Shattered: An Extreme Risk Novel (21 page)

We hit the half-pipe early the next morning, almost before the sun is up in the sky. Normally the resort doesn’t have a half-pipe—boarding Chile is all about the Andes—but Z hired someone to build one before we even got down here, and then made sure there was someone around who actually knew how to care for it and keep it in good condition. It seems crazy to think about him spending close to fifty grand on a half-pipe for a week, but then it’s no more crazy than what he’s spent on this whole trip.

I mean it’s awesome, and I’m glad to see him putting some of the money he inherited to use to help Timmy, but still, the half-pipe seems a bit excessive on top of everything else. Unless I take into account the rest of his agenda, which is much more about me than it is about Timmy. I know he did this for Timmy because he’s a good person and he helps where he can, but he also did this because he wants to get me back on a board permanently.

He wants to make me remember how much I love snowboarding. How much I love the thrill of riding backcountry and how I love barging the half-pipe even more.

What he doesn’t know is that I’m already there. Even after everything that happened yesterday—even after the avalanche and Logan’s panic and the fact that I was very nearly buried alive—I’d board backcountry again in a second. I’d do the Andes, the Alps, the Rockies. Hell, I’d even do the death traps of Patagonia again if it meant I got a chance to ride. I don’t really give a shit where I ride as long as I ride.

Which, of course, is exactly why I can’t do it.

I used to think I had goals, plans, ambitions for my boarding. Used to think I rode because I was good at it and because it would get me an X Games medal, an Olympic medal, give me a career I both enjoyed and was good at. But now that I’ve gone seven months without boarding, I know the truth.

I board because I’m a fucking junkie. A snowboarding junkie, an adrenaline junkie. It doesn’t fucking matter. I love everything about snowboarding, the good and the bad. The exhilarating and the terrifying. Even the insane.

Yesterday was no exception. Even in the middle of that fucking avalanche, when I thought for sure I was going to buy it, there was something amazing in the ride. Something that
made me feel alive like nothing else ever has.

And that’s what Z doesn’t understand.

He’s an adrenaline junkie and the most fucking talented snowboarder I’ve ever met, but boarding isn’t in his blood. Not the way it’s in mine. He does it because it gives him a rush. I do it because I don’t feel alive if I’m not on a snowboard. I don’t feel much of anything.

For most of my life snowboarding was everything to me and I know—I know—how easy it would be to slip right back into that. How easy it would be to forget, just like I did yesterday.

To forget that my snowboarding killed my parents, paralyzed my brother.

To forget that I’m responsible for Logan.

To forget how much he needs me.

To forget … everything.

I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever again. Which is why I’m going to do this week for Timmy, but that’s it. Once I get back to Park City, I’m getting rid of my gear and hanging up my snowboard boots forever.

It’s the only way.

“Hey, Ash, you ready, man?” Luc nods to the half-pipe. “It’s your turn.”

“Yeah.” I pick up my board, start the short, steep hike to the deck of the pipe while trying to look like I don’t give a shit about anything. Like my fucking stomach isn’t sinking through the ground and the thought of giving up snowboarding forever makes it hard to breathe. Hard to think.

But Timmy didn’t come all the way down here for a front row seat to my identity crisis, so I paste a smile on my face as I pass him. I even pause to bump fists with him on the way up, to ruffle his hair a little. He grins at me and I grin back. I can’t help it. The kid’s happiness is fucking infectious. Not to mention it puts all my shit in perspective. I may never get to snowboard again, but this kid—this kid is never going to get to grow up. Hell, he’s not even going to see his next birthday.

“Good luck up there, Ash!”

“Thanks, man. Any special requests?”

Timmy’s eyes go wide at the question. “Can you do a YOLO flip? I mean, if you can’t, it’s fine but—”

“That’s more Z’s specialty,” I say, cutting him off before he gets too wound up. “But I’ll try. Fair enough?”

“Yeah. That’d be totally sick!”

I turn to my brother, who’s sitting next to him on the bench. Logan’s smiling, too, though not as widely as Timmy. “How about you? Anything you want me to throw down out there?”

