Wiping Out

by Carrie Quest

  “Just let go,” she says quietly. “Let it out.”

  I shake my head and hold my breath, fighting for control, trying to push everything back inside where I won’t have to deal with it. It doesn’t work. I break, sucking in a huge breath and then letting it out in stuttering sobs that rock through me so hard the bed shakes.

  My mother’s arms tighten around me and she strokes my hair, murmuring soft words in my ear that I can barely hear over my wailing. When the storm finally breaks, she lets me go and hands me a handful of tissues.

  “I’ll get you some water,” she says, and disappears into the bathroom so I can mop my face and blow my nose in privacy.

  When she emerges holding a glass of water, I’m feeling a little more in control. Tears are still leaking out of my eyes, but I’m no longer dripping with snot. Progress.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m your mother, Piper. It’s not like I haven’t seen you cry before.”

  “Yeah, but that was before…” I wave my hand vaguely and take a sip of cooling coffee.

  “Before the three of you decided I was too weak to hear anything except good news?” She sighs. “When I got sick, you were amazing, Piper. Ben was away so much, and your dad was busy with work and taking care of me and you…” She reaches up and strokes my cheek. “You stepped up. You took care of everything, and I guess we all got used to you filling that role, especially after the cancer came back.”

  She cradles my face in both her hands and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast, sweetie, but I’m fine now. You can let go a little. You don’t need to be the one fixing everything by yourself anymore. I’m your mom. Let me help you.”

  I try to smile, but my lips aren’t quite working. “Nobody can help with this.”

  “Try me.” She moves up so we’re both sitting with our backs against the headboard, and I remember that we used to sit like this almost every night before she got sick. She’d come in at bedtime and squish up beside me on my little single bed, and I’d tell her all about the test I had coming up, or if I got in a fight with one of my friends, or if I was worried about anything at school. She always made me feel better.

  “I asked Adam to move back to Colorado.” I swallow hard, remembering the way his dark eyes shut down as the words left my mouth. “He said no.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “It was my fault. We’d agreed that we would go our separate ways after the Olympics, but after Ben proposed to Natalie I saw how happy they were, and I thought…” I trail off and squeeze my eyes shut, hating the hot tears running down my face. How much liquid can one person hold, for fuck’s sake?

  Mom hands me a tissue. “You thought?”

  “I thought maybe we could have more. We love each other, you know?”

  She smiles at me. “I know, honey. Anybody who caught a glimpse of you two together over the last month knows.”

  “Adam says he can’t be around snowboarding, but he’s been doing so well here, and I said I’d help him. I’d do anything to help him, Mom. But he still said no.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Oh, honey. I think this is one of those things that you can’t fix. He needs to work through it himself, and you need to let him do that.”

  “Do you think I fix things just so I can control them?”

  Silence. Great. Even my own mother thinks I’m a control freak from hell.

  “I don’t know if I’d put it exactly like that,” she finally says.

  “That’s exactly how Adam put it.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  I sigh. “He could be right. At least a little.”

  “Whatever you do comes from love, Piper. I’m sure Adam would agree with me on that. You help because you want people to be happy, and that is amazing.”

  “I wasn’t amazing to him after Japan.” My voice is small. “I couldn’t figure out a way to be more important to him than snowboarding, so I gave up. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You were a baby, sweetie, and you were still reeling from my diagnosis. Don’t be too rough on yourself.”

  All of that is true, but it only explains my crappy behavior. It doesn’t excuse what I did.

  “Apologize, Piper. Sincerely and deeply. There’s not much that boy wouldn’t forgive you.”

  I take a deep breath, because my mom is not going to like this next part. “There’s more. I offered to postpone school and travel with him instead. Just until he’s ready to come home.”

  Her grip on my hand tightens to the point of pain, but she keeps silent.

  “He said no.”

  She lets go and I shake out my hand. Damn.

  “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but…”

  “You love him. And he loves you.”

