by Tracy Wolff
Chapter 8
Tansy
Just stop.
The words echo in the room around us and they shut me up, exactly as I think Ash intended. Part of me wants to ask what specifically he wants me to stop. Talking? Planning? Breathing? From the look on his face, I’m afraid it’s all of the above.
But that doesn’t make sense, right? I mean, I’ve agreed with everything he’s wanted. Everything he’s asked. Yeah, I put my foot down about the storage closet, but surely that’s negotiable.
I mean, how many girls actually want to lose their virginity in a storage closet?
It’s never been a dream of mine, but then, up until recently, I never let myself dream about anything. It was too painful to think about a future I’d never get the chance to live.
But Ash is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have. That was a lot of talking I just did. But I couldn’t help it. Once I started, my nerves took over and I couldn’t stop. The words literally fell out of my mouth without any conscious effort on my part whatsoever.
Now that I’ve finally shut up—thanks to Ash—I can’t help wondering if it was crazy of me to agree to his demands so easily. Yes, I’ve been thinking about those moments at the resort, and what could have happened if I’d let it, from pretty much the second I walked away from him the other day. Thinking about the way his mouth felt on my skin, his breath hot against my neck. And while I know most people would think it was demeaning of me to take his deal—to exchange sex for a snowboarding trip, even one this important—the truth is I don’t feel like that at all.
I mean, when else am I going to have the chance to sleep with a guy—any guy, let alone one as hot and drop-dead gorgeous as Ash? I’m nineteen years old and I’m not just a virgin, but a complete novice when it comes to guys. I have no idea how to flirt or how to attract their attention. To be honest, I barely know how to hold a casual conversation with someone I’m not related to.
Not to mention the fact that I’m not exactly what I think anyone would call sexy. I have an okay face, I guess, but that hasn’t gotten me very far. Especially considering that years of cancer treatments have left me short, close to bald and way too skinny. There’s a part of me that figures this second offer from Ash will probably be the only one I get for a while and I’m not ready to let it slip past.
Except, he’s looking a little green and nowhere near as enthusiastic about my acceptance as I thought he’d be. Hoped he’d be. God, have I screwed this up before we even got started? I seriously can’t believe how hard it is for a girl to lose her virginity in this city.
Eventually, I get tired of waiting for Ash to speak—and tired of him staring at me like I’m an alien from another planet. “What’s wrong? You look like I just kicked your dog.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “What’s wrong? You just agreed to fuck me so that I’d go on a trip with you.”
“But I thought that was what you wanted!” Now I’m really confused. “You said—”
“What I wanted was for you to get pissed off. I thought you’d slap me and storm out. It never occurred to me that you’d actually take me up on it.”
The truth of what’s going on here finally registers and my stomach hits my brand-new, high-heeled boots with a powerful thud. Oh, God. Ohgodohgodohgod!
He doesn’t want me. At all. At all. I mean, it’s not like I thought he really wanted me, me, but I thought he at least found me attractive enough to sleep with. He did come on to me the other day, after all. But he doesn’t. Not even for a one-night thing. Not even for a one-hour thing. He was just trying to get rid of me. Trying to make me go away.
Oh my God. Oh my God. What have I done?
Humiliation sweeps through me and I can feel tears blooming, hot and wet, in the corners of my eyes. Considering I gave up crying a long time ago, it’s doubly humiliating.
I turn away before he can see them, blink fast and furiously in an effort to get rid of the evidence. I’m not going to cry about this and I’m sure as hell not going to cry about it here, in front of him.
“Tansy?” Ash sounds as confused as I feel. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay? I want to ask incredulously. He just stomped all over the one, tiny little piece of self-confidence I’ve actually managed to hold on to and he wants to know if I’m okay? Is he serious? What am I even supposed to say to that?
I take a second, try to even out my ragged breathing so I don’t look and sound as deranged—as pathetic—as I obviously am. Letting Ash see how much he’s shaken me is so not going to happen. I mean, my self-esteem might be shot to hell but I still have my pride.
