by Tracy Wolff
And everyone seems to be buying it. Z, Luc, Ophelia, Cam, even Logan. They all seem to be taking the avalanche—and the fact that it nearly killed him—in stride.
Because it didn’t.
Because he’s fine.
I should probably chill out, too. After all, he’s sitting here across from me, and he’s fine. Which is all that matters. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. Maybe this is what it’s like being an adrenaline junkie. You face death, you deal with it and then you move on like it’s nothing. After all, the stories they’re swapping tonight—about Patagonia, Alaska, Wyoming, and, yes, even the last time they were all in Chile together—stack up easily against my numerous near-death experiences. They are somehow more horrific, even, because no one saw them coming.
Except, when I look at Ash, really look at him, there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t seem quite right. Something that strikes me as off. I wonder if the others see it, too, if that’s why Cam hasn’t left his side since they dug him out of the snow. Why Luc is cracking joke after joke and Z keeps ordering round after round of drinks.
Logan is the only quiet one at the table besides me. He doesn’t say much, just sits to the left of Ash while Cam sits to the right, and hangs off his brother’s every word. Every once in a while he pipes up with a question about what something felt like or how come he wasn’t scared or “tell them about that time in Mammoth when you and Z fell off the side of the mountain!”
As I watch the two of them together—as I watch all of them together—I can’t help thinking how much of a unit they are. How it really is all of them against the world. Even Ophelia, who I know has only been around for seven or eight months, fits in seamlessly. Like she’s been a part of the group as long as the rest of them.
It makes me wonder, then, why no one is calling Ash on the guilt in his eyes. On the silent scream I can see burning in their indigo depths. It’s plain as day to me—maybe because I’ve seen that same look staring out at me from the mirror more times than I can count—and I want to say something so badly. Want to ask him if he’s okay, really okay. But he’ll just laugh it off, just make a joke, and I’m feeling raw enough, guilty enough, that I know I can’t handle that.
Eventually the conversation winds down and people start making their way up to their rooms. Ash and Logan leave first, after Logan nearly falls asleep in his chocolate cake, followed closely by Z and Ophelia and eventually Cam. Soon it’s just Luc and me left at the table and I start to excuse myself, too, except my phone picks that moment to buzz with a text.
I know it’s my mom before I even check. Sure enough, she wants to make sure I’m getting enough rest and taking my vitamins and asks if I’m feeling okay. It makes me want to scream. I know she’s only doing it because she loves me, know that she’s lived through the years of chemo and radiation, blood tests and bad news, right along with me.
But I’m healthy now.
I’m healthy and I’m never going to feel that way if she’s constantly checking up on me, demanding to know what my temperature is and if I’m eating enough cruciferous vegetables and wheat germ and vitamin C. It’s my body, damn it, my body, and I just want to feel like it’s mine for a little while before it goes back to being community property.
Maybe that’s why I say yes when Luc asks me if I want another drink. Because I want to be Tansy, the Make-A-Wish girl, for a little while longer, instead of going up to my room and engaging in a texting battle with my mom as Tansy, the poor, weak cancer survivor.
“So, this whole near-death avalanche thing,” I say to him as the waitress brings me another glass of the delicious pink wine—my fourth, I think. “Does it really happen to you guys as often as it sounded like tonight?”
He laughs, shakes his head. “Nah. You pretty much heard all the stories we’ve got—and that’s from years of boarding. Well, except Z. He’s got a few more than the rest of us, but even he’s settled down since Ophelia showed up.”
“I can see that. They’re good together.”
“Yeah, they really are. He’s different since she came around. Better.”
I want to ask him what he means—again, the group dynamics here fascinate me—but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Besides, it’s none of my business, no matter how much I like Z and the rest of Ash’s friends.
We spend the next half hour talking about stupid stuff, cracking jokes and laughing like crazy people. Luc’s hilarious, especially now that Cam’s not around and he’s totally relaxed and not trying to hit on me to make her jealous.
I finish my fourth glass of wine and am halfway through my fifth—no, I’ve never had this much to drink before and yes, I think I’m going to end up with the mother of all hangovers tomorrow, but I don’t really care—when I work up the nerve to ask him about Ash.
“What was he like?” I wonder. “Before the accident.” Instinct tells me Z isn’t the only one who’s changed in the last six months.
“Different.” Luc grabs his tequila, drains it. He’s got a half-snarl on his face the whole time, like he can’t stand the taste but is drinking it anyway.
“I figured that much. But how?”
“So that’s how it is, huh?” He raises a brow at me. “You and Ash?”
“No! Of course not. I’m just curious.”
“Yeah, right. You’re ‘curious.’ ”
“Excuse me, but I’m not the one hitting on other girls just to make Cam jealous.”
“No, but maybe you should. That’d be hot.”
I roll my eyes, reach out and shove his shoulder. “Somehow I don’t think I’m her type.”
He snorts. “Yeah, neither am I.”
