Shattered: An Extreme Risk Novel

by Tracy Wolff

  Oh, I’ve heard about his adventures. Have dealt with Ash’s anxiety, and his pride, over his brother’s determination to learn how to ride one, but this is the first time I get to see Logan in action.

  I can’t wait.

  “So, you ready?” Ash asks again as we stand at the top of the hill looking down.

  Not even close. I think about changing my mind, about heading back to the resort to hang with Ophelia, who is working her shift in the coffee bar. But Z is out here, along with Luc and Cam and Logan, and they’re all looking at me. All waiting for me to “barge” my first run. Unless I want to look like a total pussy, there’s nothing I can do but give this thing a try.

  “Yeah. You bet,” I tell him, ignoring the voice in the back of my head that’s telling me I’m going to die. Ash has survived avalanches, for God’s sake. Surely I can survive a bunny slope.

  He spends the next few minutes going over everything he’s already told me about how to do this. The way I’m supposed to hold my body, how I’m supposed to use my hips to swivel and jump—like I’m planning to do either. Right now, I just want to make it to the bottom of the hill in one piece.

  And then Ash is stepping back, dropping his hand from my waist. “Okay, baby,” he tells me. “Go for it.”

  Damn. I take a deep breath, steel myself. Here goes nothing.

  I scoot forward, inching sideways on my board like I’ve been practicing in the front yard. And then, with a look at Ash and his friends and another look at Logan, I drop into the run.

  It’s fucking brilliant.

  I’m not going very fast as the slope is a lot less steep than anything Ash rides, but it’s amazing nonetheless. Behind me, Logan lets out a little whoop, and then he drops in, too. He’s a lot better at this than I am, so he manages to keep a decent distance between us as we go down the hill together.

  Wind rushes by my hair, the cold biting at my cheeks. But I don’t care. I barely even notice it, to be honest. I’m too caught up in what it feels like to be out here with Logan and Ash and the others. What it feels like to, finally, be a real part of the group.

  Adrenaline races through me as I carve a line straight down the hill. I don’t do anything fancy—the fact that I’m still standing seems pretty fancy to me—but when Ash comes up on the other side of me, he’s wearing the proudest smile I’ve ever seen. Even after five months of being together, it makes my heart go pitty-pat just a little faster, just a little harder.

  “You guys are doing amazing!” he crows.

  It’s a bit of an overstatement and Logan and I roll our eyes at each other one more time. But I’m secretly pleased and I can tell that Logan is, as well. Ash’s approval means so much to him and it’s awesome that Ash has finally figured that out.

  Ash passes me then, doing a little jump that spins him around and has him boarding backward down the last stretch of mountain. Show-off.

  When I finally get to the bottom, he’s already there waiting for me—as are Luc and Cam. They aren’t looking at each other, aren’t talking to each other—things have suddenly gotten very strained between them, which sucks—but they’re both wearing big smiles as they watch Logan and me cruise to a stop.

  I wobble, then start to fall. But Ash is there to catch me, to pull me against him and give my suddenly weak-feeling knees all the support they need. But then, that’s Ash. He’s been giving me that little bit of support, that extra little hand, for five months now. And it’s been amazing.

  Because he’s learning how not to be overbearing. How not to let his own fears for Logan and me cloud his interactions with us. It’s not that he doesn’t still care an obscene amount, because he does. Some days I can’t believe how much he loves me. But he’s tempering that with caution, with an understanding that Logan and I can do a lot on our own. We both need him, desperately, but we’re both strong enough to do the hard things alone. Even if we never have to.

  “That was amazing, Tansy!” Logan crows as I kick out of my board. His face is flushed, ringed with smiles, and I’ve never seen him happier. Getting on a monoski is the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time.

  “It was!” Ash agrees, pulling me into his arms and spinning me around. “You were amazing.”

  “I was barely passable,” I tell him. “But that’s okay. I’ll get better.”

  “Yeah?” he asks, brows raised. “You want to go again?”

  “Hell, yeah,” I tell him, slotting my hand into his. After all, life isn’t always easy. It isn’t always fair. But it is an adventure, one that I’m so grateful, so thrilled, to have the chance to live.

  A year ago, I never could have imagined this.

  A year ago, I thought I’d be dead now.

  I look up at Ash, glance at Luc and Logan, Z and Cam. And count my blessings. Because this … this is so much better.

  For Martin

  Acknowledgments

  I’m always a little at a loss for words when I sit down to write the acknowledgments for a book. Because while I write the actual words that you read, so, so much more goes in to the book—the writing of it and the producing of it.

  So first of all, I’d like to thank everyone at Random House who has done such amazing, amazing things with this book—and with me. Sue, Gina, Kim, and everyone else who has helped make this, and all my books what they are, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  I also need to thank:

  My agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, for everything. You are one of my favorite people in the whole world and I adore you.