  “Not enough to say yes, though.”

  “Enough to stop you from giving up an important opportunity. I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you, Piper. If he said no, it’s not because he didn’t want to be with you. It’s because he didn’t want to be selfish.”

  “I guess.”

  Her arm snakes around my shoulders, and she pulls me into a hug. “I don’t like the idea of you putting your life on hold to wait for Adam to be ready to move to Colorado, but there are other schools, you know.”

  I freeze. I deliberately didn’t mention the idea of other schools because I didn’t want to upset her. Both of my parents told me many times how happy and relieved they were that I was planning on staying local for the foreseeable future.

  “I want to be there for you,” I say.

  She squeezes me tighter. “You don’t need to be in the same state to be there for me, honey. Sometimes the best way to support someone is to trust them to take care of themselves. I would miss you if you left, but we’d visit, and talk on the phone, and if anything were to happen, you could come home. You’ve been down in Boulder for years, anyway. It’s not like we live in the same house.”

  No. We don’t even really see each other that much, despite living only a couple hours apart, but I’ve still been there. In case.

  “Think about it, okay? Your dad and I will support whatever you decide.”

  “I don’t know if Adam will support it, though.”

  “You won’t know unless you ask him again, will you?”

  No, I won’t. But I also don’t know if I can handle the risk of outright rejection again.

  “It will be a compromise for Adam to accept you changing your plan for him, just like it will be a compromise for you to accept that you can’t fix his problems. But that’s what relationships are about sometimes, kiddo.”

  Which is pretty much what I told Natalie about quitting school, but it’s always been easier for me to give advice than take it.

  “It’s not a perfect plan, though. I’m sure if I had more time, I’d be able to come up with something better.”

  “Life rarely presents perfect plans,” she says drily. “It’s annoying that way.”

  Yeah, tell me about it.

  “You and Dad would really be okay with me looking for another university? It would put me back, maybe even a whole year.”

  “Piper, you never even looked at any other schools. You limited yourself because of me, and Denver is a good school, so I didn’t say anything. As long as you end up in a place with a strong program that will allow you to shine and build the future you want, I’ll be happy. I would never tell you to sacrifice your future for a relationship, but I don’t think that’s what this is. Can you accept that you might not be able to work with snowboarders?”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “Well, take some time to think. You certainly shouldn’t switch schools if your heart is set on Denver, but you’re the only one who can figure that out. Remember, you don’t need to decide today. Be patient.”

  “I’ve never been much good at that.”

  “No, you haven’t. But maybe it’s time to learn.” She drop
s a kiss on top of my head. “And maybe it’s time to shower because, no offense, sweetie, but you kind of stink.”

  “I was planning on rising from the ashes tomorrow,” I inform her.

  “How about you rise now, and I’ll take you to lunch?”

  My stomach growls at the thought of actual food and she laughs. “Hurry up.”

  I fumble around in the covers, searching for my phone. “I have to call and cancel my room service.”

  She stops me. “I’ll take care of it.”

  I start to protest automatically, but instead, I blow out a big breath and will my shoulders to relax. She’s here, she offered, and I really do smell like the inside of Ben’s snowboarding boots. So for once I let her help, and I go.

  24

  Adam

  Zeke and I are in the tiny Big Air studio when Tyson Bridges, a reporter from one of the major cable stations, wanders in. Zeke smirks at me because the guy is a known asshole, and he’s kitted out in his official Olympic parka, hat, snow pants, and boots. Fuck, he’s probably rocking some custom-made Olympic undies under all that shit as well.

  “Hey, Westlake.”

  I nod, keeping my focus on Alex the camerawoman, smiling at her as she pins the mic to my shirt. The half-pipe qualifying round was this morning and I am fucking raw, like someone scraped all the defenses off me. Gabe was awesome, giving me breaks whenever he thought I was looking rough. He even brought in Zeke to do some interviews with the riders since he figured, correctly, that I would rather slice my own dick off than hang out at the bottom of the course with everyone staring at me.

