by Carrie Quest
I reach for her hand, feeling shitty that she’s the one cheering me up when I know how stressed out she’s been.
“Any word?”
She shakes her head. “Ben’s still not picking up his phone, and I can’t exactly call Adam’s parents. Not after…”
Not after you broke up with him and he got wasted and puked all over the bottom of the half-pipe on Japanese national television. While wearing a Big Bird costume.
But I can’t say that because Piper’s number one rule is: We Don’t Talk About Adam.
“Whatever you need, I’m here.” I pull her into a hug.
“Thanks, Natty. I’m okay. I just wish Ben would answer his damn phone. I’m worried about him too, you know? He’s gone totally MIA and my parents are flipping out.”
Piper and Ben are tight in a way I’ve never been with my sister. He’s always traveling, but he owns our house and lets us live here for super cheap rent in exchange for taking care of the place.
“Not even the Ben’s Babes know where he is,” she continues.
“Who the hell are the Ben’s Babes?”
“This group of fans who think he’s hot. They watch him ride and put up sightings on social media if they see him out or talk to him. There’s a hashtag.”
“What is it?”
She snorts. “BensBone.”
“Holy hell. I had no idea he was that famous.” I knew he was that hot, though. I’ve got eyes. And a vagina.
“Yeah, well, I try not to look at their stuff because I really don’t want to read about his mad tongue skills or his magical penis. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”
I, on the other hand, would be very interested in reading about Ben’s mad tongue skills, but I’ll look that shit up later. When I’m alone. And my hands are free.
In the meantime, I concentrate on not blushing, which is what I always have to do whenever Ben’s name comes up. My reaction to Ben Easton is ridiculous. I’ve met the guy twice and had one actual conversation with him (during which I made a complete ass of myself) but that doesn’t stop me from getting a giddy rush every month when I transfer my rent money into his account and see his name on the screen. He’s my landlord and my best friend’s brother. That’s all he’ll ever be, so it really shouldn’t matter to me if there’s a hashtag about his penis.
“Come on.” Piper stands up and holds out a hand. “Let’s go downstairs. If we’re going to continue this conversation, I’m going to need tequila and Netflix.”
Can’t argue with that.
I wake up hours later, head pounding and mouth dry. The TV is off, and Piper’s gone, but I’m warm and cozy. No need to move until morning. I try to turn over and snuggle back down to sleep, but there’s something heavy on my legs.
Something emitting a low growl and shifting its weight, like it’s getting ready to pounce.
Shit. I’m about to get Chuckled.
“Get off, you foul beast!” I kick my feet and hope like hell the blanket is thick enough to protect me from his Wolverine-like super claws.
Chuckles just plants himself a little lower on my legs and keeps growling. He’s facing the front door, which is near the end of the sofa, and I have no idea what he’s doing. Usually he would’ve already sliced into me by now.
“What is wrong with you?”
That’s when I hear the high-pitched whining coming from the porch. And then a crash and the tinkle of breaking glass as something knocks over the recycling bin.
“It’s only raccoons, Chuckles. Grow a fuzzy pair and get off my legs so I can go to sleep.”
But he won’t move, and then the something (or someone) on the porch starts rattling the doorknob. My body goes from sleepy to what-the-fuck in about three seconds and I’m buzzing with adrenaline, my heart pounding so hard I swear Chuckles hears it because he gives me a dirty look like he’s telling me to shut up. A muffled curse comes from the porch, followed by more whining and a sniffling noise. Then the lock clicks and the doorknob rattles again.
Someone is breaking into our house.
I sit up quickly and move to the end of the sofa, scooping up Chuckles as I go. From here I’ll have a clear shot at whoever comes through the door, and that idiotic and unfortunate soul is about to seriously regret choosing to invade the House of Chuckles.
Chuckles squirms and hisses but I hold him tight, ignoring the claws digging into my arms. The door creaks open, a tall figure steps slowly inside, and I do the only thing I can: I scream bloody murder and hurl fifteen pounds of angry cat straight at his head.
