The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  It hadn’t escaped my notice how many meals she skipped and how little she ate whenever she did eat one. Yet, she always deflected me when I pressed her about it.

  Melinda: Katherine’s protein shakes taste awful!

  Sager: They give a whole new meaning to the term ‘go green’

  Melinda: I think she even puts asparagus in that glop. Gotta go. She’s 0-0 glaring at me

  Sager: Tempest kicks ass

  Melinda: Practice went that good, huh?

  Sager: Define good;)

  Sager: You ok? I haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you at the airport yet?

  Melinda: Sorry. Running around last minute. Almost forgot my passport. Boarding now. Love you <3

  Sager: Luv U2 babe

  Melinda: Landed. I’m on the opposite coast from you now :(

  Sager: Call me when u get a chance. I miss your voice :(

  There was no response to that last one. It had been hours. I tried not to worry about her, but I did.

  “Dude,” Dizzy complained sliding a fresh mug of beer across the table to me. “Give it a rest.” He bumped my shoulder as he scooted toward my side of the crescent shaped booth, Tempest’s customary spot inside the club. He lifted his chin exchanging knowing glances with the others guys before turning back to me. “Put the cell back inside your pocket. It will buzz when she calls. Drink your beer. You didn’t even touch the last one. Maybe let off a little steam on the dance floor. You’re gonna see her again in a couple of days.”

  Yeah, I thought. Only that feels like a lifetime away. But I kept my pathetic level of obsession to myself and nodded in response to his offer.

  “Easy for you to say. Your girl’s right here.” I pointed at April over behind the bar. “Mine’s in Maine on the other fucking side of the continent. On top of a mountain. On skis. And she has a reckless streak.”

  “I hear ya.” He clasped my shoulder and gave me a wry look “Maybe you oughta have two beers.”

  • • •

  My cell buzzed. I was buzzed, too. On my fourth beer, or was it the fifth?

  “Hello.” Cotton shirt stuck to my perspiration soaked skin, I hurried off the dance floor and pressed a hand over my ear wanting to hear Melinda’s voice over the club music.

  “Mr. Reed,” a stern female voice stated. Definitely not my Bluebelle. “This is Katherine Arbold.” My body went ice cold.

  “Where’s Melinda?” I immediately went into panic mode. “Is she ok?”

  “She’s fine.”

  Thank God.

  “I confiscated her phone. It’s too much of a distraction right now. She asked that I update you, so I’m doing that. I’ll text you with any important developments. In the meantime any messages for her will need to go through me. Understand?”

  “Certainly.” I understood that we were screwed, and that this sucked. But I knew Melinda. She trusted her coach or she wouldn’t have gone along with it. “Tell her everything’s ok here. Tell her I’ll see her Friday. Tell her to kickass but to be careful.”

  I lowered my voice and swallowed my last bit of pride. “And make sure to tell her that I love her.”

  • • •

  Melinda

  My cheeks flushed with warmth when I opened the door to my hotel room and Katherine came inside relaying Sager’s messages.

  “He’s a distraction you can’t afford right now. One thing I will say is that he seems very certain about his feelings for you.”

  The center of my chest ached from missing him. I nodded my head to acknowledge her assessment, knowing I felt just as sure about him.

  “If you have a few, I’d like to go over some things. I have some notes about the course.”

  “Sure.” I swept an arm wide. She came inside and took a seat on the foot of my bed. I dropped down beside her. She frowned when she saw the mostly uneaten tray of food on the dresser and the completely untouched shake. “What’s this?” she admonished.

  “Too nervous,” I admitted.

  “You have to eat, Melinda. You can’t afford to lose any more weight.” Her brows flattened into a disapproving line. I knew she was right, but I had gotten into the habit of restricting myself. Between dieting and exercise, it made me feel strong to be able to be in complete control of at least one part of my stressful life.

  “I’ll drink the other shake in the fridge in the morning,” I promised to appease her.

  “You’ll drink it now. Every last drop. You don’t eat enough to fuel a regular person, much less a world class athlete. This isn’t modeling, Melinda. Pencil thin waifs don’t win gold medals. I shouldn’t have to police your caloric intake. It’s disturbing to me that we are even having this conversation. If this continues, you’ll force me to set you up with a sports psychologist and a nutritionist. You know anorexia isn’t uncommon among athletes.”

  “I don’t have anorexia.” I shook my head in denial, though a niggling doubt gnawed in the back of my mind. I remembered reading in a magazine article once about how traumatic events sometimes triggered eating disorders. I’d had my share of trauma lately. With Sager. With April. With the skiing and my dad. I stood, went to the fridge, grabbed the shake and lifted it to my mouth to prove to Katherine and to myself that I wasn’t pathological about my weight.

