Crash: The Wild Sequence, Book Two Read online

  I want to do it. I can decide what I want. I don’t have to be led by this stupid aching hurt anymore.

  But I shake my head.

  “No—I can’t. Thank you for the offer.”

  Greg is clearly disappointed, but he’s too well-mannered to turn cold. He leans back, his held breath releasing on a little bark of laughter before he ruffles a hand through the flop of his hair.

  “I understand. I’m sorry to have been insensitive. A year isn’t very long after an engagement.”

  Something slams down inside of me. I take a very deliberate step back.

  “This isn’t about him,” I say.

  Greg’s eyebrows rise at the sharp cut of my voice, but he holds up his hands, palm out. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

  “JJ and I are over,” I snap. I don’t need to be telling this man these things. He has no need to know about them. No one needs to know anything about the person who chose to leave my life one year ago. “If I do or don’t go on dates, it has nothing to do with him.”

  “Of course,” Greg says, without agreeing at all.

  * * *

  The thoughts I try to push away swirl about me as I head out onto the evening street.

  I refuse to think about JJ. I’ve done everything I can to get away from him and what he did. I left my job, I left him—and yet he won’t leave my head. What he did is a wound that I can’t stop returning to, like a bruise you keep touching.

  The perfect man. That’s what people saw JJ as. That’s what I thought he was for a long, long time.

  Other people had their surface reasons for loving him: his professional success, his financial stability, abs that wouldn’t have been out of place in Magic Mike. And deeper things, too. His kindness. His generosity. His stunning reputation. Climbers, surfers, Olympic commentators, brand liaison officers: no one had a bad word to say about JJ.

  And me?

  He was the man that I loved.

  The man I promised to marry.

  The father I wanted for my children.

  As I stand with my arm out for a cab, the memories tug at me, clambering over my skin, cloying in my mouth, crowding at my chest.

  I remember him flying back for three hours between shoots in Finland and Austria, just so he could pick up some of my favorite ramen and bring it to me when I was sick. I remember the way he would hold me at night, and the way he would kiss me good morning. I remember the time I forgot my jacket for a late night baseball game, and he gave his to me and sat beside me shivering the entire time, refusing to take it back.

  I remember all those things, and I remember all of his beautiful promises. I drown in them until my throat aches.

  Because I also remember when they ended.

  It still makes me sick with anger. With bitterness. All of those moments that I cherished, I thought they meant everything—to us. But I was wrong.

  Because here is the truth of it all: that a man can be kind, and he can be good, and he can be generous. But if he’s an athlete, one day all of that will end.

  Because he loves his sport more than he will ever love you.

  * * *

  “You what?”

  I sigh, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against the window. Each vibration of the Parisian street under the taxi’s wheels rattles through me, jangling my nerves that are already shot.

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  My sister Claire harrumphs on the other end of the phone. “Raquel, he’s perfect.”

  “He’s my client.”

  “Was your client,” Claire protests without missing a beat. “He runs one of the most exciting non-profits on the West Coast. He’s the face of the entire concept of tech for good. He donates bags and bags of cash to local school districts. You know that, right? You told me about it. I’m not sure if he’s working on saving the freaking whales, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “I don’t want to date my ex-as-of-one-hour-ago client,” I correct.

  “He’s handsome!” I can hear Claire tapping away at a keyboard, no doubt Googling Greg Whittaker’s face. “Honestly, I think a date with him would be a great way to get back in the game.”

  Claire loves me, and I love Claire, and sisterhood is about the only thing that stops me from snapping at her. I’m fourteen hours into my day already, and if the stress of preparing Greg for the presentation wasn’t enough to make me cranky, everything else is.

  The date I turned down.

  What that says about my feelings.

  It’s myself I’m annoyed at, not Claire.

  “No. End of discussion,” I say as firmly as I can.

  Claire makes the kind of hmph that would go with a pout. “You just have cold feet because it’s the first time since JJ. You need to move on.”

  “It’s nothing to do with JJ,” I tell her firmly. “I have moved on.”

  I’m determined to shake the feeling that I’m telling myself as much as my sister.

  “Okay,” Claire sighs. “I guess you can always call him when he’s back in the States. What time are you flying tomorrow?”

  “Late. I’ll arrive in your evening.”

  “Are you going back to the hotel now?”

  “I wish.” That at least is a simple thing to say. I twist my aching toes in my shoes, feeling tiredness radiate over me. My day began at six a.m. in the gym, and I feel every hour of work through me. “I’m going to meet an old friend for dinner.”

  “Okay.” Claire makes an exaggerated mwah to the phone like she’s done since we were little kids. “See you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I tell her.

  Once I’ve clicked off the call, I settle back into my seat, giving myself one moment to breathe deeply before I get out my compact to start fixing my makeup.

  After what happened with Greg, the last thing I want to do is to go for dinner with Sarah. “An old friend,” I told Claire—and she is, kind of.

  But mostly she was my boss at the old job. The one I used to love.

  The one where I met JJ.

  She saw him choose a competition over me, and now the idea of seeing her…

  I can’t believe he’s still hurting me, even now.

  I’m in control of my life, I say to myself, my lips movingly silently over the words.

