Carry Your Heart

by Audrey Bell

  ***

  Hunter is dressing to do a few runs on the abandoned back slopes when I get back to the hotel room from the race.

  “How’d it go?”

  I shake my head.

  He sighs. “Aw…babe.”

  “No, it’s,” I shake my head, too annoyed to function properly. “I have to stop getting distracted.”

  He bites his lip. “You want to come out with me?”

  I look at him, at the hopeful look on his face. If I’m going to blow my career for a relationship, I might as well enjoy the relationship. I nod.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He smiles almost sadly at me. “You okay, kid?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “Sorry. I’m pissed I didn’t win.” I can’t stop myself from thinking of the interested sponsors. They probably were after Penelope by now, ready for someone younger, fresher, less spastic.

  ***

  It’s only the second time I’ve seen Hunter really snowboard. He moves down the mount like a fire through a drought-stricken forest. There’s nothing stopping or slowing him. He catches every bit of the slope as he goes.

  There’s something freer and infinitely more graceful about snowboarding the way he does, swooping, leaping, and unworried about how quickly it gets done.

  We take a run full of high moguls. I speed through them, enjoying the deep powder and watching Hunter fly over and over, flipping, spinning, and landing with precise jerks of the board.

  I love watching him like this. As confident as he always seems in sneakers, he seems even stronger here. He’s less like an athlete and more like an artist, like a gymnast on a far more challenging and dangerous surface. It’s like watching an animal in its natural habitat—the power and purpose of each movement, the way he lands, with his knees bent, swooping, his shins almost touching the terrain.

  He reaches me breathlessly. “Nice day, huh?” I smile at him.

  “You’re good at that.”

  He grins knowingly.

  We run up and do it again. All day, not quite talking, just being together. I watch him never quite fall. I learn what he looks like, on the side of a mountain, doing what he loves.

  This shouldn’t make so much sense. Me and him. But somehow it does.

  ***

  I crash beside him exhausted from the endless runs. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  He smiles and lies back. “Yeah?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  He smiles at me. “It’s cold today.”

  “I’m overheated,” I say, unzipping my coat and laying on my back next to him, staring at the sky through my goggles. “I think I burned a zillion calories.”

  He cocks his head so it’s resting against mine and we listen to the sound of each other breathing, and watch the clouds. A plane passes over us, glinting in the sun, and I think fleetingly of Hunter alone in the airport and almost start to cry.

  “Do you think you’re afraid of planes because of what happened when you were a kid?” I ask softly.

  “That was an airport,” he says. He bites his lip.

  “Yeah, but still,” I breathe in the clean air.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not afraid of airports.”

  “Yeah, but you took a plane to get there…” I shrug. “I don’t know. Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about this.”

  “I don’t mind, actually,” he swallows. “You’re the only person I could ever talk to about it anyways. My dad pretended nothing really happened. And I never saw her again.” He shifts his helmet closer to mine and they click together gently. “I think he always thinks of me more as her kid that his kid.”

  I’m quiet.

  “Like, you know, she was a drug-addicted prostitute or whatever…” he tries to sound casual about it, but it’s not working. “And I’m just what happens when you fuck a drug-addicted prostitute without a condom. You get a fucked up kid. It’s like penance for a sin.” It sounds like he’s quoting his father when he repeats that.

  “You’re not penance for anything, Hunter,” I say harshly.

  “No, I know, but…that’s how he thinks.”

  “Well, I think you’re like my favorite person,” I say.

  He smiles softly and chuckles, but I’m not sure if he believes me.

  “How did you quit skiing?” I ask.

  Hunter sighs. “I used to refuse to go and, you know, he’d threaten to kick my ass, and he meant it, so I’d go. And then, in my free time, I’d snowboard. When I was fifteen, one night. We had a big fight. He was drunk and I said I wasn’t going to do it anymore. He hit me and I hit him back.” He bites his lip. “I hit him harder. He kicked me out for a few weeks, but…I figured it out. And he let me come home. It was too embarrassing to have me crashing at friends’ houses. The only reason I put up with him anymore is so I can see Shane,” Hunter says.

  I make a small sound. “You’re the best thing in that kid’s life.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do,” I say simply. “He looks at you like you’re superman.”

  Hunter chuckles. “I am obsessed with that kid.”

  I laugh.

  “Really, I am. He’s like…” he shakes his head. “There was nobody else I wanted to be anything for, you know. I mean, until I realized Shane was watching me, and then I wanted to be something for him.” His voice wavers: “And, then, you know…when you came along, I wanted to be something for you, too. My dad made me think I couldn’t ever be anything. Even when I won my first X-Games gold, I was seventeen, standing around, waiting for the other shoe to drop, because I was so sure he’d been right about me.”

  “He wasn’t right. You know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s a fucking idiot,” I whisper. “You’re my favorite person. And I want you to know I burned my Doug Cannon poster,” I tell him dryly.

  He laughs loudly. “Good girl.”

  “Yeah. Fucking marketing ploy that I ever bought that thing. I got a poster of this adorable snowboarder.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Oh, yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

  “Mmm…well, Micah is pretty dreamy…”

  “You fucking asshole,” he says, giggling, rolling on top of me.

