His Last Hill Read online

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  AUTHOR INFO

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THANK YOU

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  MORE BOOKS

  HIS LAST HILL

  GOLD MEDAL EVENT ROMANCE

  MEGAN MATTHEWS

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  Copyright ©2018 by Megan Matthews. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written person from the author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author at [email protected]

  Thank you for purchasing HIS LAST HILL. I hope you enjoy the third book in the Gold Medal Romance Novella series.

  GOLD MEDAL ROMANCE NOVELLA SERIES

  His Last Race

  His Last Fall

  His Last Hill

  His Last Love

  If you’d like to stay up to date with books in my series or read about the other crazy things that I put on social media you can friend me at the following places. I love to hear from readers.

  Definitely take time to check out my other series, The Boys of RDA. The first book is FREE for readers.

  | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | FB READER GROUP | PINTEREST | MAILING LIST | WEBSITE | BOOKBUB

  - You can also buy the rest of the series by visiting my website -

  Glitch, a holiday short story featuring Aspen and Finn’s first Christmas together is available as a FREE fan exclusive. This story isn’t available anywhere else. Just tell me where to send your free copy.

  Tell me where to send your free exclusive story by clicking HERE

  To my editor. I’m glad someone can make sense of my ramblings.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The crowd of people in front of the podium is huge. All three winning countries pack the area to support their athletes. I smile, my face frozen in a stretched-out grin. Nobody wants to be caught in a less than stellar moment at this point in life. My worst nightmare involves weird facial expressions and Internet memes. The chunky silver medal dangles from my neck in a crushing manor. The pressure on my chest heavier than what the actual medal weighs.

  My first gold medal race is over, and I’m walking away with a second-place finish. But something deep inside warns this is only the beginning.

  The three winners are forced to stand together smiling while photographers take three thousand pictures. It gives my mind and eyes time to wander. Even with the crowd packed together as tightly as possible around the winners’ podium, I’m able to find Cyrus in the group.

  Normally it’s because he’s taller than everyone else, but today most of the crowd is above average in the height department. It doesn’t matter, though. I find him easily. Almost as if my eyes are drawn in his direction. It’s been this way for as long as I remember. Back when we both started our snowboarding careers Cyrus and I shared a coach. The joint coach eventually retired and we moved on to different facilities, forming new teams as we grew in the sport, but we stayed friends through it all. Cyrus attended his first Gold Medal Winter Games four years ago with me there to cheer him on.

  Now I’m here with him cheering me on. It’s what best friends do.

  The three medal winners are dismissed while race officials prepare to award the men’s medals in a few minutes. Another American will be headed to this same podium soon. Several officials from the American team clear a path through the crowd to meet me when I jump off the second-place block.

  Not giving me any time to relish my glory of a win, they quickly retrieve my medal and stick a bright orange sticker with my name and information on the back. For the safety of the athletes and the merchandise, all medals are held in the team offices. They’re only taken out for special press conferences and individual interviews while a member of the security team is on guard to keep them safe. Otherwise I won’t see it again until I’m back on American soil.

  “The men’s medals will be awarded in about ten minutes. We expect you to stay and show support,” McKenna, one of the team’s public relations people, wearing tall high heels at almost midnight, says stepping away for me.

  “Of course.” Does she really think I wouldn’t stay and watch the guys?

  She looks to someone behind me. “Cyrus, it’s good you came out to support your teammates. I’m sure they appreciate it.”

  I turn, his eyes wide as he stares at McKenna. “Yes, that’s why I’m here, McKenna.” He nods his head.

  I wait until she walks out of earshot. “Do you even know which American is getting a medal in a few minutes?”

  Cyrus winks. “Oh, Charlie, you have such little faith in me. Of course I know. It’s Keaton.”

  “Well then. I suppose you’re on the ball…this time.”

  He smiles, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug and squeezing until I have to hit his back so I can breathe. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Yeah.” Emotions have never been something Cyrus and I share a lot of. I don’t do them with most people. “Are you taking me for a celebratory drink after this?”

  His face pinches together. “Are you kidding? You may be done with your event, but I have a few days until mine. No one gets to drink until we all get to drink.” His pointer finger circles his ear like I’m crazy. “Plus, your parents are battling their way through the crowd. They’ll be here any minute and then you know you’ll be up all night with your mother.”

  I sigh. If ever someone needed therapy to deal with Mommy issues, it’s me. My disdain for emotion comes from my mother’s overabundance of the stuff. She’ll cry in excitement. Call the entire family. Tell random people she meets at the grocery store while looking at the bananas…for the next fifteen years. Probably longer.

  The woman live tweeted my race. Cyrus said she had more than twenty-five updates. Considering a snowboard cross event lasts less than two minutes, the woman has to have the fastest fingers of any human. Someone should make her a Guinness world record holder.