  As mantras go, I’m not sure how it’s working. Are they meant to be things you believe, or things you want?

  It’s almost eight p.m., and fourteen hours into my day I don’t feel in control of anything at all.

  JJ

  The next morning is weird for everyone.

  One: the weather’s bad, so no trip up in the helicopter and no working on the film.

  Two: Chase is being weird with Brooke.

  Three: Chase is being weird with everyone else.

  Hanne has been rescuing Chase and I from ourselves since we were teenagers, and she isn’t stopping now. As she’s settling into her huge helping of breakfast, she shoots us a look that belies her butter-wouldn’t-melt expression.

  “Why don’t we take the snowmobiles out? Go get some shots lower down. Just ’cause we’re not filming doesn’t mean we have to stay here.”

  I’m in, obviously. Even Chase nods after a moment. He might be in the mood of the century, but he’s still Chase. Boarding is breathing to him, too. And it will fix him, just like it always does.

  Hanne turns her head. “You in, Brooke?”

  I will Chase not to make an ass of himself. Of course he does anyway.

  “Risk’s up today.”

  Hanne throws him a look. People underestimate her because she’s a beautiful woman with pink streaks in her blonde hair. That’s one mistake they don’t get to make a second time. It’s not like Chase to forget that Hanne Lund never has, and never will, take any shit that even implies women can’t do everything a man can do.

  “She’s a big girl, Chase. She can decide what she’s comfortable going out in.”

  Chase is still looking like
a storm cloud. I scrape my knife loudly over my toast.

  “Looked good to me.”

  That’s not strictly true. The forecast didn’t look good. It looked acceptable. It looked like the kind of risk we’re all willing to take to do this thing we love. Especially because normally you roll the dice and it’s totally fine. If you never rolled them, you’d never have any fun at all.

  It looked like the kind of forecast I’m totally down with on a day like today, when I need to get out of my head and just be.

  There are some niceties left around asking the director and filmographer if they want to come—they don’t—but mostly my mind is already somewhere else. I leave the others at the table before heading out to gather my equipment. I left my board in the gear room after tuning it up last night, so I put that by the door out to the helipad. There’s my bag, my helmet, my neck warmer… Which just leaves my avalanche kit upstairs in my bedroom.

  When I get to the top of the stairs, Chase is standing in the hallway.

  He looks like shit. I don’t mean the massive shiner and split lip from his fall yesterday—though yeah, his face does look like crap. But he looks worse. Like a ghost. Like someone walked over his grave.

  Like I felt, when Raquel was pulling away from me.

  All these years he’s been a brother to me, and I’ve never seen him be like this.

  I’m frozen. I can’t say anything. He doesn’t see me before Brooke’s door opens.

  “Yeah?” her voice says from inside, and I can hear the hope in it. The tentative, fragile wish that she’s too afraid to voice out loud.

  Tell her, you asshole. Tell her.

  He’s not going to. I can see it in the grit of his jaw.

  “Nothing,” he says, stepping back and turning away to go down the hall to his own room.

  Brooke’s looking crestfallen when she almost bumps into me. She’s distracted enough that I don’t have to do a good impression of “just arriving” on the top stair.

  “Oh. Hey.” She pulls together that strong, fake smile she does all the time. “Are you getting your kit?”

  “Uh huh.” I make a smile of my own. “I’ll catch you downstairs.”

  In my room I grab my stuff automatically. I’m too worked up for even this to soothe me, the ritual of getting my gear together. Avalanche beacon, my backpack with its airbag.

  Somehow I know Chase will be standing in the hall when I come out. He’s gritting his teeth, his hands clenched uselessly at his side. Whenever he wants support Chase always looks like this. Surrounded by his own emotional fuck-up, unable to voice when he needs some love.

  His whole life I’ve been there for him, every time he needs me.

  Today?

  “No.”

  We’re both shocked by how harsh my voice is. We had a bit of a fight last night, but that never lasts. Not when it’s crew.

  Chase recoils back like he’s been burned. “What?”

  “No, man.” I tug my door closed behind me, the latch clicking too loudly. “It’s not fair to bring this shit to me. Tell her how you feel.”

  Hurt flickers over Chase’s face. Normally I’d reach out for him. Slap his back. Slide an arm around his shoulder. Instead I realize: I can’t fucking deal with this right now.

  How can he be so close to happiness and not reach out for it?

  How can he be so obviously in love with her and let her get away?

  “One day she’ll be gone.” My bitterness is dark. “One day it’ll be too late.”

  I leave him standing in the hall, taking the stairs two at a time to escape.

  There’s only one thing that can fix a mood like this.

  * * *

  My whole life, boarding has been everything.

  It’s given me my career. Medals, cups, a nice paycheck. Success and recognition.

  It’s given me my crew. “Friends” doesn’t begin to cover it. Everyone has friends. Not everyone has a second family. Another place you’ll always, unconditionally belong. There’s Hanne and Chase, the best friends I’ve had since we were teenage dirtbags stealing every moment we could to hit the slopes. Hunter, who arrived years later and isn’t here today but matters just as much. Together we’re the core of the False Kings, the best crew that’s ever ridden. And there are the others I love too, the friends who drift in and out, hanging with us when they want before they do other things: Aaron the filmographer. A couple of guys dotted around the places we film: Breckenridge, Colorado. Jackson, Wyoming. Park City in SLC.

