Shooting for the Stars

by Sarina Bowen

  “You’re whistling,” his father pointed out when Bear walked into the kitchen. “Got a date?”

  “Nope. Got something better.”

  “What’s that?”

  “An idea.”

  “Uh oh.” His father chuckled. “I’d better brace. That’s what you said when you wanted to enter your first snowboarding competition.”

  The subtext of that statement was: and look how that turned out. But Bear was in too good a mood to let his father’s jab take him down.

  “So are you going to tell me what it is?” his father pressed.

  “I want to make a film. Several films, actually.” Some of them would be practical things, like the videos for the resort. But there was really no reason to stop there. He’d always enjoyed photography and camera work. “I’d be good at it.”

  His father gave a dry chuckle. “You need a job, son. That’s a hobby.”

  Bear said absolutely nothing. It wouldn’t matter if Martin Scorsese himself asked Bear to work on a film, his father would never see it as legit. It would be a waste of breath to try to convince him. Bear spread mustard on two slices of bread and promised himself that he wouldn’t engage with his father on the topic of the future.

  “I requested another application for that accounting course. It came in the mail today.”

  Bear kept the flinch off his face. “I still have the last one you got me.”

  “Fill it out, kid. The semester starts in January.”

  Never in his life had Bear exhibited an interest in accounting. But his father had latched on to this idea a few years ago because the accountant who did his business taxes every year charged a lot of money. “You definitely want some of that,” was how he always put it.

  “You can fill out the application and still make your movie,” his dad added. “Movies are expensive, by the way.”

  True. But that didn’t mean Bear couldn’t make them. He layered his sandwich together and cut it in half with the mustard knife. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “I know it’s hard to change gears,” his father said.

  Seriously? When have you ever tried? His father had not left Vermont as long as Bear could remember. The man did not know shit about changing gears.

  “But you got to find your feet, kid. Stop relying on the Lazarus family to plan your life. I hope you’re not going to ask Hank for movie money.”

  Bear felt his blood pressure escalate even before his father finished his bitter little statement. He knew he shouldn’t react, but it was fucking impossible not to. “I don’t take his money,” he bit out.

  “Really? Whose car is that outside?

  And there it was. Bear picked up his plate and strode out of the room. He walked through the modest log home his father had built with his own two hands, and out onto the little porch. There weren’t any chairs outside, because when his mother had still been around, there wasn’t money for extra furniture. Eventually Barry Electrical came into its own and paid all the bills. But there still wasn’t anyplace to sit, because a single dad with his own business didn’t have free time to think about deck chairs.

  Bear sat down on the wooden planks, his feet dangling off the front, his plate in his lap. But his appetite had left him. It was a shitty thing to accuse him of — trying to depend on Hank. His father had it exactly backwards. The whole reason he stayed in central Vermont, where the job market was crap, was because Hank was not okay. His best friend was in terrible distress, and Bear had spent many hours of each day — and more than a few nights — worrying about him.

  He’d started worrying that morning in Tahoe with Stella. And he’d never really stopped.

  By the evening of Hank’s accident, he and Stella had reached the hospital. The meager phone calls Stella and her parents had traded between flights had provided no clarity. So Bear had lead-footed it all the way down highway 89 from Burlington.

  But at the hospital, there still weren’t answers. The next few weeks had been a gauntlet of small milestones which only brought new questions. Would Hank wake up? Yes, he finally did. But he could not move his legs.

  At first, Hank had seemed to take the devastating news with a stiff upper lip. (Later Bear realized that shock had numbed Hank’s early reaction.) When Hank began an aggressive course of physical therapy to try to maximize his muscle control, Bear had sat with him in the rehab hospital while trainers buzzed around, making optimistic noises about “giving it time” and “retraining the nervous system.”

  But the more time that passed, the less optimistic everyone became. Especially Hank. As the one-year anniversary of his crash loomed, he could only manage a few hard-won steps at a time, and only on a set of parallel bars, with leg braces that rivaled the The Terminator’s metalwork.