  My dear friends—Emily Mckay, Tera Lynn Childs, Shellee Roberts, Julie Kenner, Sherry Thomas, Monica Murphy—who listen to me whine and who always know just what to say. You are all goddesses and I love you more than I can ever say.

  Katrina Tinnon—for everything from heading up the Wolff pack to the bright orange bow. You are the best!

  My family—thank you, Mom, for all the times you’ve taken over so I can write. And thank you to my guys, for putting up with all the late dinners, all the times you catch me talking to thin air while I’m plotting out a scene, all the hours I spend holed up in my room when I should be hanging with you, and for all the love and support and enthusiasm you give me every day. I love you.

  And finally, I have to thank my fans. Things have changed so much for me this year, because of you, and I am so, so grateful. Thank you so much for giving me a chance, for reading my books and for all of your enthusiastic emails and tweets and messages. They mean the world to me and I will never be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her lifelong love. Now an English professor at her local community college, she writes romances that run the gamut from sweet contemporary to erotica, from paranormal to urban fantasy and from young adult to new adult.

  Read on for an excerpt from Tracy Wolff’s

  Shredded

  An Extreme Risk Novel

  Z

  I’m halfway up the mountain on the magic carpet when it hits me that it’s dark. Really dark, not just getting dark. Which sucks because it means I’m done. That was the last run. No more boarding tonight since all of the good runs close down once it hits full dark.

  Normally that’s not a problem—I’ve been out here for seven hours already and my body could use a break, especially since my toes started going numb over an hour ago.

  But tonight I’m not ready to go in. Not now, when my skin feels itchy and too tig
ht and my brain is spinning with the need to forget—

  I cut the thought off as I exit the ski lift at the top of the mountain and unhook my gear. Instead I concentrate on unbuckling my board and checking the screws at the bottom of it to make sure there’s no damage. I totally barged that last run—which was banging at the time—but I carved the last few rails hard. My board took most of the impact, and I want to make sure it’s still solid.

  Turns out it is, and I’m just sliding it into the equipment rack to the right of the lift when Cam steps onto the snow behind me. She’s as excited as I’ve ever seen her. “Dude, that last run was wicked! I’ve never seen you do that inverted triple cork before.”

  “That’s ’cuz there are too many gaffers around here to get in the way.” The last thing I need is to get tangled up with a tourist who doesn’t know what he’s doing—that’s how shit turns ugly, fast. But today I couldn’t stop myself from busting out. From the second I woke up this morning there’s been this force building inside me, pressing down on my chest until I feel like I’m drowning. On days like this, taking it out on the powder is the only way I can breathe.

  But the run’s shutting down—Cam was the last one up—and the feeling’s back, worse than before. I’m standing here, wind kicking up, fresh air all around me, and still I’m suffocating.

  Beside me, Cam dumps her stuff next to mine, then heads for the bench where we normally wait for Luc and Ash to finish up at the half-pipe. I follow her, but the second I sit down next to her the itchiness gets worse. As does the throbbing at the base of my neck.

  Nope, sitting here in the dark, waiting, isn’t going to do it for me tonight. Maybe if I’d brought some weed to mellow me out, but my stash is at home. When I’d left the house this morning, I’d told myself I could handle it. That today was just another day.

  What a fucking joke that is. I feel like I’m going to explode.

  I start to stand up again, to pace off the energy that’s slamming at me from the inside, but Cam stops me with a hand on my arm. “I’m serious. That trick was freakin’ amazing. How long have you been working on it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You probably started trying to do it yesterday.” She shakes her head, looks disgusted. “I’ve been trying to do a 900—any kind of 900—for months now, and we both know how well that’s going.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from pointing out that she’s a girl—that no matter how strong she is and no matter how much she practices, I’m going to be able to do things she can’t. Not because I’m a better boarder, because I’m not. She’s totally sick on a snowboard. But testosterone is just one of those things. I’m physically stronger than her, so I can catch bigger air, do more complicated tricks.

  “I’m serious,” she continues. “One of these days I’m going to figure out how to do that move.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Hey.” She punches my shoulder. “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Do I look like I’m in the mood to patronize anyone?” Right now, the pressure’s so bad I can barely talk, barely breathe.

  “So are you doing okay?” she asks, laying a hand on my arm.

  “Yeah. ’Course I am. Totally solid.” I shrug her hand away, and now I do stand up. Pretend I’m fascinated by watching the resort workers do all the routine tasks that come with closing up one of the black diamond runs.

  But Cam’s not buying it. She’s right beside me again, her face tilted up to mine, her big brown eyes filled with a worry I just don’t want. Or need. And something else. Something I’m seeing from her more and more often lately. I usually avoid it—she’s one of my best friends, after all, not to mention the girl Luc’s been in love with practically forever—but for a second, just a second, I think about taking her up on the invitation.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I bend my head. Lean in. Our lips are only a few inches apart now and her eyes go wide, her breath catching in her throat. I can all but feel her tense, all but hear her heart pick up a beat.

