his spine. ‘I kind of love it.’
The camera moved closer. ‘Love is a strong word, Dax, but is it love, or could it be an addiction?’
He could see his own reflection in the lens, could see the intent in Pierre’s eyes. Yes, the lines he rode looked reckless... Yes, it might have seemed to a casual observer that he was in the grip of a dangerous addiction, that he was a man who liked flirting with death, but free riding was about living not dying, and Pierre got that because Pierre was an extreme snowboarder too. Pierre was only prodding him because he was on a crusade to debunk the myth that extreme sports were the domain of cavalier, thrill-seeking adrenaline junkies. Usually he fell in, but today, for some reason, he didn’t want to. Maybe it was because the lens was too close, or because the guys by the lift were getting restive, or maybe it was because his stomach was gnawing a hole in itself. He could feel himself sliding into the Why the hell am I doing this? headspace and he had to shake it off before it took hold. He needed to get onto the mountain, face his fear, find the beauty on the other side of it.
He shifted slightly. ‘I don’t know if it’s an addiction...but it is an obsession.’ He paused. ‘When I’m riding there’s a spirit inside me that is wild, definitely a little crazy...’ He could sense Pierre stiffening, but he was invested now. He had to keep going. ‘I don’t understand it, but it drives me, keeps me wanting more. Higher. Harder. Faster. I’m always chasing something...’ He shrugged, holding in a smile. ‘Is that addiction?’
‘Dax!’ The camera tilted in Pierre’s hand. ‘That’s the wrong answer.’
He felt a pang of guilt. ‘I’m sorry, man. It’s all I’ve got today.’ His veins were thrumming, chemicals flooding in, preparing him for what he was about to do. He unclipped the microphone, handing it back to Pierre, then he picked up his pack. ‘You should use it anyway because it’s the truth, even if you don’t want to hear it.’ His insides were boiling, turning to liquid. ‘I mean, yes, we plan for risk. We’ve got the experience, the skills, the equipment. We take every precaution, but there’s no denying it: we seek out impossible lines, lines that have never been ridden before and we ride them hard.’ He shrugged. ‘It follows that we must be a little bit crazy.’