  Bear picked up his sandwich and took a bite. It was the same turkey and cheddar on wheat that he ate every night because it was cheap. Bear only spent money on restaurants or bars when he could convince Hank to get out of his house for a beer somewhere. Even after ten months, that wasn’t getting any easier. Bear didn’t know what to do about it, either. It stressed him out. His father’s misplaced disapproval of their friendship only added insult to injury.

  The irony was that Bear did have a job offer. A good one.

  A coach he’d known for a decade wanted Bear to join his back-country outfit outside of Aspen, Colorado. If Bear took the job, he’d leave after Thanksgiving to lead snowboarding clinics for whoever could fork over ten thousand bucks for an intense week of star-studded coaching. He would teach lessons, and also mix with the paying guests at meals, probably telling stories of his glory days as a pro.

  The pay was good, and the food would be spectacular. As opportunities went, it was a pretty good one. He hadn’t told his dad, though. Because he wasn’t sure yet what he was going to do about the offer.

  On the one hand, it would be easy to board a jet to Denver and forget every tense detail of these past few months. But it wouldn’t feel right to walk away with Hank still looking so miserable. Bear’s work here wasn’t done.

  So it smarted that his father had accused him of leeching off of Hank, when the easiest choice would be to turn his back and flee the state.

  Bear’s father’s discomfort with the Lazarus family was his own life-long hang-up. Bear knew this. Still, he’d always had trouble shaking off his father’s disapproval. Tonight was a perfect example. It had taken all of five minutes for his father to flatten Bear’s optimism over his film idea.

  Don’t let him get to you, Bear ordered himself.

  Besides, the more he thought about filmmaking, the better the idea got. Winter sports were a big business, with big money involved. And if they wouldn’t pay Bear to snowboard anymore, they could pay him to film snowboarding.

  Who else knew as much as he did about the sport and about cameras? He had as many industry contacts as a guy could have.

  And so did Hank.

  Now, his friend couldn’t take a job coaching, like Bear could. But that didn’t mean he had to sit indoors for the rest of his life. Maybe he could get Hank to think big. If they made a film together, Hank could get back into the swing of things.

  It wouldn’t be an easy conversation. But maybe Hank would see the possibilities, eventually. He’d have to. Because with every passing minute, the idea grew greater in Bear’s mind.

  He left his sandwich plate on the front porch. He got into Hank’s SUV and cranked the engine. Bear drove down the private drive to the main road, carefully ignoring the steep turn-off to the Lazarus estate. Stella still lived up there in the guest house over her parents’ garage. But it had been a good ten years since she’d come sliding down the hill that connected their properties to visit him.

  Thirty minutes, and thirty dollars later, Bear was in possession of a fancy bottle of tequila and the absolute certainty that his big idea was a keeper. He steered the Toyota up South Hill toward Hank’s renovated, handicapped-accessible bachelor pad. The engine growled at the effort.
And Bear wondered what he’d find at the top of the hill. He just assumed that Alexis’ marriage announcement meant that Hank was having a rough day.

  Hank never spoke about his ex, Alexis. Never.

  The ugly, early days of Hank’s recovery were a blur to Bear, which meant that they were probably a blur to Hank, too. He hoped so, anyway.

  Bear had spent the first week sitting around at the hospital, waiting for news. He’d spent the second one running errands for the Lazarus family and keeping track of the truckloads of notes and gifts that arrived for Hank. There had been balloons and flowers, T-shirts and stuffed animals. Most of them read “Get Well Soon!” Never had an English phrase been more inadequate.

  Hank had spent those same weeks recovering from major back surgery, trying to wrap his head around the idea that he could no longer move his legs.

  Even from the beginning, Bear had worried more about the dead expression in Hank’s eyes than about his limbs. The Hank he knew had left the building, leaving behind a silent, angry shell. Bear’s only hope had been that Hank would do better once he left the hospital for the rehab place.