He acts like it doesn’t bother him, but the fact that it does is written in the little lines around his eyes, the tension in his muscles. Normally, I’d tiptoe around it, but I’ve drunk enough that my inhibitions are pretty much gone. Plus, I really want to know. “So what’s your story? What’s up with the two of you?”
“I asked you first.”
“So? I asked you last.”
He just looks at me. “Do you really think that’s going to work?”
I’m hoping it will, but the smirk on his face says otherwise. “Fine. There’s nothing between Ash and me. I just …”
“Wish there was?”
“No! It’s not like that. It’s just … I made a total ass of myself in front of him and I can’t forget it.”
“Oh, no.” Luc flags down the waitress, gets another drink. “You don’t get to say that much and then just leave me hanging. What happened?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Believe me, I do. And if you expect me to talk about Cam, I need some kind of incentive.”
He’s grinning at me, but it’s an empathetic grin, not a sympathetic one. He doesn’t feel sorry for me, isn’t trying to placate me. He’s just interested and kind and … and I can’t help wondering if I’ve actually made my first friend out of the cancer ward. It’s a good feeling. Strange, but good.
So I tell him everything. About the storage room. About Logan pretending to be Ash’s agent—which he already knew about. About the fight in his kitchen and me agreeing to sleep with Ash only to have him toss my agreement back in my face.
“Yeah, well, you should be glad he turned you down,” Luc says. “It’s a lot better than waking up the next morning and being told all the reasons the best sex of your life didn’t mean anything.”
Ouch. “That’s what happened with you and Cam?”
He tosses back half his glass of tequila, grimacing the whole time. “Yeah. Me and Cam.”
“That sucks.”
“It pretty much does,” he agrees.
“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking …”
“Nothing much. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that she’s been in love with Z forever.”
It is pretty obvious, though I don’t say as much. No use rubbing salt in what is obviously an open wound. “And you’ve been in love with
her forever.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Why else would you be trying to make her jealous?”
“I’m not. I know that’s what everyone thinks, but it’s not true. Not really. I’m just tired of waiting around, looking all pathetic and hoping that she’ll notice me. I just want to move on. I want—” He breaks off, downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, making a face the whole time.
It’s obvious what he’s going to say, that he wants what Z and Ophelia have. Then again, who doesn’t? I don’t go there, though, since it might reduce the both of us to tears. Nothing like a couple of morbid drunks to keep the party alive …
“Why do you drink tequila if you don’t like it?” I ask after a minute, because I’m curious and because I can tell how badly he needs the subject to change.
His eyes shoot to mine. “Who says I don’t like it?”
“The expression you get on your face every time you take a swallow.”
“I don’t have any expression.”
“Yeah, you do.” I screw my face up in an imitation of his. “It’s definitely not a good look for you.”
He laughs, shakes his head, even as he shoves the glass away. “I guess not.”
The waitress comes over and he orders me another glass of wine—that I really shouldn’t drink—and then orders a beer for himself. His first of the night.
The waitress flirts with him a little and he smiles back, teases her in that kind way he’s got. I can’t help responding to his smile, to the twinkle in his eye as he winks at me. He’s a good guy, and I like him. I like his shaggy hair and his dark, mischievous eyes, his crooked half-smile and his warm, easy laugh. I especially like how he’s nice to everyone. How he cracks jokes that are funny, but not mean.
I wish I could be attracted to him—it would probably be a lot easier if I had feelings for him instead of Ash. He’s kind and sweet and probably wouldn’t mind divesting me of my virginity. Well, if he wasn’t completely crazy about Cam, that is.
But Luc isn’t the snowboarder that I want and wishing won’t make it so. Which means, I’m pretty much totally screwed. But then, that isn’t exactly a new state of being for me …
“You know,” Luc says, after our latest—and final, I’m determined—round of drinks has been delivered. “That guy who turned you down? That’s the Ash I remember. The Ash I know.”
“The one who humiliates girls?” I crack, because I can’t believe I told him something so mortifying.
“The one who’s a good guy. The one who came on this trip with no incentive other than to help out a dying kid.” He shakes his head and for a minute, he’s a million miles away. “I wish you’d known him before his parents died. He was this totally anal guy who kept all of us on track. He ran the website, kept up with the agents, the managers, the sponsors. Was all about laying down the practice hours and being healthy and making it to the top of the podium … He was the one who kept Z in line, or tried to. The one who kept everything balanced for us.”
It’s weird for me to hear Ash described like that when he’s been anything but balanced since I met him. He’s got a crazy good poker face most of the time, but I can see the monsters lurking in the backs of his eyes. I know just how close he is to cracking under the strain.
“Now,” Luc continues with a sigh. “Now, he’s just broken, you know? Just shattered. He’s got so much guilt over Logan and his parents, so much rage and worry and hate that sometimes I don’t even recognize him anymore. It’s good to hear he’s still in there, though.”
“Because he propositioned me and then wouldn’t follow through?”
“Because he was trying to scare you away before he did something he’d regret. Something that would hurt you. That’s typical Ash.”