  And now, newly arrived, Brooke with her camera—though she might not hang around if Chase continues being such a prick to her.

  But more than any of those things—more even than these people I love—riding gave me myself.

  It has always been there, its love just as unconditional as anything my crew has for me. Sure, it’s broken a lot of my bones. Several of them more than once. It’s chewed me up and spit me out more times than I can count, and at thirty-four I’m feeling that shit more than I used to.

  But it’s everything. When I ride, I know absolutely: this is what I’m meant to be doing.

  This is who I am.

  When I’m boarding, it’s the only time that things really make sense: on my board, surrounded by my crew, riding. When I’m doing that, nothing else matters. There’s just me and that feeling—the rush. Flow. That’s what Raquel talked about with all her clients. Reaching that one state where there’s no difference between you and what you do. She always said—

  I’m not thinking about that. I need to go. I turn the corner into the kitchen so fast that I grip the door frame to do it, speaking before Hanne’s even noticed me here.

  “Let’s go.”

  Hanne turns her start into a slide off her perch on the kitchen island, the movement fluid as she bends down to grab her bag. “Yes, sir.”

  It’s a tease, but there’s camaraderie in the way she bumps her shoulder to my bicep as she heads past. She knows I find what’s going on in the house difficult.

  Like hell am I watching Chase silently argue with his girl when he could still have her if he wanted. We’re not all that lucky.

  * * *

  We only take two snowmobiles. There’s not any chance for it to get awkward. Brooke’s quick to step over toward me rather than take one with Chase. She slides in behind me and presses her face to my shoulder, turning away from the side where Hanne and Chase take their own machine.

  Raquel used to rest her cheek against me like that.

  “You can’t teach people how to snowboard if you don’t do it yourself. Come on. That’s crazy.”

  “I don’t teach people how to snowboard,” Raquel corrects. “They’re professionals. They can already do it better than I’ll ever be able to.” She settles in behind me, pausing before she wraps her arms about my waist.

  We’re still newly enough together that her nearness makes me swallow. “So what do you teach them?”

  Raquel pauses before she speaks, her voice raised to tickle at my ear. “How to be the very best they can be.” She nudges my skull with her nose. “I fix what’s wrong in your head, not in your legs.”

  I don’t know if I want to let myself imagine that the body warm behind mine is Raquel’s. It feels nice, to enjoy the dream for a moment. But when you know it’s a dream… that’s its own kind of torture.

  Whatever Raquel fixed, it wasn’t my head.

  We can’t get to the area we’ve picked out quickly enough. I wait until Brooke’s off the snow machine before swinging my own leg over. We’ve stopped in a valley leading down to a river. Up here in Bella Coola, there’s no visible water at this time of year—just ice, showing here and there where the snow has been scraped away. Above us the slope rises beyond the trees to the white ridge.

  The far side of the river—that’s setting off alarm bells for me. It’d probably be fine, but I wouldn’t want to risk it. There’s something in the angle of the drop and the patterns of shade which just looks wrong to me.

&n
bsp; This side, though…

  Hanne pauses beside me as she huffs her backpack on, looking up. “Seems okay, huh? Let’s check it out.”

  It’s hard work hiking up a slope in powder and a shit ton of snow gear, but as we move I feel lighter every step. I’m out here—I’m free—and with every breath I exhale all the shit that’s dragging me down. In the world beyond there’s my fucked up life—alone and lonely. Here, there’s my family. My calling. My passion.

  Here I feel my heart beating, on and on, and I feel like I’m going to make it.

  Hanne takes charge of digging into the snowpack, pulling out her shovel and setting into the snow. After so many years, reading the layers of the snowpack is second nature. She knows the textures that would say don’t, the lines that mean danger. Brooke crouches beside her, listening to Hanne’s murmured advice. It’s not often a twenty-four-year-old gets to listen to advice from one of the world’s greatest in their own field.

  Chase stands off to one side like the moody bastard he can be. I guess that’s the difference in us. It’s not that I don’t have my own woman problems. But I force on a smile, going over to stand by the girls. We’ve all done this a hundred times. It’s routine, trying to read danger in snow, taking turns to argue why we should ride—and, for safety, trying out the arguments for why we shouldn’t.

  Riding wins. We decide on our escape point: one turn we can take that comes out over the trees, peaking over a crest of rock. If there is trouble, it won’t go that way—we’ll be able to watch any snow run safely past us.

  I’m hardly listening—not as we decide on that, not as Brooke boards down to a good spot for filming us as we go past. I can’t even care anymore about Chase’s bad mood, or the way Hanne’s humming to herself in that way she does when she’s excited.

  I can’t wait to get started. Can’t wait to be free.

  Just like every time, boarding saves me.

  As we take turns cutting broad curves over the slopes, all of my worries fade away. I’m drawn back into the present moment, into the here, the now. The way that my board feels as it glides through powder. The sure feeling of my body doing what it’s made to do.