Ben
I’ve been driving for days and I’m practically sleepwalking when I stumble into the house, but I wake up quickly when a hissing cat comes flying straight toward my dick. I try to shield myself with my snowboard, but fucking Chuckles uses it as a launching pad to propel himself up onto my shoulders, where he scratches the shit out of my neck and sinks his teeth into my ear.
“Fuck!” I drop the board, barely missing the puppy, whose huge paws are slipping and sliding all over the wooden floors as he tries to jump up and knock Chuckles down. No wonder he’d been so eager to get through the door. The board crashes to the floor and I reach up and grab Chuckles, who gouges bloody lines down both my arms before leaping away again, this time running toward the back of the house. The dog chases after him and I lean over, my hands on my knees, and try to catch my breath.
Not exactly the homecoming I was hoping for.
But probably the one I deserve.
I take a minute, just breathing and trying to let my brain catch up with the adrenaline rushing through my body. I’d hoped to sneak in tonight and not see Piper until at least tomorrow morning. She’s going to be pissed and worried and have a lot of questions that I really don’t want to answer. At least not tonight.
Someone clears their throat and I slowly straighten up, ignoring the hissing and yapping coming from the kitchen, to get a good look at the girl who tried to castrate me with my sister’s cat. She’s kneeling on the couch with her hands on her hips. Her dark hair is in long wavy tangles down her back and she’s got a mean glare going on.
“You scared the shit out of me!” She’s whispering, as if the chaos coming from the other room isn’t loud enough to wake the dead.
Natalie Berenson. I know her last name because she deposits rent into my account every month, but we’ve only met twice. The first time was when I was helping move Piper into the dorms. Nat was wearing these little khaki shorts and I watched her ass going up the stairs as she helped us haul Piper’s boxes to their room. Definitely made moving more interesting.
The second time was last spring, when I bought this place and showed it to Piper. I told her she could live here if she wanted to move off campus, but only if she had a roommate. Boulder’s a pretty safe town, but I didn’t want my little sister on her own. So she and Nat came to check the place out. Nat was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter bunny. Santa had a little bubble coming out of his mouth saying the important thing is that we believe in ourselves, which I thought was hilarious. I even asked her where she got it, because I wanted to get a couple for me and Adam to wear to competitions.
She gave me the website and then we all went to get a beer and talk about rent, which they insisted on paying even though I said I didn’t care. Nat and I got into a long discussion about the role of the Ents in Lord of the Rings that ended when Nat called Treebeard the ultimate phallic symbol, then turned bright red and ran for the bathroom when I asked her what exactly an ancient grouchy-ass tree had to do with cocks. Piper got salty at me for that one, but I wasn’t trying to make Nat uncomfortable. I actually wanted to know.
This time, the third time, Nat’s wearing a white V-neck t-shirt that’s all rumpled and has ridden up high enough that I can see her panties. Which are also white, and covered with pictures of bright red cherries.
Red fucking cherries.
And just like that, my dick, which has shown no in
terest in anything or anyone since the accident, decides to wake up and twitch in my shorts. Maybe the Chuckles attack shocked him back to life.
“Sorry,” I say, not sure if I’m apologizing for scaring her or for checking out her underwear. I talk in a normal voice because we can both clearly hear Piper moving around upstairs, but Nat scowls and shushes me, taking her hands off her hips and waving them as if she can swipe the sound of my voice out the door.
That’s when she must remember her clothing situation, because her face turns as red as the fruit on her panties and she turns around to stare over her shoulder at her own ass like she can’t believe what she’s actually seeing. (I don’t blame her. It’s fucking hot.) Then she leans too far, overbalances, and tumbles off the sofa with an indignant shriek.