  On the eve of Hank’s transfer, Bear had paid a visit, hoping to show him a video he’d edited that afternoon. He’d asked all the people Hank knew in Park City to send him a five second greeting. Many had done even better. The guys at Hank’s favorite bar had an on-screen oyster-eating competition in his honor, and threatened to drink all the Guinness if Hank didn’t come back soon. It was juvenile humor, especially after Bear edited it over the theme music to Rocky. He’d have done anything to get Hank to crack a smile, though.

  But when Bear reached the corridor outside Hank’s room, he heard Alexis’s voice inside. She was easy to identify. Stella wasn’t wrong when she said that Alexis had one of the more annoying voices God ever gave a woman. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Alexis whined.

  Bear halted outside the door so as not to intrude.

  “Hank, I’m going to Utah tonight because I have a race tomorrow.”

  Hank’s answer was almost too low to hear. “I know.”

  “But…” Alexis heaved a sigh. “Baby, I’m not coming back.”

  What? Bear thought, his phone halfway out of his pocket.

  “What are you trying to say?” Hank rumbled.

  “Look, I know you’ll hate me for this,” Alexis whimpered. “But the next eight weeks could be the most important of my career.” Alexis, a moguls skier, had already been named to the Olympic freestyle team. “And I need to focus on the skiing. And only on the skiing. You know how it is, Hank. I’m sorry. I just don’t have the… space for this right now.”

  Bear didn’t breathe at all during the silence that followed. What Alexis had just done was unconscionably cruel. He wanted to go in there and shake her.

  When Hank finally spoke, his voice was as rough as Bear had ever heard it. “Better not miss your flight then.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” Alexis babbled.

  “Just go already.”

  A few seconds later, Alexis trotted out of the room, face red, head down. She practically sprinted for the exit.

  Bear made himself wait there for a minute before he went in to check on Hank. Poking his head into the room, he looked at his friend’s pale face. “Hey,” he said stupidly. What did you say to a guy who’d lost everything, and then a little bit more?

  Hank turned his face toward the window. “Hey.”

  “So…” Bear cleared his throat. “I brought you something to watch.”

  Hank did not even turn his head.

  Bear decided to drop the illusion that he hadn’t just heard what Alexis had done. “Look, maybe she’s just really freaked out right now.”

  “She won’t be back.” The words were almost too soft to hear.

  “Well…”

  “I don’t want company right now.”

  Of course he didn’t. Because sometimes a man just needed to suffer his latest indignity in peace. “You need anything…?”

  “No.”

  At that, Bear turned and left the room, closing Hank’s door softly behind him. He briefly considered putting a fist through the hallway wall. Not that it would help. But his frustration was off the charts. Hank could not catch a break. And all Bear could do for him was to leave him be, or offer him a cookie from the god-awful cafeteria.

  He needed some air. Badly. So he marched down the corridor and out the back door.

  Unfortunately, when he stepped outside, there stood freaking Alexis, jabbing a manicured finger at her phone.

  That’s when Bear kind of lost it.

  “What the hell was that?” he spat without a preamble. “Jesus Christ! It hasn’t been a week since he realized he’s fucking paralyzed, and you drop him like a brick?”

  Alexis whirled on him. “Where do you get off? For a year you’ve wished I’d disappear. You and his sister and his mother! All of you are so sure that I’m not good enough for the amazing Hank. Are you going to stand here and pretend that’s not true?”

  Bear’s fury rose up in his throat, nearly choking him. He would never scream at a woman. But it took all his effort not to. “I think you just proved it.”

  Her eyes glittered with anger. “You don’t know a goddamned thing. I had two choices. I can be cruel right now, or call him every night from the fucking Olympic village. Is that what you want? You want me to give him hourly updates on everything he’s about to miss? Gosh, Bear, if I make it onto the podium, I can fly home and let him hold my medal.”

