Wiping Out

by Carrie Quest

  My room is a fucking disaster. I stand in the door, my heart pounding, and take in the detritus of my life. I haven’t been in Breck since months before the accident, and everything is exactly how I left it. Old snowboarding posters on the wall, boards and boots stacked in the corners, closet stuffed full of jackets. There are boxes everywhere: stuff my sponsors sent me, stuff my parents sent up here from the hospital, and probably, hopefully buried deep, the shit I had with me at Mammoth when I crashed. I know Ben cleared out the place we were staying after the accident, and he would have brought everything here.

  I’m not ready to deal with that yet, so instead I focus on the positives. One: there’s plenty of cold-weather gear here. I’ll be set to walk into town tomorrow with Nat and check out the Mexican place. Maybe get coffee. Do whatever the fuck people do in ski towns when they can’t hit the slopes.

  Two: Nat told me she’s almost done with the sequel to her book and she’ll let me read it tomorrow. That’ll be good.

  Three: Piper’s next door. She’ll have to talk to me tomorrow and I’ll be able to explain and hopefully, someday, she’ll manage to forgive me. Maybe even take me back and give me a chance to prove that I can be the man she deserves. I want to go to her now, but she must hate me, and she’s probably asleep anyway, curled up around her psychotic cat, Chuckles, with her hands under her cheek and her body all warm and soft under her pile of blankets. Smelling like peaches with her hair all messy and spread over her pillow…

  Fuck. Not going to think about that.

  Someone, probably Nat, cleared a kind of path to the bed and put on some red flannel sheets that I don’t remember seeing before. Of course, there’s a lot of little shit that slips through the ratty web of my memories these days, so maybe I’ve had them for years. Then I clock the packaging peeking out the top of the garbage can in the corner and smile. I met a lot of awesome people on my travels, but it’s been a while since anyone took care of me and the thought of Nat dragging Ben to the store and picking out new cozy sheets for my homecoming warms me up inside.

  There’s some kind of pattern on the sheets that I can’t make out from the door, so I wade through the junk and collapse on the bed. My body’s stiff and sore after the long flight from Australia and the drive from the airport, and at first I just close my eyes and enjoy being able to stretch out on the soft mattress.

  When I finally check out the sheets, I see they’re covered in tiny orange cats that look exactly like Chuckles. I laugh out loud and then swallow down a sob, because there’s no way in hell Nat picked these out.

  This was all Piper.

  Maybe she doesn’t hate me.

  Only one way to find out. I dig some snowpants and a jacket out of the closet, pull on some warm socks and a pair of boots, and open my window. The place is built into a hill so there’s a little drop to the ground, even though we’re in the basement, but the snow is deep enough to make the landing soft. Safe enough even for a guy with a skull more delicate than a blown-out eggshell. I land on my feet and resist the urge to roll around in the snow because yeah, it hurts like hell to be here, but fuck I’ve missed this.

  And I’ve missed her too, and I’m not going to be able to rest or relax until I tell her what I have to say. So I stumble the few feet through the fresh powder to her window, pull my hand out of my glove, and knock three times.

  3

  Piper

  When I hear the knock on the window, I spring out of bed then promptly fall because my legs are tangled in the covers. I kick out, trying to free myself, and all the other times I’ve heard those three slow knocks run through my head.

  The night he leaned in through the window and kissed me for the first time.

  The night he caught me when I climbed out and took me hiking in the snow under the stars.

  The night he climbed inside, and I gave him my virginity and my heart.

  I scramble up, leaving the blankets on the floor, and run over to the window. One deep breath and I’m pulling the curtains open and he’s there. Adam. And I know I’m an idiot, but my body reacts like he never left. Like none of it ever happened: him choosing snowboarding over me when I was twenty, his accident, his time in the hospital, him leaving me high and dry again…

  He’s here, on the other side of the glass, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to let my body take over and pull him into a hug and pretend that everything is the way it used to be. Luckily my mind retains just enough control to keep that from happening, so I simply throw the window latches open and step back, letting him make the first move.

  He pushes the sash up with a low grunt and breathes out my name. “Piper.”

  It’s freezing out there and steam comes out of his mouth as he says it, floating up around his face in little clouds that vanish into the darkness.

  Just like your resistance, sucker.

  “Can I come in?”

  I nod, not quite trusting my voice yet, and he puts one booted foot up on the windowsill and then lowers himself gracefully into the room. He smiles when he sees the towel on the floor, right where it always used to be, ready to soak up the melting snow from his boots.

  “Expecting someone?” he asks.

  “Only you.” It’s only ever been you. My voice cracks a little and I swallow hard and try again. “Still can’t find the door, huh?”

  “You’d be disappointed if I did, admit it.”

  I’m not admitting anything, but he’s right. Of course, he’s right. Because if he just strolled up and knocked on the door, then he’d be saying that we’re finally over, and as long as he’s still climbing in my window there’s a chance that we aren’t.

  Wait. What?

  Shit. Shit shit shit. This is not part of the plan.