Shit. No idea what the etiquette is when there’s a pant-less girl in a heap on the floor in front of you, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me to help her up, especially with the glares she was giving me earlier. I stay put and a second later she reaches up and snags a blanket off the sofa, then pulls it over her head and disappears. I rub my hand over my face, still not sure the last five minutes aren’t some kind of fucked-up dream. I’ve been driving by myself for days and I’m exhausted. I also stink and don’t remember the last time I changed my shirt. It’s entirely possible I am dreaming.
Maybe I dreamed the whole thing.
Then the light over the stairs flicks on and my sister is rushing toward me and the force of her hug knocks the air right out of my lungs. I’m definitely awake. All of it definitely happened: the accident, the hospital, the fight in the desert, the drive, the cat attack, the cherry panties. It’s all real, and only one part of it is good.
“Hey, Half-Pipe. Sorry to wake you up.”
Piper squeezes me one more time and then takes a step back. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Of course. Only a minor Fuckle.” I hold up my arms and show her the scratches. The tattoo of the arrow on my wrist is pretty bloody, but it’s not like I want to ever see that thing again anyway. “No big deal.”
But she doesn’t look reassured, and it hits me that she isn’t talking about my arms. She’s talking about the thick neoprene brace on my knee. Or maybe it’s the black eye and the split lip I’m sporting, courtesy of the dog’s previous owner.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t returned any calls for over a month and my parents left me a voicemail last night threatening to report me as a missing person if I didn’t get in touch soon.
Piper’s eyes run up and down my body. “What happened to your knee?”
“I hit something.” I try to keep my tone light and easy, but it’s tough.
“And your face?”
I touch my puffy eye. “Someone hit me.”
She puts her hand on my chest and gives me a shove. “I don’t blame them,” she says, and then takes a deep breath. “We’ve been worried sick about you, Ben. You don’t text, you don’t call, and with Adam…”
Shit. This is why I wanted to avoid Pipes tonight. Because I can’t talk about Adam right now. Not until I’ve had a shower and some sleep and some time to get my thoughts straight. Plus, I know she’s going to cry when we talk about him, and I hate to see her sad.
I pull her into another hug and whisper, “Not tonight, okay?” into her hair. She stiffens against me, and I know she wants to push me again and yell at me for what an ass I’ve been. I also know I deserve it, and a whole lot more. A few minutes pass and Piper finally loosens up. She takes a huge sniff and steps back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“You stink,” she informs me, wrinkling her nose.
I relax a little. She’s going to let me get away with it. I want to hug her again, for being awesome enough to give me a break, but she’s definitely right about the stink. I am putrid.
“Heading for the shower right now,” I say. “See you in the morning?”
“Count on it,” she says. Her eyes tell me that she won’t be so easy to distract tomorrow, but I’ll deal with it then. Right now, I need to get clean and get some sleep.
I glance over at Natalie, who’s scrambled back up on the sofa and has the blanket wrapped around her like a toga. She blows some stray hair out of her face and she’s looking so determined to pretend that none of the last few minutes happened that I want to throw her a smart-ass remark about cherries just to see her blush again.
I’m kind of a cranky asshole when I’m tired.
The dog is still going nuts and I’m about to call him when Natalie purses her lips (which is distracting) and then lets out a shrill whistle that brings him running. He stands in front of her, panting like an idiot, and then sits before she says a word.
“Never seen him do that before.”
“Nat’s a dog whisperer,” Piper murmurs. “Wait. Where did you get a dog?”
“Death Valley,” I say without thinking, because I really don’t want to get too far into this story tonight. “Same place I got the black eye and the lip. His previous owner was kicking him around the campsite, then locked him in the car with the windows closed. So I liberated him.”
“I thought the car was locked,” Piper said. “Did you call the ranger?”
I shake my head and shrug. “Weird shit happens in the desert. Some of it happens with rocks.”
“You broke the windows.”
“Yup.” I point to my eye. “But he came back as I was leaving. He didn’t really care I stole his dog, but he was pissed about the car.”