  “You could have just stayed,” Bear said. But even as he spoke the words, he realized he was in no position to suggest it.

  “And miss the Olympics. That’s what you mean, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m not that girl, okay?” Alexis heaved a giant sigh. “Racing is all I have. Even without his accident, Hank and I wouldn’t have lasted a year.”

  “You don’t know that,” Bear argued. He did, though. He’d suggested the same thing to Stella in Tahoe.

  “I do know that. So I ask you — what was I supposed to do? Be a giant bitch right now? Or throw away my only chance to be an Olympic medalist just so that I could hold his hand for a year until we both remember we’re not all that compatible. All my choices are bad ones, Bear. All of them.” A taxi wound its way toward the two of them, and Alexis picked her bag up off the ground. “Whatever you’re thinking about me, just go ahead and think it, okay? Because if Hank and I stay together just because he had an accident, he’ll just be settling for me. And we both know it.”

  Alexis shot him one more glare and then climbed into her taxi.

  Bear watched the tail lights disappear into the December darkness. Then he sat down on the freezing bench beside the hospital door. Until ten days ago, there were laws of nature which had always held up in his life: Hank was destined for greatness. Stella was untouchable. Bear would muddle along.

  Now everything was turned on its fucking head.

  The December chill seeped through his jeans, and Bear considered heading home. But then he spotted Stella coming up the hospital walkway. Her dark hair blew in the breeze, and her eyes were cast down toward the sidewalk. At the last second, she lifted them, finding Bear on the bench before she reached the doors. “Hi,” she said, coming over. She sat beside him.

  “Hi.” Another brilliant greeting. But these days there were two people he didn’t know how to talk to anymore.

  “Are you okay?”

  Not hardly. “Yeah,” he said. Because that was the answer a man gave, whether it was true or not.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  He looked up fast. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “You’re avoiding me.”

  “Not true.” But Christ, he was. Because Stella was yet another uncertain thing in his life. He didn’t know what to do with the way she made him feel. Hot and cold at the same time. As if he’d been taken apart that night they’d slept together, and the reassembly had gone just a
little wrong.

  Stella crossed her arms in front of her chest, probably because she was cold. “We should talk, Bear.”

  Oh, hell. “About what?”

  He expected her to roll her eyes. That would be typical Stella. But instead, she looked worried. “Something happened in Tahoe, and you’re trying to pretend that it didn’t.”

  Busted. Pretending was just the right word. It allowed him to carry on as if she hadn’t taken pity on him. “I don’t see what there is to talk about.”

  Her eyes dipped. “I knew you would say that.”

  Bear had no idea how to respond. He’d assumed Stella would be embarrassed about their night together. But if that assumption was wrong, then he was even more confused.

  Stella’s dark eyes studied him for a long time. “I think… hell. If I tell you right now that it meant a lot to me, you’re going to argue, aren’t you?”

  Oh, boy. Was there any answer to that question that would not get him in a world of trouble?

  She lifted her perfectly kissable chin. “Maybe if our timing hadn’t been so awful, you wouldn’t be freaking out right now.”

  “I’m not freaking out,” he argued. Yeah, you so totally are.

  “Really? Then why do you avoid me? Whenever I show up at the hospital, you suddenly think of some errand that needs doing.”

  Ouch.

  “I think…” She hesitated. “You don’t want to hear that I think we could be good together. I can see it on your face.” Her eyes got a little shiny. “But I had to bring it up. Because I’d regret it if I never did.”

  Whoa. Bear had to be very careful with whatever he said next. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for the girl sitting a cautious few feet away. In fact, he’d happily gather her up right here on the hospital bench and hold on tight.

  But that wouldn’t help Stella, not really. She was under a shitload of stress right now, and obviously seeking comfort from him. And he couldn’t allow her to do that. Making Stella a part of his life—and a fixture in his bed—wasn’t something he’d take lightly. It was definitely a bad idea when emotions were running high. Neither of them had gotten a solid night’s sleep since…