“How ’bout a double McTwist 1440?” he challenges.

I laugh. “I haven’t been on a half-pipe in seven months and you think I’m going to be able to bust out with that? You guys really do have me confused with Z. How about a 1260?”

Logan sighs heavily. “But you always do that one. You should try something new!”

“Yeah, so I can break my neck?” I joke before thinking better of it.

The second the words are out of my mouth, I want to call them back. Want to bury them. I’m such a fucking idiot. Logan didn’t break his neck, but he did sever part of his spinal cord—hence the irreversible paralysis. Could I get any more insensitive?

Except Logan doesn’t seem to make the connection. He just laughs along with Timmy—at least until he gets a look at my face. My guilt must be written there, because his smile fades and his eyes turn angry.

He opens his mouth to say something that I’m pretty sure will slice right through me, but Cam chooses that minute to walk up behind me. I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful for her intervention in my life.

And when she defends me, saying, “Dude, there really aren’t that many boarders in the world who can land a double McTwist 1260 let alone the 1440,” I know she heard the whole conversation and really has come to rescue me from my own stupidity.

Thank God.

“You know, I can’t,” she continues.

“That doesn’t count. No girl can do more than a 1080,” my brother tells her with an exaggerated eye roll. “Everyone knows that. You’re just not strong enough.”

“Oh, really?” Cam’s eyes turn to narrow slits. “How about we test out that theory, see how strong I really am? I bet I can kick
your
ass. That’s got to count for something.” She pretends to punch him in the stomach.

“Oooh, I’m so scared,” Logan mocks her. “You almost broke a nail on that one.”

“You
should
be scared, little man. I’m small, but I’m mighty.” She flexes her biceps, has both boys snorting with laughter. Then she lashes out again, this time lands a solid punch against Logan’s shoulder.

He jolts a little under the blow and I jump forward instinctively to steady him. “Hey! What the hell! Be careful!”

Cam looks at me in surprise. “I was just—”

“She was just playing, Ash!” Logan shoves my hands off his shoulders, glares at me. “I’m fine! Jesus, I’m not a total invalid, you know. I don’t need you to protect me every second of the day.”

“Of course I know that. I just—”

“Do you really? Because you treat me like I’m a little kid all the time. Like I’m going to fucking break if someone breathes on me wrong. And I’m not. I’m not so pathetic that I can’t
still take a fake punch from a girl.”

“Hey, that was a real punch,” Cam interjects, trying to head off the fight I know she can see brewing. “I was trying to knock you over.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Well then, you need to start hitting the weights, girl. Because that was pathetic.”

“Oh, yeah?” She steps forward, gets him in a headlock and starts messing up his perfectly styled hair while he laughs and pleads with her to stop.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to intervene, not to demand that she let him go, that she stop playing so roughly. Which is ridiculous, because this is Cam. She’s been here from the very beginning, has gone through everything right along with Logan and me. She knows what he can take. I know she does.

Not to mention the fact that if I say another word about it, Logan will take my fucking head off. And I’ll deserve it. It’s just hard to remember that he’s okay when I spend so much of my time worrying about something else happening to him. About something taking him away from me.

“Logan—” I start to speak, not sure what I’m supposed to say here, but knowing that I have to say something. I can’t just leave things like this.

Except he ignores me, even after Cam stops messing with him. He actually turns his back on me, refusing to so much as acknowledge my existence even as I stand there, trying to get in his face.

“Hey,” Tansy says, as she walks over to us. “I thought we were supposed to see some snowboarding this morning.” She looks inquiringly at Cam and me. “Whose turn is it?”

“Mine. I just want to—” I break off as she shakes her head at me, her eyes understanding but firm. I can tell from her expression that she heard the whole conversation, that—like Cam—she came over to keep me from tanking things even worse than I already have.

Unlike with Cam, I listen to her. I don’t know why. It’s not like we have any real history together, not the way Cam and I do. It’s just, there’s something about her expression, something about the look in her eyes that tells me she’s been where Logan and I are. And that she somehow has a road map to get me out of it, if only I’ll listen to her.