  “What? You really thought I was going to buy a poster of my boyfriend?”

  “I don’t even know if they have posters of me.”

  “Of course they do.”

  “Well, I’ll get you one. Free. Even if I have to make it myself.”

  I listen to the soothing rumble of his voice, and I roll over in the snow, until I’m on top of him. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “That you wanted to be something for me.”

  “I do.”

  “You already are.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  He insists on coming to the event barbeque that night. Insists.

  “It’s not a victory circle,” he says. “Why would we skip it?”

  “Just to be clear. We aren’t skipping it. I’m skipping it. You didn’t compete in this event. And I don’t want to see any of those people.”

  “Why not?”

  It’s not just about seeing people. Part of it is him. I don’t want him and Parker to get in some kind of fight. I don’t want Laurel to say anything to me.

  Or to Hunter. Or to anyone.

  It seems petty to bring her ex-boyfriend to a barbeque when she’s supposed to be celebrating her victories.

  He rolls his eyes at me and slides a baseball hat on backwards. “Laurel?”

  “Any of them.”

  “I’m not fucking scared of fucking Laurel.”

  “Plus, I don’t even think you’re invited.”

  “Please. I’m your date. I’m as invited as fuck.”

  The party’s off the mountain—a twenty-minute drive away, at a big Western-themed restaurant called Joe’s. Hunter’s been here bef
ore, calls it “shitshow central,” before yanking me through the door.

  “You’re being crazy. You cannot be scared of Laurel. You’ve gone heli-skiing. That’s ,” he says.

  “You’re afraid of planes.”

  “Totally rational fear. Planes kill people. Laurel just tweets.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “Okay, well, at least its more rational than your fear,” he says. “Like, Laurel has never killed a person.”

  “She’s still scary.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Just because you slept with her doesn’t mean it’s ridiculous,” I say. “You saw those blogs.”

  “Those are bullshit.”

  “Well, bullshit or not, Laurel’s scary. It’s just a fact.”

  Hunter pushes open the door to the backroom that’s been rented out. “You’re being a psycho, Speedy. Just cool it. You have every right to be here. You were invited. And you invited me.”

  “I never actually invited you.”

  “Well, if you weren’t being a psycho, you’d have invited me, so we’re going to ignore the fact that you rudely neglected to do so.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Speedy…”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Maybe I should call you Psycho?”

  “Maybe you should start coming up with nicknames that don’t suck.”

  “I told you. I didn’t go to college. I have a limited vocabulary.”

  I glance around the room. I don’t know what I’m expecting—everyone to stop talking and stare, maybe—but nothing happens. Parker glares in our direction and Lottie gives us an uncertain once-over, but nobody else seems to notice. Including Laurel, who has her back to us and is jabbering frenetically with Penelope. A new alliance forming, perhaps? With a seventeen year old? Getting desperate, Laurel?

  I feel like such a scold, when I wonder aloud to Hunter what a seventeen year old is doing at this kind of a party. He laughs at me.

  “C’mon, like you didn’t drink when you were seventeen.”

  “I wasn’t that young when I was seventeen,” I say, fully aware of how stupid that sounds even though it feels quite true.

  He gives Lottie a warm hug, swinging her back and forth in her barstool. “Hey. Congrats. Pippa said you killed it today.”

  “Thanks,” Lottie grins broadly and genuinely. She’s thrilled Hunter said hi to her before he spoke to Laurel or anyone else he knows here. Whether or not Parker thinks Hunter has somehow taken what belongs to his friend (ahem, me) doesn’t change that he’s by far the most successful athlete in the room. Hunter is someone who isn’t trying to make it as a professional athlete, but already has.

  “Want to grab something to eat?” Hunter suggests, looking at Lottie. “We’re starved.”

  We grab a booth in the darkening room and Hunter, who seems right at home, orders big baskets of deep fried onion rings and burgers and flirts with the waitress and nudges me with one strong, able shoulder.

  He talks to Lottie, and I admire him while he does it. Leaning forward on his forearms, his shoulders close to his ears, his face breaking easily into a smile, and his eyes wide and glowing—I’m in love with this man.

  He slides one hand under the table to my knee and squeezes and I turn to look at him and, without saying a word, he leans forward and kisses me once, gently. And then he turns his attention back to Lottie, like public displays of affection are standard for us. Like we’re just a normal couple in a normal room under normal circumstances. And briefly, I start to believe that we are.

  ***

  He sees Laurel before I do and slides an arm protectively around my waist to reassure me, or send a message to her. It doesn’t stop her from coming. She walks as deliberately as a drunk girl in stilettos can. She has something to say.

  “Hey, Pippa,” she says, like my name’s a swearword.

  “What’s up?” I ask, sipping my beer carefully. Her nails are perfectly painted the color of cranberries, and one hand is wrapped around a clear plastic cup. Her drink matches her nails. Cranberry vodka, if I remember from drinking with Laurel before correctly. She always ordered cranberry juice and vodka.

  She sits down without being asked, next to Lottie, directly across from Hunter, and she stares at him hungrily. “Nice to see you again, Hunter.”