  I should be used to it. It’s not a new thing. This behavior has been going on for years, so it’s not something I get upset about anymore. If I lashed out every time the guy who bags my groceries knows more about my private life than my best friend, my mother and I would spend every second fighting. For years I tried to fight it, to steer her in a better direction, but eventually I decided if I didn’t want to die of a heart attack at thirty, I had to let it go. She might still end up putting me in an early grave.

  Right on cue the crowd parts and my mom steps through, my dad following wordlessly behind her. “Charlie?” she screams, getting my attention even though I saw her walk up. “I’m so proud of you. I’ve called your grandparents and they want a live chat with you after the event. And we must get pictures with the medal. Where is it? Show me!” Tears stream down her face but they don’t interfere with her demands.

  “Mom, I don’t get to keep the medal.”

  She arches back in shock. “You don’t need to keep your own medal? What kind of crap is that? You won that medal. It’s gorgeous. Who
can I talk to about this? You show me who and I’ll get it fixed.”

  It’s been such a long day. I rub a spot in my temple before responding. It never works, the headache always comes regardless, but it makes me feel better to pretend like I’m doing something about the searing pain behind my eye. “Mom, calm down. It’s the rule.”

  “That’s a stupid rule. Who follows this rule?”

  “Mom!”

  “Charlie,” she says finally noticing the “please stop” look my father flashes. “Fine, if you’re sure about this. But if you change your mind, let me know and we’ll get this taken care of.”

  “Janice, I’m sure they’re not going to keep her medal forever.”

  I give my dad my best “keep her under control look” and silently plead with him to not let her do anything embarrassing. It’s the textbook stressed out look — pursed lips and raised eyebrows. I perfected the look around fourth grade when she came into my classroom complaining because the paper I wrote about penguins received a B+. She argued for over an hour about how she’d read the paper and knew darn well it was quality material. I couldn’t look my teacher in the eye for the rest of the year.

  It’s been an ongoing struggle to keep her helicopter blades far enough away so she didn’t cut off my head in the process of rescuing me from whatever situation she thinks I’m struggling with.

  There’s a loud ding in the auditorium. “Oh look, Mom, it’s time for the men’s medals.”

  She looks at me weirdly. “Do I have to stay for the men’s finals? You’re not a man.”

  Deep breaths. Count to ten. “You guys can go. Cyrus will stay with me.”

  “Do they take the men’s medals too? Or are the games sexist?”

  Count to twenty. “Yes, mom. They take the medals from the guys as well.”

  She huffs. “Well fine. As long as they take them from everyone. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

  Is it possible for your mother to cause a tumor? Because I’m pretty sure I have one growing in the back of my head, and every time my mother talks it throbs.

  “It’s true, Mrs. W. When I win the gold in three days, they’ll take mine too.”

  She smiles at Cyrus, almost as if he were her own child, and gently taps him on the cheek. “You better. And this time I want pictures of the two of you together. No arguments.”

  Here we go again.

  “Come on, dear. Let’s go.” My father tugs my mother on the arm like the unsung hero he is. “We’ll see you later, Charlie.”

  The man deserves his own gold medal for the way he handles my mother. Two years ago, Cyrus and I both placed at the X Games, and my mother didn’t get a picture of us together. No one within a fifty-foot radius of her and a camera has ever heard the end of it. The way she carries on, you would think it happened yesterday.

  Cyrus and I watch the two of them wander off into the crowd, and then the Chinese national anthem plays over the loudspeakers. The snowboarder who came in third place steps up to the podium to receive his bronze medal. The fans cheer, the flags wave, and it seems to take forever on this side. I swear as I stood up there a few minutes ago it happened in two seconds flat.

  “Thanks for being so awesome with my mom.” I’m forced to yell words I wanted to whisper to Cyrus, but the noise is too loud around us.

  He shakes his head. “Your mom is not so bad, Charlie. This is your first Winter Games and you medaled. Let her be excited for you.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Oh really? Like you’re one to talk.” Last time we were both in the X Games, my mom made up a huge collection of posters for everyone to hold while they watched from the stands. He refused to let her use them and even went so far as to steal them from her and throw them away.

  Nobody wants to be the one someone causes a scene over.

  But the truth of the matter is, there’s always one. Most of us didn’t start practicing our sports at three because we were dedicated. Top athletes get this way because we have relentless parents hell-bent on making their children practice each and every day. So there’s always bound to be drama.

  The crowd cheers again, clapping wildly as the racer from Norway climbs the steps to the silver-place podium. He waves and smiles as the event official places a silver disc around his neck. Then the music changes and his face falls. The United States of America anthem plays over the loudspeakers, and Knox climbs the steps to take his position in the number one spot as the guy from Norway scowls. Being a sore loser is never something you want to have caught on camera, and it looks like Norway memes will rule the Internet in a few hours.