“I’m good,” I tell him with a little laugh and a totally unnecessary flip of my too-short hair, even as I pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
“A little embarrassed that I didn’t realize just how desperate you were to get out of this trip. But good.” I still can’t look at him.
“Tansy, I’m sorry,” he says to my back. “That was a jerk move for me to pull—”
“No problem,” I answer in the most carefree voice I can manage, even as I glance frantically around for my purse. “Misunderstandings happen all the time.”
“That wasn’t a misunderstanding,” he tells me. “That was me being an ass.”
I can’t disagree with that, so I just keep my mouth shut. My purse. My purse. Where is my stupid—I spy it lying on the floor near the door and all but lunge for it. “I’ve got to go. It’s getting late and I have a …”
I try frantically to come up with an excuse, any excuse, but my mind is completely blank. Well, except for the humiliation of being told that I’m so unattractive, so … so unfuckable, that he couldn’t believe I’d take him seriously. For some reason, I can remember that all too well.
“Tansy.” He catches my arm, spins me around like I weigh nothing. “Please. Look at me.”
I don’t want to. I really don’t want to. But we’re facing each other now and it would be weird if I didn’t look at him. So I reach for the hard-rock persona I put on this morning one more time, and try to pretend the last ten minutes never happened.
Thank God for the blue hair and bitch boots.
“I’m looking at you,” I tell him with another careless toss of my head. “Now what?”
He shakes his head. “Now I apologize for being a total tool. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You already apologized.” I force a laugh and though it’s a little hard, at least it sounds genuine. I think. And if it doesn’t, I don’t want to know about it. “Besides, you didn’t hurt me. I just didn’t realize you were going to go all sensitive on me.”
“Sensitive?” He spits the word out like it’s a curse. Actually, from what I know about him, he’s infinitely more comfortable with curse words than he is with the one I just threw at him. Good. Why should I be the only one out of her comfort zone?
“Yeah, you know. All squeamish about a simple biological function.”
“Biological function?”
“Dude, you’re beginning to sound like a parrot.” I tap his mouth, which is still hanging open just a little bit. “It’s not the best look for you.”
“Not the best—” He breaks off, pressing his lips together so hard that they turn white.
“I need to get going,” I tell him, slinging my purse strap onto my shoulder. “I’ve got to go break a little kid’s heart before my date tonight.”
He lets go of me so fast I nearly stumble. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been straining in the opposite direction until he’d actually let go of me.
“That’s a shitty thing to say, Tansy.”
“Maybe. But it’s even shittier to cancel on him now that he’s all excited about the trip.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his neck in a gesture I’m beginning to recognize as a tell for his frustration level. “I really am. If I’d had any idea what Logan was planning, I never would have let it get this far.”
“But
it did get this far. And ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t really going to cut it when I try to explain the situation to Timmy.”
“Jesus.” He glares at me. “You really know how to twist the knife, don’t you?”
“Hey, I’m just being honest.”
“I was honest, too, you know. From the beginning. I told you what I could and couldn’t do.”
“No. You told me what you would and wouldn’t do. It’s not the same thing. You can go to Chile. You’re just choosing not to.”
“Logan—”
“Stop using your brother as an excuse!”
“He’s not an excuse!”
“Sure he is. Maybe you don’t see it that way, but I do. And so does he, or he wouldn’t have gone behind your back the way he did.”
What little color was left in Ash’s face drains out at my words, leaving him ghost pale and just as unsteady. “You don’t understand anything.”
I should go. Enough time has passed that it wouldn’t look like I was running away, and besides, we’re not going to get anything accomplished here. Ash isn’t going to change his mind and I’m not going to change mine. It would be better for him, better for me, better for Logan, even, if I just walked out now and never came back.
As for Timmy, well Timmy already knows that life rarely works out the way it’s supposed to. He’s just going to have to learn to deal with this latest in a long line of disappointments, no matter how much I wish it was different for him.