  “Hi, Laurel,” he says, a small grin on his face, like the situation is funny to him. It is funny to him, I realize. To him, she’s just another cast-off ex-less-than-a-girlfriend who didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t do relationships.

  Maybe he’ll find me that amusing too, someday. It’s a scary thought. But it’s there.

  “So, you two got back together?” she asks.

  He smiles. “Let’s go for a walk, Laurel.”

  “No, I want to talk to you and Pippa.”

  He rolls his eyes and slides out of the booth. He puts a hand on her back and walks her away to a corner. I watch them carefully, his crossed arms as he leans against the wall listening, and her gesturing wildly and swearing at him.

  He shakes his head at her over and over again and then she breaks away from him. He grabs her arm but she shakes him off roughly, coming back to me. She finishes her drink and sets it down on the table, standing, wavering on her heels, furious and proud.

  “I just thought you should know that he came to see me,” she hisses furiously. She looks hurt as he walks over to intercept her. “He came to Whistler and spent the night to me. He told me he didn’t think he could stay with you because you were still in love with your dead fiancé…”

  “Laurel, you are misconstruing thing…”

  “No, shut up,” she says. “She deserves to know where you were. He said he thought it was over with you,” her voice catches. “And I think you deserve to know where he was. Because you’ve been through enough.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

  “Laurel,” Hunter barks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “It’s true,” she says.

  “It’s not like that. I didn’t even touch you. Jesus. Pippa, don’t listen to her.”

  “Where were you?” I ask. I’m too shocked to put any anger or hurt in my voice. It’s just a question that I need an answer to. Too shocked to feel anything at all.

  “Oh, this is pathetic,” Laurel says, storming off.

  Hunter turns to watch her go and then turns just as quickly back to me.

  “Hunter?”

  “She’s pissed off I don’t want to date her. And she wants you to think…”

  “Were you with her or not?” I demand. My heart already knows. He went to see her. When I though I lost him, he went to see here.

  Everyone else was right. All of them. They were right. I was a fool. All along, I was nothing but a fool.

  “I saw her,” he says. “Yes, I saw her, but…I slept on the couch.”

  “Did you tell her you thought it was over with us?”

  “Pippa…”

  “No, you had time to see Laurel when you went missing, without saying a goddamn word to me. I thought you were just over it. And then you come back at three in the morning when I have a race, and I’m supposed to be available to you?” I ask. “That’s the deal?”

  “We should go.”

  “No, you stay,” I say. “You’re the one who wanted to come here. I’ll go.” I push from the booth and out the doors, to the cold parking lot.

  He follows me outside, putting his hand on my wrist as I dial a cab.

  “Don’t touch me.” I whirl. I’m going to cry. I’m going to start crying. Again. In a motherfucking parking lot, in front of all these people.

  Lottie appears in the doorway. “I can drive you back.” She volunteers it gently. She’s from Mammoth. “I have my dad’s car.”

  “Thanks,” I say completely ungratefully, even though I want to take back every resentful thought I’ve ever had about Lottie back because she might be getting me out of here. Because this is what real fr
iends do. When you’re breaking down, they follow you outside and offer you a ride home.

  “Wait,” Hunter says. “Would you just fucking wait?”

  “No. You don’t get to tell me to wait. You disappeared when I wanted to talk to you. Remember? And I didn’t go fucking see my ex-boyfriend.”

  “Well, that’s because he’s dead.”

  “Thank you for the newsflash,” I snap. “You think I forgot?”

  “If he weren’t, you’d never be with me in the first place. How the fuck do you think that feels, Pippa?” he takes a step forward, reaching for me. His voice and breath are ragged. “How do you think it feels knowing I’m never going to live up to this guy? That the only reason I get a chance to be with you is that he’s dead. And you can’t have him anymore. And so I’m around, and that’s nice, but it’s not really want you want. How the fuck do you think…”

  “You went to see a girl who called me a slut and a whore on the internet. And you’re accusing me of not caring about you enough? Are you joking?” I shout.

  “Guys,” Lottie says.

  “Just give me a second,” I say shortly.

  “I’ll bring the car around,” she mutters. I watch her walk off to her parents’ car and catch my breath. I turn back to Hunter, whose body is tense with furious energy.

  “What?” I ask Hunter, seeing the hurt look in his eyes. “What am I supposed to say? That I’m sorry I have a dead boyfriend? Is that really what this is about?”

  He shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair.

  “It’s like you’re playing with fire,” I say. “You just can’t make up your mind. Why did you want to come here tonight? To make Laurel jealous? I don’t understand you.”

  “That is not why I wanted to come here tonight. Not everyone has fucking ulterior motives all the time. I wanted to do something with you.”

  “Why did you go see her?”

  “I don’t—I didn’t sleep with her.”

  “Why did you go see her?”

  “I didn’t even mean to see her. It just happened. I was just thinking about you and about how…I don’t know, I don’t know, Pippa. I don’t fucking know why I do half of the things I do. I don’t even know why I asked you out,” he says. He sounds tired, used up, and he puts his hands on his head. “Like…” He swallows. “We both kind of knew this was going to happen eventually.”