  It would be so easy to kiss her.

  So easy to take her back to her place and fuck her like I have hundreds of other girls.

  So easy to pretend it isn’t her and just lose myself in another body.

  But then what? I have a hard enough time looking at myself in the mirror as it is. If I screw with her like that—screw with Luc—for an hour of sex that won’t mean anything when it’s over, then I’m an even bigger dick than I thought.

  I can’t do it. Not to her. And not to Luc.

  There are plenty of girls out there who don’t want anything more than I do. And who I won’t have to face in the morning.

  I back away at the last second, nod toward the lodge. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  She stares at me for long moments, but this time all I see in her eyes is pure pissed-off female. It’s a look I’m well acquainted with, and relief sweeps through me as I register it. After all, having Cam mad at me is a million times better than having her looking at me with all that worry and other crap.

  She doesn’t call me on my shit, though, and since the wind’s really kicking up—making the whole mountaintop look like a snow globe in the hands of a hyped-up toddler—she doesn’t argue, either. At least not until we make it through the wide glass doors of the Lost Canyon ski lodge. We’re only there a few seconds before a group of rowdy grommets plows straight into us, sending Cam sprawling on her ass. The kids take off running before either of us can do more than stare at the little monsters.

  I hold out a hand to help her up and she takes it, but her brown eyes spark with annoyance. “What exactly are we doing, Z?” she demands as she climbs back to her feet. “You know I hate coming in here.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Mike’s not out here tonight. And even if he was, I wouldn’t let him near you.”

  She stiffens at the mention of her douche-bag ex. “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who are you worried about, then?” I glance around. I wouldn’t mind getting rid of some of this tension by beating the shit out of some guy who’s hassling her.

  “You, Z. I’m concerned about you.”

  Fuck. I walked right into that one. Cam, Luc, Ash and I have been friends since we were like five. Which is great when you understand that we’d pretty much lie down in traffic for each other, but not so great when it comes to the fact that we know everything there is to know about one another—including the fucked-up stuff.

  “Don’t be,” I tell her, determined to get my head in the game. “I already told you, I’m solid.”

  “Yeah, right.” She pulls off her ski hat and her crazy red curls poof in all directions. With all that hair and her turquoise snowboarding suit she looks a little like a Muppet. A cute Muppet, but a Muppet nonetheless. To annoy her—and maybe to distract her, too—I reach out a hand, ruffle her curls.

  She slaps at me, but she’s laughing, so I do it some more. The tension from that disaster of an almost-kiss fades away and relief whips through me. I’ve fucked up enough in my life. Messing up my friendship with her and Luc, too, isn’t an option.

  She ducks down, escapes my hand before landing a bony elbow squarely in my stomach. I don’t flinch, but only because not showing weakness is something of a religion with me—even to one of my closest friends. I give her curls an extra tug before dodging out of range, just to show her the elbow didn’t hurt.

  “Come on, let’s go get a table.”

  “Why can’t we wait outside like we usually do?” She’s almost whining now, and any other time I’d give in to her. But not now. Not tonight.

  Because if I can’t board, can’t smoke and can’t fight, there’s only one option left. And we’ve already had one too-close-for-comfort call. “It’s cold out there, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  She looks me up and down. “You’re wearing three thousand dollars in top-of-the-line snowboarding gear and you’re worried about a little cold?”

  “A little cold? No.”
I point toward the doors we just came through. In the last few minutes the wind has picked up even more and snow is flying in all directions. “But it is fucking cold out there. I was starting to worry about getting frostbite on my nuts.”

  She rolls her eyes, makes a sound of disgust. “Nice, Z.”

  “Hey, you asked,” I tell her as I shed my jacket. It might be approaching blizzard conditions outside, but inside the resort the heat is cranking full blast. It feels good after half a day on the mountain, but the last thing I want to do is start to sweat, not when we’ll be back out there in a matter of minutes. “Besides, your lips turned blue about an hour ago. I thought you’d appreciate the chance to thaw out.”

  “Yeah, that’s why we’re in here,” she says, finally getting on board and making a beeline for the only available table in the coffee bar. “Because you’re worried about the condition of my lips.”

  I ignore her as we weave through tangles of people and snow gear alike. The place is crowded, but that’s nothing new this time of year. Everyone from serious hobbyists to firsttimers and everything in between hits the Park City slopes once winter closes in, all hoping for a rip-roaring time. Of course, most of the tourists don’t know what the hell they’re doing—one of the many reasons I, like most of the locals, normally avoid the hotel runs here like the plague. It’s a lot easier to get hurt on a run when half the people out there with you don’t have a clue what they’re doing.

  In fact, if I had my way, I’d be boarding the backcountry every day instead of just on weekends. But once Lost Canyon started paying Luc and Ash to ride here when they’re in town, I started coming with them instead of heading into the nonresortified areas. Because while I might spend my life doing crazy shit, even I’m not screwed up enough to go backcountry on my own. At least most of the time.