I hadn’t thought of what happened that night in quite that way before, and while I’m not sure Luc is right, I admit the idea makes me feel a little better. A little less humiliated. It doesn’t take away all of the sting, because—really—what would? But still, maybe I’m not quite as repulsive as I feared. That has to count for something, right?
“Hey, you want another drink?” Luc asks, gesturing to my somehow empty wineglass, the one that had been filled just a few short minutes ago.
“Oh, no. I don’t think so. Six is more than enough.”
“No, it’s not. You had your first glass almost four hours ago.” He gets the waitress’s attention, starts to gesture for one more round, but I cut him off.
“I’m good,” I tell him, climbing to my feet. I’m pleased when the ground only shifts a little bit, when the room around me shimmies but doesn’t actively spin. Everything feels nice, warm and glowy and happy, despite all the junk we were just talking about. It’s a good feeling. I like it.
“You sure?” he asks, throwing some money down on the table and climbing to his feet. “Here, let me help you to your room.”
I wave him away. “I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
I can tell he’s not ready to stop drinking yet, and I may be naïve but I’m smart enough to know the two girls at the bar are just waiting for me to take off so that they can make their move on him. The last thing I want to do is cock block him. “Positive,” I tell him, leaning in for a hug. “Thanks for the drinks.”
“Anytime.” He returns my hug, but still looks concerned. “You sure you’re okay to get to your room?”
I take a couple steps away from him, just to test. I’m pretty steady on my feet and the room stays in focus. “Yeah. I’m good.” I nod subtly to the girls at the bar. “Have fun,” I tell him.
“I will.” He grins. “You get some sleep. Things always look better in the morning.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” I wave a little, then turn and make my way through the nearly empty restaurant while Luc heads for the bar.
I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, on controlling the fuzziness in my head instead of letting it control me.
I’m almost to the elevator when I glance through one of the glass doors that lead to the side patio that catches overflow from the outdoor bar during peak hours. It’s empty now, dark, and if I hadn’t been looking at that exact second, I would have missed it. The suggestion of movement from deep in the shadows. The dark shirt that flutters in the wind.
The shirt looks familiar—as does the body wearing it—and I stop in my tracks. Look closer. Shit. That’s Ash out there on the patio, all alone. Ash, standing there looking like one stiff breeze, one sharp move, would break him into pieces so tiny and irreparable that no one would ever be able to put them back together.
It’s a sobering thought, a terrifying one, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I go to the door. Open it. And walk straight over to Ash.
He’s so lost I don’t think he even hears me coming.
Chapter 13
Ash
“You okay?”
I start to snap at the inquiry—I came out here because I need a couple minutes alone, a couples minutes to just get my head on straight—when it registers who the voice belongs to. Not a stranger trying to pick me up, but Tansy.
Tansy who got me into this mess in the first place.
Tansy who I can’t stop imagining naked.
Tansy who really needs to be somewhere else right now, at least until I can rebuild my walls.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell her after running a hand over my face in an attempt to wipe away all the shit in my head. “Just needed a few minutes by myself. What’s up?”
“Nothing much.” Instead of getting the hint, she comes in closer, leans against the railing right next to where I’m standing. I deliberately don’t look at her, though it’s harder than it should be. She smells really great. “Good view,” she says after a minute.
I stare out over the dimly lit grounds of the resort. Snow-covered hills, twinkling lights on tree branches, the ominous shadow of the Andes in the background. “Yeah, I guess.”
I know I’m being rude, but I don’t actually give a fuck right now. All the shit that happened this morning is catching up to me and I just really need a few minutes to get it sorted in my head. A few minutes to come to terms with how close I came to dying, to leaving Logan all alone. It’s why I’m down here, after all. Why I crept out of our hotel room like a criminal after my brother fell asleep.
“Logan settled?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Good. He seemed to be having a really nice time tonight.”
“Yep.”
She clears her throat. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Why?” She shifts a little closer and I start breathing through my mouth. Goddamnit. No girl should smell as good as she does. Like vanilla and sugar. Like sweetness. Like warm cookies fresh out of the oven, only a million times sexier.
“I just thought … I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d want to talk about it? About what happened today?”
I do turn to her then, forcing myself not to reveal too much. Not to reveal anything, really. “What happened today?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Ash.” For the first time, the soft, reasonable tone she’s been using since she walked out here slips a little. “Maybe the fact that you nearly died in an avalanche?”
I didn’t think she’d go there. She’s been tiptoeing around me all day, they all have, so I figured she’d keep doing it. The last thing she wants to do is upset me, right? To throw what my carelessness would have meant for Logan in my face. And yet here she is, doing just that. This girl is full of surprises.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“It wasn’t that close,” I tell her after a minute, in a voice that all but screams for her to back off.
“That’s not what the ski patrol said. Or Z. Or Luc.”
Luc again. Like I somehow missed them cozied up at the table for half the damn night? “Yeah, well, they weren’t there, were they?”
“No, but—”
“Look, can we drop it?” It comes out harsher than I intend, but fuck, I’m not going to be able to hold it together if she keeps pushing. My head is just too big of a mess.
