THE FALL LINE: Chapter One

I want to share some of the fiction I’ve been writing with all of you. This is the first chapter of The Fall Line, a novella about two friends with a dream: qualifying for the Freeride World Tour. They live in a van together, ski every day, and try not to look too closely at the feelings that keep growing between them.

It’s about adrenaline and repression, bruises and breath fogging on cold windows, boys who train together and change each other in ways they never expected. It’s about knowing the line you’re about to ski might destroy you—and dropping in anyway.

It’s romance. It’s rivalry. It’s California in a low snow year. And it starts here. This installment is free but future installments, which I will post once per week, are for paid subscribers only.

-Ari

Chapter One: First Tracks

They were already west of Denver when the stereo died. Jamie had kicked it by accident, twisting out of a sweat-soaked base layer. It hissed static, then silence. Cole didn’t say anything. He just rolled the window down an inch and let the wind speak.

Outside, the snowbanks stacked like memory—sharp-edged, melting, already fading. Inside, the van smelled like ski wax and gas station coffee and wool. Steam curled from Jamie’s thermos as he cracked the lid. A ski pole slid from its hook and hit the floor with a soft thud.

“You mad?”

Cole shook his head. “Shouldn’t’ve put your boots under the aux cord.”

Jamie grinned. “So it’s your fault.”

Cole didn’t answer. Just kept driving.

They’d left Vermont four days ago. The van—technically Cole’s—was something his dad had bought used, then tricked out with solar panels, a heater, and a ski rack bolted into the walls. It wasn’t home, but it held everything they needed. When Cole had offered Jamie the extra spot, he hadn’t hesitated. Just quit a job he didn’t like, said goodbye to a girl he didn’t love, and climbed in.

Now they were chasing qualifiers. Trying to make the Tour. Sleeping side by side on a cot narrow enough to turn breath into choreography. They shared everything—gear, food, a charger that only worked if you bent the cord just right. Sometimes Jamie caught himself watching Cole stretch in the morning, spine arched, back bare.

Cole never minded the attention.

They pulled into a hot spring just before dusk. The parking lot was frozen mud and old Subaru tracks. Steam rose in ribbons. Jamie stepped out of the van and stretched until his back cracked. He was twenty-two and already felt like his body was filing complaints.

Cole slid the side door open and moved with that careful precision he carried everywhere—tight, neat, like everything might break if he wasn’t gentle. Towel. Flip-flops. Water bottle.

Jamie watched him too long.

“You coming?” Cole asked, not looking.

“Yeah. Just—give me a sec.”

By the time they made it to the water, the wind had sharpened. Steam moved sideways like fog. The pool was mostly empty—just a couple tangled together in the far corner, whispering like the world was only theirs.

Jamie stripped to boxers and didn’t look at Cole.

Didn’t need to. Already knew what he’d see: tight lines, long muscle, all that old money Catholic guilt wrapped in Gore-Tex and good posture. But when Cole peeled off his shirt, Jamie looked anyway.

Cole caught him. “What?”

Jamie shrugged. “You’re gonna get frostbite.”

Cole smirked. “Worried about me? That’s sweet.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, but his cheeks gave him away.

“I was just thinking,” Cole added, sliding into the water, “you look like you’re about to write me a love song.”

Jamie didn’t answer. Just followed him in, steam rising around them.

The heat hit like a bruise—tender only when touched. They sank shoulder to shoulder. Legs brushed beneath the surface. Jamie tipped his head back, eyes closed.

“You ever think about quitting?” he asked.

Cole snorted. “Skiing?”

“No. The van. The qualifiers. The dream.”

Cole was quiet for a beat. Then: “Every time I wake up and feel like I got run over by a snowcat.”

Jamie laughed. “So daily.”

Cole smiled, small. “Basically.”

Jamie shifted. Their knees knocked. Cole didn’t move.

“I’d still be doing this,” Jamie said. “Even if I didn’t make the Tour. I’d still chase powder. Still take dumb lines. Still freeze my ass off.”

Cole looked at him. Really looked.

“I know.”

“You’d do it alone?” Jamie asked.

Cole didn’t answer. But after a moment, he stretched one arm along the edge of the pool behind Jamie. Not touching—just there. Jamie leaned back anyway.

They stayed like that until the sun slipped behind the ridge and their fingers went pruned and soft.

Jamie stood first. Steam trailed off his skin. He held out a hand.

Cole hesitated.

Then took it.

***

They hit Tahoe after dark.

The road wound through black trees, headlights carving shadows into snowbanks high as the van. The stereo was still broken, but the quiet had become a rhythm. The only sounds were the engine and the soft clink of gear shifting in the back.

Jamie sat with his knees pulled to his chest, peeling a clementine over the floor mat. The rinds curled like wood shavings.

“You think they’ll let us park in the lot?” he asked.

Cole nodded. “As long as we’re out by eight.”

They turned into the lower lot and rolled to a stop near the trees. Everything outside looked frozen in place. Even the stars felt brittle.

Cole killed the engine. The silence after was thick—like sinking into powder.

Jamie tossed a peel into the trash. “We skiing tomorrow?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

Jamie smiled. “So enthusiastic.”

Cole didn’t smile back. But something in his shoulders softened. “First light?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say goodnight. Just climbed into the back of the van, turning their backs to change into thermals. The space heater buzzed softly.

The cot was narrow, blankets pulled tight. Their bodies close. That part wasn’t new.

What was new was how Jamie couldn’t sleep. How the heat from Cole’s thigh seeped through the fabric. How Cole shifted—not toward him, exactly, but just enough that their arms touched.

Jamie didn’t move.

Eventually, sleep found them both.

The Fall Line continues next week with Chapter Two, where Jamie gets his first real taste of Tahoe snow, the lines get steeper, and Cole starts pushing him just a little too hard.

It’s not a powder day. But for Jamie, it’s still magic. For now.

If you’re enjoying the story, consider subscribing for early access to future chapters and some extra behind-the-scenes notes along the way. Thanks for riding this line with me.