  Be friends. Help him get back on his feet. Leave the past in the past. Concentrate on my own future.

  All of that makes perfect sense in my head, but I forgot about my body and I definitely did not take into account our crazy physical chemistry. Adam is the catalyst that causes all my molecules to combust into liquid lust, and how am I supposed to resist that kind of orgasmic reaction and put him in the friend zone?

  None of my other friends cause a pulse to magically appear between my legs when they walk in the room.

  Might be time for a new plan.

  He unzips his jacket. “Okay?” he asks. Like I’m going to kick him out.

  I nod, and he pulls off his hat and grins and oh, holy explosion. Boom. I’m done. I stumble back a few steps and sit down hard on the bed. Because the last time I saw Adam he was gaunt, and his hair was short and choppy, barely covering his scars from the multiple surgeries after the accident. He still looked beautiful, but he also looked sick and broken.

  He’s not broken anymore.

  His dark hair falls down to his chin now, wavy and thick and out of control. I clench my hands into fists, remembering how it felt on my fingers when I grabbed his head and pulled him in for a kiss. He grew a beard after we broke up the first time, but he’s clean-shaven now, the way I always liked him, except for a bit of evening stubble. It’s the way he always looked after a trip, when he’d rush home to me and climb in the window, too impatient to shave, or do anything else, until we’d had our fill of each other.

  Sometimes the stubble stuck around for days.

  He’s filled out as well, his muscles no longer wasted away from being stuck in a hospital bed. His shoulders are broad and solid, and when he reaches a hand up to push his hair back, I get a glimpse of tanned abs that make me want to whimper.

  Definitely nothing broken about those babies.

  Heat flashes through me and suddenly sitting on any bed, especially this one, seems like a bad idea. I stand and walk over to my desk, planning on sitting in the chair instead, but that brings me close enough to touch and when Adam reaches out his hand, I take it.

  Frigid air clings to his skin and the long-sleeve t-shirt he’s wearing, but the bite of cold fades fast as he pulls me into a hug.


  “It’s fucking good to see you, Piper,” he whispers in my ear.

  I manage to nod, but I can’t speak. If I try, I’m afraid I’ll end up crying all over his shirt and that would be unacceptable. I can’t let him see me like that.

  He holds me a long time and when he finally lets me go, he turns away and runs his sleeve over his eyes.

  “I can smell you,” he explains, his cheeks coloring a little.

  Shit. I turn my head and try to get a subtle whiff of myself. I showered today, right? Or at least yesterday, anyway. There’s no way I reek hard enough to make a grown man cry.

  He chuckles, deep and low, and something inside me tightens and twangs.

  “You don’t stink, Pipes. I just meant I can smell again. After the accident I couldn’t smell anything. You used to come in the hospital room and I’d try to catch your scent, but…nothing.” He shakes his head. “I missed it.”

  I’m staring at him with my mouth open, which I’m sure is super attractive, but this smelling thing is new to me.

  “I missed you,” he says.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

  “I’m telling you now,” he says, taking a step toward me like he wants to hug me again. “I missed you a fuck of a lot, Piper Easton. I thought about you every day.”

  I step backward, away from him, and sit down in the chair.

  “I mean, why didn’t you tell me about the smelling?” I ask. “I could have helped you, if I’d known.”

  He stares at me, and his dark eyes are achingly familiar but whatever is going on behind them is a mystery. “I didn’t want you to see me as even more of a useless invalid,” he finally says.

  “I never saw you as useless.”

  His full lips twist into a sad little smile, but he doesn’t answer.

  “I didn’t,” I insist. “You were injured, but you’ve never been useless, Adam.”

  He shrugs, clearly disagreeing, but when I open my mouth to convince him, he shuts me right up by dropping to his knees in front of me and taking both my hands in his. For one crazy second, I think he’s going to propose.

  “About me leaving,” he starts.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I interrupt. “We spent all that time together, and I thought…”

  I thought you loved me. I thought it was our time.

  At the very least, I thought we were friends.

  “I tried,” he says. Honest to god, Piper, I tried. I pulled up your number hundreds of times. I typed up texts and emails. I bought you postcards from all over the world. I wrote you letters.”

  “Why didn’t you send any of them? Or call me before you left?”

  “I knew that if I talked to you, I wouldn’t be able to go, and I had to leave.”

  He squeezes my hands so tight they hurt, but I don’t pull away. I can’t.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I left you hanging when I took off and I had my reasons, but none of them are good enough. None of them excuse hurting you. You deserved better from me, and I promise, no matter where we end up, that it won’t happen again. I won’t disappear unless you want me to go. I know there’s nothing I can do to make it up to you, but if you’ll let me, I want to give it a shot.”

  He’s talking so fast he’s almost breathless, but the words run together smoothly, like he’s reciting a poem he memorized or familiar song lyrics. Is it possible that he’s been preparing for this moment? I close my eyes, blocking him out, and shake my head, because that’s impossible, right? He’s been away, sure, but witness the mighty power of the internet, people. If he had something to say to me, he could have been in touch.