  Knox leans down waiting for his medal. When it’s laced around his neck, the crowd goes wild, including me. I clap hard, the skin stinging even under my mittens. I can’t help it. This moment is a beautiful one for any and all athletes. It’s even better when it’s an American at the top.

  “Are you getting all emotional again?” Cyrus asks leaning his face in mine.

  I push him away but it’s too late. The smell of his aftershave invades my senses. It awakens my libido. That bitch still hasn’t learned my best friend is off limits. In the countless years Cyrus and I have been friends, he’s never once made any kind of mention of wanting more in our relationship. And I refuse to be the one to risk it, but damn, it sucks being in love with your best friend. He’s always around smelling wonderful and looking good

  Probably tasting good.

  I’m not sure because I’m not crazy enough to try and lick him. Although if the situation arises and I think I’ll get away without being caught, I might make an attempt.

  “Alright, the party’s over,” Cyrus says as the music dies down. “Let’s go to bed. Early morning tomorrow.”

  I chuckle. Nice try. I have to give him points for the attempt. “No, you have a big morning tomorrow. I get to sleep in.”

  Cyrus’ face falls like I’ve kicked his puppy. “You’d party without me?”

  “No, I promise I won’t have any fun until you’re done too,” I say with my fingers crossed behind my back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cyrus knocks again.

  I know its Cyrus because he’s the only person stupid enough to be up this early. There’s a tiny bead of light visible on the edge of the window curtain, but I close my eyes quickly in hopes I can ignore it. If I could fall back to sleep after my roommate snuck out for practice this morning, I can sleep past this.

  “Princess.”

  Ugh. “Go away, Cyrus!”

  He jiggles the handle. “Let me in.”

  “No.”

  “It’s time to get up, Charlie. Fresh day and all that shit.”

  I roll over, putting my back to the door. “Go away!”

  “Don’t make me repeat Aspen.”

  I toss back over. “You wouldn’t?”

  He’s silent for a minute…too long of a minute and I panic. Leaping from the bed, I cross the room and unlock the door, allowing my most annoying best friend in the room. He’s standing on the other side with the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of his smiles over the years.

  “You’re lucky.” I release a breath and walk back to the bed.

  “What?” he laughs, plopping down on the end of the bed before I have time to stick my feet there and block his way. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Not funny, Cyrus.” Three years ago at a snowboarding event in Aspen, I refused to get out of bed, so Cyrus demanded the hotel staff do a wellness check. He had a whole story involving a night of partying and general debauchery. It worked and they let him in my room, but he hadn’t planned on a hotel staff member selling the story to a two-bit gossip column.

  My mother was not happy, but weirdly I found it rather exciting. I mean, me, Charlie Wilson, semi-important enough to be a story in a gossip magazine. Who would have guessed? Certainly not me or my seventh-grade gym teacher who said I had less flexibility than a tree trunk.

  Of course, two weeks later the same gossip magazine ran an articl
e on Peter Sufferage. If you’ve never heard of the one-time tennis pro, don’t worry about it. Most of the world hasn’t either. The gossip rags’ definition of “celebrity” is a bit sketchy.

  “Come on, Charlie. We have people to see and places to go today.” He shakes my side causing the whole bed to move.

  I cover my head with the comforter. “No. Go away.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” He shakes me again.

  “Don’t you have practice today?”

  “Not until later this afternoon. I have hours to kill.” He tries to pull back my covers, but I maintain my death grip. We’ve been in this position before. “Let’s go.”

  I kick him with my uncovered feet but he doesn’t even budge. “I won a medal yesterday. I get to sleep in today.” Even my mother understands and follows this one simple rule.

  He scoffs. “Yeah a silver medal. Next time go faster.”

  I roll my eyes but flip over to really glare at him. Unfortunately, I don’t realize that’s what he wanted me to do until it’s too late.

  “Ah,” he smiles. “There’s my girl. Beautiful as always.”

  I snarl in his direction, my eyes squinty with my ponytail lopsided and half falling out. “Screw you.”

  “Come on, Charlie. I have an entirely fun day planned for us. I’ll even buy you lunch.”

  “Will it be like last time when you left your wallet back in your room?” After I’d already ordered the largest steak on the menu.

  He laughs. “No, see I have it right here.” He takes his small black leather wallet from his back pocket and slaps me on the knee with it. “Now get up.”

  I’m always a little leery when Cyrus says he has a fun day planned. My idea of fun and his don’t always mesh. One time he told me we were going to revel in the culture of the country we were currently staying in. After wandering the streets for three hours, we somehow ended up in a cockfighting competition. I haven’t been able to eat a chicken nugget since.