  Doesn’t help that I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours since I left Piper in the elevator. I didn’t see her in the crowd today, but I know she was out there. The only bright spot in the entire clusterfuck was that Ben kicked ass and easily advanced to the final tomorrow. He didn’t throw the triple cork, and Gabe very carefully didn’t ask me if I thought he was going to make an attempt. Two other guys tried, but they wiped out hard and didn’t land it.

  I know Ben has the trick dialed in. He’s never mentioned it to me, but Brody let something slip when I was in Colorado and the press has been asking him about it for months. Ben just smiles and shrugs, and I’ve never heard him even say the words “triple cork” in an interview or conversation.

  Still, I know he can land it, and I know he’s going to try it tomorrow.

  I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with that, and right now all I want to do is get the hell out of here, go somewhere quiet, and try to figure it out. But Gabe asked me and Zeke to record a few promos, so here we are.

  And here’s Tyson. Shit. He’s asked me for an interview multiple times since the crash, but I’ve avoided him like the fucking plague because I know it will be him trying to make me talk about how pathetic I am with bonus points for crying on camera. No thanks.

  “Dude, we’re about to go live,” Zeke tells him. Not strictly true, but I happen to know that Tyson once asked Zeke—on air—if his mom was allowed to go watch him in international competitions since “everyone knows she’s been arrested multiple times for possession of marijuana.”

  Ever since then Zeke hasn’t been a fan.

  Tyson is either oblivious to our body language or else he’s just so used to people not wanting him around that he doesn’t care. He wanders in farther and plants himself down on a stool.

  “I’ll be quiet,” he says.

  Fuck. I’ve been fighting a headache all morning and this asshat just dealt me the final blow. The ache around my temples intensifies, and I fumble in my pockets, looking for painkillers. I do not need this right now. I have exactly enough in me to get through these promos with Zeke and that’s it. I have nothing else left to give.

  “You okay?” Zeke puts his hand on my shoulder, steadying me, and I realize I’ve been swaying in my chair.

  “Yeah. Just need some painkillers.”

  “I’ll grab you a water.”

  I nod my thanks, and he stands and wanders over to the fridge on the other side of the room. Leaving me alone with Tyson. Fuck my life.

  “When are you gonna get back out there?” Tyson is leaning forward, eager and curious, and I scoot my chair back a couple of inches because this guy is way too intense.

  “Jeez, Bridges, buy the guy a drink first.” Zeke hands over a water and sits back down.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You just barge in here and ask him that? Without even a ‘hey nice to see you, dude,’ or asking him how he’s enjoying the Games so far? Polite conversation, asshole. It’s a thing.”

  Tyson looks down his nose at Zeke. “Not talking to you, Stoner Boy. So, Adam, when are you going to be out there again? Think you’ll be ready in time for the X Games next year?”

  Zeke jumps to his feet and moves between us, looming over Tyson. “Get the fuck out of here, dude. He doesn’t need this shit right now. And, for the record, I don’t smoke weed.”

  Damn, I’ve never seen Zeke this worked up before. Tyson says something back, but I can’t make out the words. My head is throbbing, the pain pulsing with every heartbeat, and I gulp down the water too fast, almost choking on the pills. Alex’s eyes are wide and she’s pressing buttons on her phone, probably texting Gabe to get the hell back here and break this up.

  I should stand up, calm Zeke down, and blow Tyson off with the same vague non-answer I’ve been giving everyone else. But somehow I know he’s not going to be satisfied with my smile and shrug routine, and if he pushes, I don’t know what to say.

  I know he’s speculated about me on his show. Pontificating from behind his desk, wearing one of his idiotic paisley ties and yammering on about what I should be doing with my life. I caught a few minutes of his routine once, and of course he brought up Mikey Walsh, who had a similar injury to mine and tried to get back on his board the next year. Tyson did an hour-long special on Walsh, and it ended with him getting off the chairlift on his first day back.