I pick up my board and duffle before she can say anything else and nod at Natalie, who’s rubbing the dog’s ears and smiling at him.
“Sorry again for freaking you out,” I say.
And there’s that blush.
“Sorry for throwing a cat at your head,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows. “My head?”
Her eyes flit down to my dick and she’s so red now that Piper’s looking back and forth between us with a very suspicious expression.
“I’ve got bad aim,” Nat mumbles. “But it was effective.”
I laugh, which surprises me because that’s another thing that hasn’t really happened since the accident.
“What are you talking about? Did something happen to Chuckles?” Piper sinks down next to Nat on the sofa, babbling about her cat, and I grab my chance and head downstairs, checking out what the girls have done to the place as I go.
The ground floor is pretty much one huge room with a sofa, chairs, and TV at one end and a dining room table at the other. In between a little kitchen is tucked off to the side. Chuckles is in there, sitting on top of the refrigerator and licking his ass like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He probably doesn’t. Spoiled little psychopath.
“I should have drowned you years ago,” I whisper to him.
“I heard that!” Piper shouts.
Next to the kitchen is the door to the basement, which is my domain. At least, I guess it is now. I’ve never even spent the night in this place. I bought it because I had a really good season last year, and this seemed like a good investment. Plus, I didn’t want Piper living in some shitty apartment up on the Hill next to all the frat houses.
The dog comes when I whistle. He’s good like that, even though I haven’t even given a name yet or taught him to sit or anything. I wasn’t planning on keeping him when I stole him from that asshole, but he’s grown on me in the last couple of days.
Downstairs he goes apeshit sniffing all the boxes. I’ve never lived here, but I’ve been sending myself stuff for the past year. Most of it I don’t even really remember buying. Either because I was drunk (the freaky samurai helmet in the corner), though that was rare if I was training or competing, or because I was in such a rush. I’d allow myself one day off training on each trip. One day to have a drink and be a tourist and have sex. Then it was back to the routine.
Maybe now that I’m done, I’ll go back to all those places and actually see them.
I have my own bathr
oom down here and someone put some towels and a bathmat in here at some point. I don’t remember buying them, so it must’ve been Piper. I go in and turn on the shower to get the water hot, then take a good look around, peeling off my rank shirt as I go.
The basement stretches the entire length of the house. Most of it is one big room, but there’s also a walk-in storage closet in the back, and the bathroom. I see a door to the outside I forgot about and halfway wish I’d come in that way and avoided seeing the girls at all, but that would’ve meant I missed Natalie in her underwear, so I can’t be too sorry.
The whole place is full of boxes, most of them still sealed shut. There are about thirty snowboards leaning against the walls. I gave this address to my sponsors, so they must’ve been sending stuff here too, and sometimes random companies send me gear, hoping I’ll wear it on camera. Boxes of brand new boots are stacked up in the corners and there’s a pile of jackets next to the bathroom door. The dog jumps into them and circles three times, then drops immediately off to sleep.
I could outfit an entire high school snowboarding team twice over with all this stuff. Maybe I’ll do that, just call Boulder High and tell them to take all of it away.
Steam starts billowing out of the bathroom door and I drop my shorts. There’s something missing here but I can’t put my finger on what. I look around again and smile at the dog, blissed out in his nest.
Then it hits me.
No furniture.
I’ve got a samurai helmet and thousands of dollars’ worth of gear, but I don’t have a bed.
I groan because the thought of an actual bed, after camping and sleeping in my car the past couple weeks, is all that kept me going during the last hours of my drive tonight. Then again, I had a bed in a nice hotel when I was in Reno visiting Adam at the hospital, and I still didn’t sleep for shit. Every time I start to drift off I picture the accident. I see Adam crash, then slide down the walls of the half-pipe, his body limp. I was too far away to hear anything, but in my dreams the crack of his head hitting the ice is loud enough to wake me, and I lie there, my heart racing, reliving it over and over again.
