Buried Alive

by Brown, Stacey Marie

  “Rhys will take questions tomorrow at the press conference. Tonight he has to rest. Primaries start early,” my agent’s voice boomed behind me as he addressed the crowd standing ankle deep in the snow. I was a hot commodity right now, and Graham was going to take every opportunity to progress my “brand.” I understood but still detested it. Snide remarks from some other snowboarders told me I wasn’t alone. Some knew me, knew how long and hard I had worked for this, understood the reason I took a few years off. Others saw me as capitalizing on my misfortune.

  That was one reason why my agent and I didn’t always see eye to eye.

  The last time I was in his office in Colorado, where I’d lived and trained since I was a kid, Graham had his “agent” talk with me: “Rhys, you’re extremely talented. We all know that, but so are a hundred others out there. You have something unique. A story the press can’t get enough of, and a face the sponsors want on their product. You don’t fit the snowboarder mold; you’re tall and built similar to a swimmer, and you’re getting older. We need to take advantage of this now. You might only have this one chance to get to the Olympics, and you know it.”

  I did. I still hated it, but I let him do what he needed. It was cool to be the first person the press screamed for or wanted an interview with, but that familiar sinking feeling would open up inside me when they directed the conversation to my brother.

  A huge perk from the press was the attention from the women. I had never struggled in that area, even when I was a preteen. My dark hair and eyes had brought me a lot of interest the moment I hit puberty. I was now well over six feet and in great shape, which was a little unusual for a snowboarder. Working out took the edge off my anger and helped me relax.

  I hit the gym a lot.

  Shaun shoved me through the doors of the lodge where the warm air burned my skin as if someone put a branding iron to it. My nose started to run from the severe temperature change.

  “You must ice your knee. It’s swelling more than I’d like.” Shaun shook his head. After I’d taken a tumble a few years back, my knee had not been as strong and was a common topic of conversation between us lately.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’m sorry, did you think I was offering you a choice?” Shaun’s lids narrowed, his lips thinning into a line. “You want to risk it so close to the elimination round tomorrow?”

  I rubbed my face. He was right. Shaun was pretty much the only one who got away with telling me what to do. He’d been my coach since I was seven. He was family, and he sure acted like my father most of the time.

  “Rhys!” Various members of press and fans mulled around the lobby calling out my name.

  “I promise I will get you a private cabin soon.” Graham walked up beside us, his fingers typing away at his phone. “I’m going to have a talk with Oscar. He should have moved those people around for you.”

  “Moved?” I snorted. “It’s a wedding party.”

  “So?” Graham shrugged. He had been married three times so far and none of them ended well. He was obsessed with work. With me. Relationships were not even in the top five on his priority list. You could see why his marriages never worked out.

  For an agent, Graham was an okay guy. He didn’t look like a typical agent, which I liked. He was in his late thirties, good looking, shorter than me, with blond hair and blue eyes. Some compared him to Brad Pitt. His looks had worked in our favor many times. Reporters, reps, hotel staff, you name it, all bent over backward for him. He had a flashy car but chose jeans and a blazer over suits. Up here he was in full winter gear.

  Shaun, on the other hand, was an ex-Olympic skier, my height, bald, with a sharp face and nose, thick beard, and bright hazel eyes. He never looked happy but was actually a pretty even-tempered guy. Tough, but always fair. In his early fifties, he was still in pretty good shape. His wife died five years before, and his two grown kids had their own families, so he became even more dedicated to my training. Shaun tolerated Graham, but most of the time I think he wanted to toss him down the mountain.

  Click. Click. Cameras went off around me, plucking my nerves. Most days I didn’t mind, even welcomed it, but after my horrible run on the halfpipe, my mood was running low.

  “All right, I’m gonna head up. You better ice that knee and get some sleep.” Shaun cuffed my shoulder, his face stern, before turning and heading to the elevator.

  Sleep? Something that hadn’t come easy to me in the last nine years.