  It didn’t actually show him riding, because his balance was fucked and he couldn’t make it down the bunny hill. He kept trying, though, until he hit his head again. Only a little tap that probably wouldn’t matter to anyone without a TBI, but it messed up Mikey’s brain something fierce. He had to start his recovery all over, and they don’t know if he’ll ever get as much back as he had.

  Walsh took a gamble and he lost, and I suddenly realize, right here in the studio with water dribbling down the front of my shirt and fucking Tyson staring at me, that I won’t be taking that same risk. It’s not worth it. I have too much to lose.

  I’ve been telling myself not yet instead of not ever. I’ve spent the past two years living like not riding is just an arbitrary rule that the doctors made for me, one that might expire someday, not like it’s a lifetime limitation imposed by my own body. I’ve been keeping the option of going back open and alive, secretly hidden away in the back of my brain, and it’s constantly feasting on all my other thoughts. It’s killing me. Because I can’t move forward until I let it go.

  “I won’t be back.” My voice is quiet, but somehow Tyson and Zeke hear it through their trash talk because they both fall silent. I look around, expecting something to happen, like maybe a lightening bolt to come shooting out of the sky. Or an earthquake. Some huge natural event to mark this turning point, but the afternoon sun is still shining out the window, and the people outside are going about their business, oblivious.

  I gave up competitive snowboarding, and the world is going on exactly as it was before. Relief floods through me, like someone just injected some kind of horse tranquilizer directly into my muscles. I loosen up, feeling lighter than I have in years. Like I could float up to the ceiling and lounge around up there without a care in the world. Like I could fly.

  “What?” Tyson peers around Zeke. “What did you say?”

  Alex catches my attention and points to the red light, letting me know she’s recording. Gabe is back, standing in the doorway, and
he raises his eyebrows, silently asking if this is okay. I give them both the thumbs-up. Because I’m done hiding this shit. Let the whole world see. Maybe I’ll always be the guy with the gnarly head injury and maybe I won’t, but I have no fucks left to give about how other people see me. Not anymore.

  I clear my throat. “I’m not coming back. Not for the X Games, not for anything. My brain can’t take another knock, and it’s not worth the risk.”

  “Do you think if you’d had a better helmet?”

  And now he’s trying to get me to trash talk my old sponsors. What a dick.

  “Nope. The helmet that I did have saved my life. I would’ve been dead at the bottom of the pipe without it.”

  “Maybe in a couple years…” Tyson starts.

  I hold up my hand and cut him off. “Not gonna happen. I’ve been fighting that ever since I woke up, because snowboarding was everything to me, and because it fucking sucks having physical limitations after a lifetime of my body doing pretty much whatever I wanted it to do. I hate it. But I also know I’m lucky to be alive, and a lot of people would give anything to be where I am right now. So, yeah, I miss it every single day, but I’m grateful for my life, because overall I’m a fairly lucky bastard.”

  “So that’s it? You’re giving up?”

  Zeke raises a hand like he’s gonna pop the guy one, but I shake my head. “Not worth it, dude.”

  I turn to Tyson. “I’m not giving up. Sorry to mess up your comeback kid story or whatever, but I’m not quitting anything. I’m just moving on.”

  Tyson’s eyes narrow. “Does this have anything to do with the rumors of you getting violent and aggressive after the accident? Are you afraid the pressure will bring on a relapse or something?”

  “Dude, shut up.” Zeke is growling at the guy, but I wave him off again. I am fucking high on life right now and not even Tyson is going to bring me down. I turn so I’m looking straight into the camera and smile at Alex, so she’ll know this is okay.

  “My decision to never return to competitive snowboarding has nothing to do with my problems with my temper, but both things are definitely tied to my accident. After the crash I couldn’t always read people the way I used to, and I also had some anger issues. Still do sometimes. I’m different now, and I’ll never go back to the way I used to be, so all I can do is try to move forward the best way I can.”