“Well, then, get up there!” she tells me, giving me a little push toward the pipe. “I want to see a backside rodeo 1080 done the hard way. And maybe even a Lando-roll or two.”

My mouth literally falls open, as do Cam’s and Logan’s and even Timmy’s.

“What?” Tansy asks after a second of being stared at like she grew an extra head.

“I just—I didn’t know you followed snowboarding,” I tell her.

She smiles serenely. “I’m pretty sure there’s a lot about me you don’t know, Ash.”

“She’s got you there,” Cam says with a laugh, even as she links arms with me and starts
dragging me up the edge of the pipe.

I can’t help looking back at Tansy as we climb. She’s settled herself between Timmy and Logan, an arm around each of their shoulders. And she must be telling a joke or making fun of me or doing something funny, because the boys are literally howling with laughter.

I can’t help smiling along with them, just because it’s good to see my brother so happy. Tansy, too, especially after the way last night ended.

She didn’t seem weird when she came up to me down there, which I have to admit I was expecting after that strange, awkward walk back to her room last night. I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what I want to do about her. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, don’t have time to be distracted from Logan and all the factors that go into his recovery.

At the same time, holding Tansy—kissing her, going down on her—was incredible last night. So much better than fucking random snowbunnies like I’ve been doing for the last seven months. And if this was a different time or Logan and I were at a different place in our lives, I would be all over Tansy. All over trying to make something work between us.

But it isn’t a different time and it isn’t a different place and the last thing I should be thinking about is a girl who smells like vanilla and tastes like the sweetest, smoothest sugar. The last thing I should be doing is wondering how to get her into bed.

And yet I am.

Now, she’s down there with my brother, teasing him, making him laugh, getting along with him better than I have since the accident.

I don’t know how I feel about that any more than I know how I feel about her.

By the time I get to the top of the pipe and strap my board on, I’m more confused than I’ve been in months. I glance back down at where Tansy sits with Logan and Timmy, watch as she leans into my brother and whispers something in his ear that makes him smile hugely.

She’s right. There’s a lot about her I don’t know. A lot about her I want to know.

I flop down on my bed, close my eyes and pray for the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole. Or for an avalanche to come and bury me. Or for one of the volcanoes this region is known for to erupt and burn me alive with lava. Any of that—all of it—would have to be easier than facing Ash again.

It’s ridiculous. I’ve spent my whole life fighting cancer and I’m going to end up dying of humiliation. Karma really is a bitch.

I mean, I’ve seen Ash all day, have faced him
all
day. I even managed to talk to him when he was making such a hash of things with Logan out on the half-pipe. But that was different—he was flailing around so pathetically that I had to do something to save him before the whole day went down in flames.

Besides, it was easier when Timmy and Logan were there. They’re both young enough that they really don’t pick up on things below the surface. For example, they didn’t notice the way Ash kept looking at me, kept trying to catch my eye. The way his eyes kept searching mine, like he was trying to figure out what was going on in my head.

Part of me wanted to reassure him that I was fine. That just because he gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life—and then rejected me (and can I just ask how bad was I at the whole hand job thing that he not only turned me down but he actually pried my hand off his dick)—doesn’t mean that I feel awkward around him. And it doesn’t mean that I’ve suddenly fallen in love with him. Sure, I’m already the pathetic girl who agreed to sleep with him when it turns out he wasn’t even offering—I probably should have learned my lesson then—but that doesn’t mean I’m painting pictures in my head of us living happily ever after. It doesn’t mean that I expect anything from him—he has more than enough on his plate right now. And sure, maybe I have a teeny, tiny, little crush on him, but come on. Who wouldn’t? The man has a seriously talented tongue.

Still, I better get a handle on this and fast, because while I’ve spent most of today avoiding him, I have a feeling that shit isn’t going to fly tomorrow. Not if the way he was looking at me at dinner tonight was any indication. Again, not that I’m surprised. Ash isn’t exactly the kind of guy to just let things go, happy to ignore whatever he doesn’t want to deal
with. No, he’s the kind of guy who meets life head-on, who takes whatever life hands him and finds a way to face it or deal with it or accept it—whatever needs to be done—and then moves past it.