  “We have three very important sponsorship meetings tomorrow after you compete in the morning. I want you at your best.” Graham stared at his phone, his fingers moving quickly over the pad. “See you tomorrow.” Without even looking up, he headed to the hotel bar.

  I sighed, my feet taking me toward the lift to my room, ready to rinse off the day and eat.

  “Rhys?” A woman’s voice halted me in my tracks, my stomach plummeting.

  Fuck. I knew that voice. Fuck.

  I ran my hand through my hair and turned slowly around. “Carrie.”

  A beautiful blonde stood there. Her five-foot-six-inch frame was trim in jeans, boots, and a blue off-the-shoulder sweater. A beanie contained her curly hair. On the outside she was natural and gorgeous. Low maintenance and chill. A girl you’d picture on a snowboard or even a surfboard, but her personality didn’t quite match the exterior.

  I had to remind myself of the endless fighting and headaches we caused each other. We had started seeing each other when I was sixteen, and we had broken up and gotten back together so many times I lost count.

  Graham loved us together. If I was the prince of snowboarding, then she was the princess. To everyone else we made sense. The perfect match. It took me a long time to grow up and see it didn’t go deeper than that. Carrie and I were superficially amazing together, but a nightmare as a real couple with lots of drama. When I was younger it was actually hard to let go of it: the rush of our fights, of the make-ups. It was probably why I now ran to girls who wanted nothing more than a night with me. No drama, no strings.

  “It’s good to see you.” Carrie licked her lips, her blue eyes moving hungrily over me.

  “Yeah, it’s been a while.” I cupped the back of my neck with one palm. Silence filled the space between us quickly.

  Her lips twisted, her gaze going to the side. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “What do you want me to say, Carrie?”

  Her eyes darted to me, narrowing. “That maybe you missed me. It’s good to see me too.”

  “It’s always good to see you.” My fingers dug into my skin.

  “But you didn’t miss me?” Her gaze swung back to me, sharp and direct.

  I couldn’t stop my internal groan from escaping through my teeth. “Carrie…” I shifted my feet. Where the hell was the elevator? “I’m not going to start this crap with you again.”

  “Fuck you, Rhys. I wasn’t asking for anything more than a simple hello. To be mature about this,” she snapped, spinning away from me. “Oh, and good luck tomorrow.” She walked away, her hips swinging, for my benefit I knew. Granted, she was fucking hot and sometimes I did miss her. But more because we had known each other so long it was second nature for us to be together. Good or bad. In moments such as these I had to remember it was usually more bad than good.

  Ding.

  The elevator door split open, welcoming me to walk away from the temptation of Carrie. I took it, punching at my floor button frantically.

  I sighed with relief when the doors shut, cutting off my chances of calling out for her. She came into my life when I needed to forget my trauma, when I was slipping away from myself. She was comfortable. Easy. And the sex had been pretty good.

  No, Rhys. You don’t work together, I reminded myself.

  With my shitty run, and the press hounding me, I was restless and agitated. I got off the elevator and went to my room. The silence of life thundered in my ears as I stepped in.

  I squeezed my neck again gazing around my empty
room.

  Alone.

  The ghosts twisted around in my head, nipping in my ear, telling me I wasn’t good enough. A fraud. Someone no one wanted or loved.

  “Fuck.” I tugged my phone out of my pocket, already knowing I was making a huge mistake, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  The phone rang once.

  “Yeah?” her voice purred.

  “You want to come up?” I spoke fast, getting it out before I came to my senses. “Sorry, I was an asshole.”

  There was a pause.

  “Yeah. I do.” She exhaled happily. “Room?”

  “Six-o-six.”

  “See you in a bit.” The phone clicked off.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I fell against my door, knowing I was an even bigger asshole, but I didn’t want to be alone. It’s when the darkness, sadness, and anger seeped into the edges of my sanity.

  It was a daily battle.