Except, as I glance over Ash’s shoulder, a movement in the doorway catches my eye. It’s Logan, in his wheelchair. He’s sitting tall and silent and completely still, except for the frantic shaking of his head.
For a moment I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me, what he wants me to do. Except he’s silently mouthing something and as I study his mouth, I realize that the word he keeps repeating, is Please.
Combined with the look on his face, it breaks my resolve. Just shatters it wide open and I grit my teeth as I curse fate, the universe and my damn bleeding heart. Seriously? Can I really just not catch a break here?
Taking a deep breath, I grab on to Ash’s chin, force his blank gaze to meet mine. “Ash, look, this whole thing has been a disaster from the very beginning. I’m sorry about that. I take full responsibility for everything that’s happened.”
He shakes his head, zones back in. “Tansy, no—”
“It’s my turn to talk,” I interrupt. “Please.”
He doesn’t look happy, but he nods, and doesn’t say anything else, so I keep barreling through an explanation that I haven’t had time to plan out and that I barely comprehend myself. “Look, I understand a lot more than you give me credit for. You don’t want Logan to get hurt. You’re afraid the trip is going to be too hard for him. You think he’s not going to be able to handle everything that it entails.
“I don’t know if that’s the case or not. If it is, then I’ll be the first one to say that we don’t go. The last thing I would ever want is to put your brother in any kind of jeopardy. But I think it’s fairly obvious that he wants to go. More, that he wants you to go. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have done what he did. So I think you owe it to him—not yourself, not even Timmy—but him, to explore the options. To see what’s possible.
“Talk to his doctors, see what he needs to make the trip. See if he even can make the trip. If not, we’ll go up to Oregon like we originally planned. But know that whatever he needs, I’ll get it for him. I promise. If I need to go back to the donor and get more money, then I’ll do that, too. Whatever it takes to keep Logan safe and healthy, I’m on board for.
“But, please, please, don’t reject this without even thinking about it. I think it would be a mistake. For you, your brother and for Timmy. I—” My voice breaks a little and I clear my throat, force myself to talk through the embarrassment and the sadness that are filling me up.
“I already told Timmy this was a done deal. I don’t want to call him back and tell him it isn’t. That it was all a mistake. Please, Ash.” I reach out, lay a hand on his arm, and I swear I can feel the burn from the contact all the way to the bone. “He’s so excited. He wants to meet you so badly, wants to watch you snowboard so badly. So does Logan. Please, don’t make me ruin that for either of them.”
My voice breaks on the last few words and I turn my head, totally ashamed of my lack of professionalism. But, God, nothing else about this situation has been professional. Why should I worry about starting now?
“Why does it matter to you so much?” he demands after a second. “Why this kid? Why this trip?”
“Because Timmy’s been through hell. For months, years. Practically his whole life has been about fighting cancer. Blood transfusions, bone marrow transplants, chemotherapy, radiation, surgeries. He’s spent his entire life dealing with all that crap and now, now he and his parents have been told that it was all useless. That all his suffering was for nothing. That he’s going to die anyway.
“I just want him to have something good, something that’s awesome and amazing and all his, before that happens. I want him to have something to take out of this life with him.”
“Fuck.” The word is ripped from Ash again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He looks almost deranged as he shoves his hands through his hair. I reach out for him, because how can I not? Even after everything that’s happened here—everything he’s said to me—he’s so hurt. In so much pain. So shattered. How can I not want to help?
My hand skims down his back at the same moment he spots Logan, huddled in the doorway. “How long have you been there?” he demands hoarsely.
Logan sticks his chin in the air, keeping his gaze steady on his brother’s. “Long enough to know that we’re going to Chile.”
Ash studies him with eyes turned the color of a stormy winter sky. “Are you sure?”
