THE FALL LINE: Chapter Two

If you’ve already read Chapter 1 of The Fall Line, thank you—truly. It’s been so fun getting back into fiction, and it means a lot to share that part of myself with you. This story is something special to me. It’s about friendship and tension and the kind of feelings that build like pressure in a snowpack, waiting for just the right moment to slide.

Chapter 2 is now live for paid subscribers. In this one, Jamie gets his first taste of skiing out west—and of what it means to chase a dream that’s bigger than fear. There’s golden light on alpine ridgelines, two boys dropping into something dangerous, and a fall that changes everything.

If you’re not subscribed yet, the first chapter is free and waiting for you. And if you are subscribed—thank you for helping me tell this story the way it deserves to be told.

Chapter Two: California

They didn’t rush the next morning.

No storm. No powder panic. Just high clouds drifting over the ridge and that soft, gold light that made the whole valley look like it had something to say.

Jamie stood outside the van with his coffee, steam curling in the cold. He stared at the mountains like they might speak first. Everything here felt bigger—carved, not worn. The trees stood like they meant it. The rock jutted from the snow in bold, ancient strokes. Even the light was different—brighter, older. It poured over the cliffs like it had been waiting for him.

Cole shut the ski rack with a click. Tossed Jamie a breakfast bar. “You gonna cry, or are we skiing today?”

Jamie caught it. “No promises.”

They caught a late lift. No lines. Cole didn’t ask where Jamie wanted to go—just pointed his skis and started gliding.

Jamie followed. Eyes wide.

Even the groomers felt different—longer, steeper, more sure of themselves. The snow was crisp but forgiving. When they finally dropped into Headwall, Jamie’s breath caught. Not from fear. From wonder.

The bowl opened beneath them in layers—cornices, wind-scoured spines, sunlit chutes scattered with old tracks. Jamie stopped to take it in.

“I’ve seen this in edits,” he said quietly.

Cole nodded. “Welcome to the west.”

He dropped in without waiting. Jamie watched him for a moment, cutting smooth turns down the apron, then pointed his tips over the edge and followed.

The run emptied something in him. Woke something else up.

That night, he lay awake listening to Cole breathe. The air in the van was thin with cold and quiet. Outside, the stars burned steady over the ridge.

***

They woke with the sun most days. Not because they had to. Just because the light filled the van like it had something to prove.

It was the kind of rhythm that made everything feel intentional.

***

KT-22. Bluebird morning. Jamie’s legs buzzed as they swung over The Fingers, boots knocking the safety bar.

Cole pointed down. “That’s Middle Knuckle. Just under it—Wedding Chutes. Far looker’s right? Ring Finger.”

Jamie dropped Middle Knuckle. Landed backseat. Saved it. Looked up grinning.

Cole didn’t say a word—just bumped his fist against Jamie’s shoulder.

***

One afternoon, they parked by the lake. Jamie wandered down alone. The snow crunched under his boots.

The lake looked unreal. Obsidian. Too still to trust. He thought about dipping his fingers in, but something stopped him. Like touching it might break the spell.

Behind him, the trees smelled like smoke and citrus.

He closed his eyes. Breathed deep.

Somewhere far off, someone laughed.

***

Granite Chief. Midday sun, sharp and mean. Jamie’s lungs burned. Cole hiked like it was nothing.

“You coming?”

Jamie flipped him off.

At the top, Cole dropped first. Sharp and surgical. Jamie followed, looser. Caught air, landed too hard. Stayed up.

At the bottom, they whooped like they’d gotten away with something.

***

Taco Bell in Kings Beach. Jamie with a Baja Blast and a lap full of nacho cheese. Cole sunburned, still in base layers.

Jamie looked out at the lake. “I could stay here forever.”

Cole didn’t answer.

But he didn’t laugh either.

***

Sherwood Cliffs at Alpine. Light hitting everything just right. Cole threw a three off a ledge Jamie hadn’t clocked. Landed like he meant it.

Jamie dropped the same cliff. No spin. Stomped it.

They skied out together. Silent.

***

At night, the van creaked. Jamie curled into his bag, watching Cole roll over beside him.

Always facing away.

Once, in the dark, Cole said something Jamie didn’t catch.

“What?” Jamie whispered.

But Cole didn’t repeat it.

The Fall Line continues next week with Chapter Three, where the dream starts to get a little heavier. Jamie’s pushing harder. Cole’s not letting up. And what was magic in the morning starts to shift by afternoon.

A fall is coming. And not just on the mountain.