  Over the years I thought it would get better. It didn’t. There were few things that took all of it away. Snowboarding. Working out. And sex. And those were the only three things I seemed to care about lately. Especially the last one.

  “Riding Rhys” had even become a hashtag. And it had nothing to do with snowboarding.

  A knock tapped on the other side of the door. Pushing off the door, my stomach twisted with warning, but my hand still grabbed for the knob, pulling it open.

  Anything not to be alone with myself.

  Chapter Three

  Hannah

  “You’re up early.” Mom sat at the tiny kitchen table, drinking coffee, already dressed in her manager uniform: pencil skirt, blazer, and low heels. Her blonde hair was loose, not one gray strand daring to show. It had the same natural wave as mine, but she kept hers at her shoulders, where mine dangled down my back and was nowhere near blonde now. Half French, on her father’s side, she had that willowy frame and elegance similar to my late grandfather. In her late forties, she was a gorgeous woman, tall, with barely any wrinkles and bright green eyes. We didn’t look much alike now. When I was a kid, I was the spitting image of her baby photos, except with my dad’s blue eyes. I took after my grandma in height.

  “Yeah, couldn’t really sleep.” My hand twirled my messy bedhead hair into a bun. A slight shiver ran down my arms; my flannel bottoms and cotton tank didn’t keep out the morning chill. I had grown soft living in San Diego for so long. Sleepily, I scuffled for the cupboard, grabbing a coffee cup. “Strange to be in my old bed.”

  My childhood house, a three-bedroom two-story cabin separate from the lodge, felt so much smaller and old compared to my memories. It was close enough to the hotel my mom or dad could be there in a moment’s notice.

  “Maybe if you visited us in the last nine years, it wouldn’t feel so strange.” She set her cup down with a click.

  “Mom…” I exhaled. It was too early for the guilt trip. I had gotten a lot of it last night. They hadn’t visited me much in California. The first couple of years they traveled down a few times, but then gradually the excuses started building until years went by with nothing more than phone calls. Distance and work, even in the summer months, kept them from visiting. They did work extremely hard, but it was also an excuse. I didn’t want to come back here anymore than they wanted to leave.

  “It’s sad it took your grandmother’s passing for you to actually come see us.”

  I gritted my teeth. Most of it was true. Losing my grandmother ripped away the only security I had, shaking my foundation back to the core. The causality of school, my relationship, and apartment were merely aftershocks submerging me under the rubble.

  “Well, I better get going. It’s going to be crazy for the next few weeks.” She pushed her chair back, looking down at her watch. “Your father is already at the restaurant. He told me to remind you to be there at two to help prepare for the dinner rush.” I was helping out, but I had made it clear I was going by Hannah Jennings. Anybody new to me would not know of my connection to Colm and Patrice Evans. Safer that way. Too many media busybodies around.

  I nodded, leaning back against the sink, taking a big gulp of coffee.

  Mom turned to face me, her features softening. “It’s so good to have you home, Bren.”

  “Hannah. You guys named me.”

  Her lips pinched together and her gaze shifted to the side. She let out a small breath and took a step toward me, leaning in to kiss my temple. “Maybe you can go visit your brother.”

  I didn’t answer, my head dipping as she pulled away and headed for the door, grabbing her snow jacket.

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I responded, before the door closed with a soft click. My mom and I used to have an okay relationship. Far better than what we had now. I knew she loved me, but tension hung between us like wet laundry. So much was left unsaid. All the anger, guilt, blame, and sadness.

  I downed the rest of my coffee, then set the cup in the sink.

  Did I make the right choice? Should I have come back here or stayed away?

  “You are here now,” I muttered to myself. Instinctively, I had felt the pull to return. Was I so sure now? No. But I would get through the holiday break and then decide what I wanted to do. One thing I knew for sure: I wasn’t going back to college. Not right now. Maybe in the future, when I wouldn’t be wasting my grandmother’s money on wandering aimlessly through with no direction.