  “No?”

  I open my eyes to see him staring up at me.

  “No, what?” I ask.

  “No, you won’t give me a shot? You don’t forgive me?”

  My confusion, which is epic in scope, must be showing on my face. “You were shaking your head,” he explains.

  “No,” I say.

  “Yeah, I get it.” He drops my hands.

  “No, I mean, I wasn’t saying no when I was shaking my head.”

  One corner of his lips tilts up in the tiniest of smiles. “What were you saying?”

  Stop looking at his lips immediately. Do not look. Do not remember how soft they are when he leans in and kisses you. Do not look. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

  “Piper?”

  “What?”

  “What were you saying?”

  I stare down at him, and he doesn’t push, just sits there and waits me out. Which is polite and all, but to be honest it doesn’t help my poor, muzzy brain to be the focus of this much Adam attention. Right. It’s clear I need to regroup. The plan has gone all to hell and he hasn’t even been here five minutes.

  “What were you saying?” I finally ask. “A shot at what?”

  Fuck. I shouldn’t have asked that. I might not want to know the answer.

  Scratch that. I definitely don’t want to know the answer. Because if he wants a shot at getting back together, I can tell you right now, sure as snow is cold, that I will be wrapped around him in my bed before he finishes getting the words out and that cannot happen. I’ve worked too hard and come too far, and he might be saying this now, but he won’t stick around. He’s not going to stay here with me.

  Friends is all we can be.

  “I’m going to Europe,” I blurt out.

  He sits back a little on his heels. Good. Distance is good. Take your sex pheromones and waft them in another direction, buddy.

  “Cool,” he says. “When?”

  “After the Olympics. I have an internship, traveling with the Swiss women’s team.”

  I don’t have to tell him it’s the snowboarding team. What the hell else would it be?

  He swallows hard. “That’s great, Piper. I heard you finished school, but I didn’t know you had a gig lined up and everything. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you going to do after that finishes? Travel maybe?”

  “Grad school in Denver. Hopefully. I think the internship will help me get in, but I don’t find out for sure until next month.”

  “You’ll get in,” he says swiftly.

  I shrug.

  “So you’ll be in Colorado,” he says. “For what, the next year?”

  “It’s a three-year program,” I whisper. “I need to be here, you know?”

  “For your mom.”

  “Yeah. Just in case.” She’s been in recovery for years now, but the wriggle of worry never goes away.

  For the first time since he dropped to his knees, he looks away. His eyes skip around my room, taking in the posters and pictures that have been up since high school. If he notices the gaps on the dresser where the framed photos of the two of us used to sit, his face doesn’t show it.

  “It looks the same,” he says, still not meeting my eyes.

  “It’s not,” I whisper back. “I’m not.”

  His gaze snaps back to me, dark and sad and lost. “Me either,” he breathes out.

  It’s so quiet I can barely hear him, but his voice is absolutely vibrating with pain and I cannot stop myself from reaching out to him. My fingers skim over his face, following the angle of his cheekbone up to the corner of his eye, then tracing the paper-thin skin underneath. I used to do this to him all the time in bed, it always fascinated me that his skin there was so soft and vulnerable when the rest of him seemed so indestructible.

  He sighs, the breath ghosting over my skin, but he doesn’t lean his head into my hand or move any closer. I can feel him in every cell of my body, but we’re barely touching, connected only by the tips of my fingers and whatever invisible force has always been between us.

  “You look the same to me,” I finally say.

  He drags in a deep breath and grabs my wrists, stilling my wandering fingers.

  “I’m not, though.”

  “I forgive you for leaving,” I say. I can’t hold that back from hi
m, not when he’s hurting like this. “At least, I will forgive you. Eventually. I might need some time.”

  “That’s fair. Better than I deserve. Do you want to talk more?”

  “Not now.” My mind is reeling and I need time to think. To figure out what all of this means. Later I’ll need more from him because I have questions, but we’ve done enough for tonight.

  He drops my hands and hops up to his feet directly from his knees, a move that would trip me up and leave me on my ass. I guess his balance is back. He takes a couple steps back and stops, rocking onto his heels, his hands tapping on his thighs.

  “I’m only here a few weeks,” he says. “Did Ben tell you?”

  I nod.

  “And you’re heading to Europe,” he says, his voice meandering a little, like he’s thinking something through. “Then back here for three years.”

  I clear my throat. “I am.”

  “What I was saying before,” he says, “about a shot?”

  “Yeah?” My heart is racing.

  “I meant a shot at being friends.”

  I steel my face because this is exactly what I wanted him to say, so there’s no reason at all I should be feeling like he just kicked me in the stomach and dropped me off a chairlift.

  “Friends sounds good,” I say. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Okay.” He grabs his jacket and shrugs it on, then heads for the window.

  “You can go out the door.” We’re friends now, after all. Buddies. Pals. People who meet platonically and have coffee while not touching each other below the waist. The touching portion of this relationship is finished; I made sure of that myself when I told him about going to grad school in snow country, so there’s no reason at all to keep up with this window business.