Logan nods. “Dude, I’m paralyzed. Yeah, it sucks. But I’m still here and I’m going to still be here for a long time. That kid, who’s almost my age, who could be me if I wasn’t so much luckier … all he wants before he dies is to meet you. To see you board. So, yeah, I’m sure.”
Ash doesn’t react right away, but then, neither do I. How can I when this kid—this fourteen-year-old kid who has already been through so much in his life—just made everything crystal clear?
There’s some kind of secret, nonverbal communication going on between the brothers as well. Even if I didn’t see it, I would feel it crackling in the air all around me. Still, my knees almost go out from under me when Ash nods decisively. “Okay, then. We’re going to Chile.”
He slowly crosses to his brother, crouches down before him and pulls the younger boy into his arms. As the two of them start to talk, really talk, I head for the front door. Let myself out. There will be time enough for me to contact Ash tomorrow about the details. Tonight, he and Logan need some time for just the two of them.
As I climb into my car, I try to focus on all the great things that just happened. Focus on the relief and the happiness that come with knowing Timmy will get his Make-A-Wish, and maybe—maybe—so will Logan.
It’s easy to do. It is. After all, for the last five days I’ve been focused on this to the exclusion of almost everything else. And if there’s a little voice screaming inside of me, reminding me of the pathetic, ridiculous fool I just made of myself—well, then, I shove it down deep. Put on my proverbial earplugs. And pretend with everything I have inside of me that I don’t feel unattractive.
Unfeminine.
Completely unfuckable.
It might even work, too, if I hadn’t spent the last decade of my life making it a policy never to lie to myself, no matter how unpleasant my reality is.
Chapter 9
Ash
This is a bad idea. A very bad idea.
Those nine words are my mantra as I pack up my snowboarding gear. I’ve left it for last, behind helping Logan pack for the trip, triple- and quadruple-checking his medications and talking to Victor, the home heal
th care aide that is going to accompany us on the trip because Sarah has family responsibilities and can’t just take off for an eight-day trip to South America at a moment’s notice. Or at least that’s what she told me when she turned the trip down. Unlike me, she actually gets away with that excuse. Not that I’m bitter or anything.
Everything has gone like clockwork so far—the dates, the chartered plane, the medical equipment—which for Logan isn’t any more than what we’d need at home at this point—but that only makes me nervous. If I’ve learned nothing else from my parents’ deaths and everything that came after, it’s that shit always turns ugly when things are running the most smoothly.
We’re halfway to the airport when I dial Z. Of course, the coward doesn’t pick up, but then I didn’t actually expect him to. He’s been avoiding me for the week since I decided to do this, knowing, I’m sure, that I have every intention of chewing his ass about the donor thing.
I get his voicemail for about the twentieth time in eight days and this time I don’t beat around the bush. “You can’t dodge my calls forever, asshole. I’m going to kick your ass eventually, and we both know it, so you might as well pick up the phone … Look, I’m almost at the airport. I talked to Cam and Luc last night, but I didn’t want to take off for the fucking Andes without at least saying good-bye. So good-bye. You dick … And … thanks. For everything.”
Another thing my parents’ crash taught me. You never know ahead of time that it’s the last time you’re ever going to talk to someone. If you did, everything would be different. If I’d known … well, if I’d known, I would have had a lot more to say to my mom and dad than “Don’t forget to bring the video camera I forgot” or “Yeah, sure, I’d love some of your homemade snickerdoodles, Mom.”
I don’t know what I would have said—maybe “Don’t come” or “Be careful” or “I love you.” Who knows, but it would have been a lot more important than an offhand comment about a bunch of fucking cookies.
I finish the call, just as we pull onto the tarmac at the Salt Lake City airport. Like any big airport, it’s got a smaller terminal and separate tarmac for charter flights—I know ’cuz I’ve gone this route with Z a few times before. A couple years ago, he got a wild hair up his ass about boarding Patagonia, so we flew down there by private charter. The boarding was sick as hell—we nearly died, but that’s pretty much to be expected when you’re riding lines that are close to fucking Antarctica.