  Hannah Brennley Evans had disappeared years ago. I had to find her again, and I hoped in coming back here, the pieces to myself would start to fit back together.

  The bustle of the kitchen blurred around me. Heat crawled up my neck and down my back from the grill and stove, dampening my white button-up serving shirt. I had forgotten how intense the kitchen could be. My father was highly sought after and regarded. He had been offered positions as head chef all over the world, but this was his home. He would never leave.

  I arrived early to help, and for the last two hours, I had been making fresh bread and chopping vegetables. The hands on the clock were now bringing in the waitstaff for the dinner service, which my dad needed more help with than the prepping or cooking.

  Christmas holiday season was insane.

  “Brennley?” My head snapped at my old nickname, ready to react. A girl came through the door and stopped, her mouth dropping open. “Oh my god. Is it really you?”

  I blinked, my eyes roaming over the woman, my mouth parting. She was breathtaking, with high cheekbones and full pouty lips.

  “Holy crap.” My eyes roamed over the familiar face. She was a few inches taller than me with olive skin, dark eyes, and long curly dark hair tied in a ponytail. She had grown up, but I could still see the girl I had spent my youth with, running around as kids, terrorizing the hotel.

  “Siena?”

  A huge smile burst over her face as she squealed, running for me, hitting me like a train. Her arms wrapped around me, and she bobbed on her toes with excitement.

  “I can’t believe you are here.” She pulled back, looking over me again. “I should hate you. Nine years and I only got some e-mails from you? I can’t believe you left me.” She pulled me into another quick hug.

  Siena was Oscar’s daughter. She and I were the same age, and growing up here we had become inseparable. When the draw of the mountain had pulled me away from dolls and clothes, our friendship grew apart during the last couple of years before I left.

  She had hated the snow, really anything cold. She dreamed about places like San Diego. I had been the one to go there, while she had stayed here, working and going to the local college.

  “Siena!” My father’s voice boomed from behind the prep station. “No flailing about in my kitchen. You’ve already broken three platters this week. If you want to chat, go out there.” He pointed his chef’s knife to the front of the house.

  “Oh, Mr. E. You love me.” She winked, swiping a carrot off a plate he was preparing. His eye twitched.

  More of the waitstaff thrust through the door
, preventing my father from strangling Siena. Even as a child, Siena had been a lot to take—a ball of energy, always talking and moving, breaking everything in her path.

  She had been another daughter to him, but that was outside of the restaurant. Here, the staff was all on equal footing, usually annoying the hell out of him.

  Twenty-something guys and girls that I didn’t know filed in for the pre-dinner meeting to go over specials and taste a few of the dishes. The White Den was top notch and known all over the world. My father would not let one plate go out that would change this.

  Freddie moved the meeting a long, before the restaurant manager, Neil, who I had met earlier, cleared his throat, turning our notice to him. He was a tall man with deep chocolate skin and hair cut close to his head. He looked dapper in his perfectly cut navy-blue suit, red tie, and shiny shoes.

  “Jennifer, Grace, Siena, Caroline, and Sam, I want you in the back section. We have a lot of big parties tonight. The rest of you will divide up the front. Hannah...” He tapped the pen to his mouth. “I will need you and Caleb to be on the room orders. We’re going to be slammed tonight with both dining customers and private orders. We have a lot of athletes who have already requested meals be brought to their rooms. I need you all on tonight. Now go get your sections ready.” He waved, telling us we were dismissed. The staff practically ran out of the kitchen, getting to their sections.

  “You are so lucky.” Siena nudged my shoulder. “I love doing deliveries.”

  “Why? You get much better tips here.”

  “Are you kidding me? With the snowboarding competition starting and all those hot snowboarders answering the door in almost nothing, I’d trade you in a heartbeat.”

  Snowboarding competition? Bile gurgled in my throat. “What?”

  “Siena, go step up your station,” Neil yelled at her.