  “Good.” She nodded approvingly and patted my knee. “Now about the course.” She glanced at the open notepad on her phone while I fixated on every swallow, mentally estimating how many calories I was consuming with each one and how long I would have to exercise tonight on the treadmill to eliminate them all. “The banks are less steep than you’re used to. Your turns are one of your big strengths so be the first person to get to them, generate speed quickly and then be equally aggressive on the rest of the features. Keep your legs loose on the kickers. Pump the rollers. But most of all concentrate on getting a good pull out of the gate. You’re much better with that now than you were when we first began working together. If you don’t get out in front early on the top half it is going to be especially challenging and you’ll have to make up time at the bottom of the course. Stay away from the outer edge of the first turn. Take it tight on the inside of your competitors or drop back. I skied that area myself today, and it’s pretty treacherous. It gets full sun in the morning then refreezes into a solid sheet of hard ice in the afternoon. There’s no shoulder, and there’s a big drop off on the other side.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Sager

  “Hey.” My little brother answered his cell on the first ring. “How did it go? Did Carter Besille ask you a lot of questions? Was he nice?”

  “It went well.” I glanced up as a shadow fell over me, extending my arm to take the cup of coffee King offered me. He’d come from the cafe a couple of gates down where the others were getting breakfast while I made my call. We were all pretty tired. We had been up since before dawn for the taping. King pointed to his cell reminding me of the time. I nodded. They would be boarding our plane soon. “The studio audience loved our performance. Our marketing rep told us we had a sh...” I bit back the curse word. “I mean a lot of downloads already for the singles from the new album on iTunes. Besille didn’t ask me any questions.” The popular talk show host had really only been interested in trying to get dirt on War’s relationship with Shaina. Our lead singer had totally stonewalled him. War didn’t take shit from anyone. “I got you an autograph.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” I really hadn’t had much of a choice. The guy was an annoying self-promoter, forcing off shiny eight by ten glossies of himself to anyone and everyone.

  “I’m halfway through the book you recommended.”

  “What do you think so far?”

  “It was a little hard to get into at first because there are so many characters but I’m really into it now.”

  “Sweet. You should call or text me when you’re through, and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I’d like that,” he said.

  My heartrate
accelerated when I heard the overhead announcement that they were starting to pre-board our flight. I was anxious to see Melinda. “Hey I gotta go catch my plane.”

  “How’s your girlfriend doing?” I had bragged to him about her. I hadn’t been able to help myself. We had both talked each other’s ears off in that first meeting trying to cram the eight years we had missed into that one hour.

  “She’s kicking butt,” I told him. “She’s in the finals today. I’m at LaGuardia on my way out to Portland, Maine to go see her.”

  “Awesome.” He stressed the second syllable in a cute way. “Can you text me later to let me know what happens?”

  “Absolutely. And you should text me when you finish The Passage. If you like it, I’ll buy you the second one in the series plus I’ve got a whole list of other books I think you might enjoy.” King and Melinda weren’t really into reading like I was. It was cool that Jude shared my interest because I liked talking about books almost as much as I enjoyed reading them.

  • • •

  “How much further?” I queried from the second row seat of the Expedition we had rented in Portland for the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Sugarloaf.

  “Five minutes less than the last time you asked, Sage,” War replied without swiveling around from the shotgun position he had taken next to King. Our lead singer was notoriously prone to motion sickness so he always sat up front.

  “Any updates from Coach Killjoy?” my best friend asked meeting my gaze in the rear view mirror.

  “No. Just keep your eyes on the road. Drive fast but try not to get a ticket or have a wreck. I don’t want to miss seeing her compete.”

  “We’ll make it, Sager.” April reached forward and patted my shoulder from her seat in the third row behind me. “We’re less than twenty minutes away now, and,” she did air quotes and everyone in the vehicle chimed in mimicking the inflection of Google maps, “you are on the fastest route and your route is clear.”

  I gave them the finger for yanking my chain and tried to distract myself with the snow covered scenery out the window.

  My cell bleeped with an incoming text.

  Melinda/Katherine: This is Katherine. How close are you?

  Sager: Less than twenty minutes away

  Melinda/Katherine: Good. Find a spot at the finish line. That’s where I told her you would be waiting. It’ll give her an extra incentive to get down the course faster. And cross your fingers. If she skis as well in this round as she did in the others, she has a real good chance to win it.

  I shared the message with the others and breathed a sigh of relief when I finally saw the sign that indicated we were entering the resort.

  We bypassed the outer parking lots and pulled up next to a multistoried building where volunteers wearing FIS World Cup hats and armbands were congregated. King rolled down his window and paid the extra twenty to have them valet park. We all piled out. Boots crunching on the snow, our postures immediately hunkered inward in response to the frigid air. Following a group of enthusiastic ski cross fans, we passed between two buildings and discovered that the finish line was just on the other side of them. Behind a barricade within a bowl shaped area, two to three hundred fans milled around. Many gathered next to a large stone fire pit. An American flag high on a pole flapped in the wind above them. I heard the ringing of cattle bells and distant cheering from a nearby competition on another slope. The crisp breeze cut through me like a chilled knife. I fished my knit cap and gloves out of my pocket, put them on and lifted the navy collar of my wool jacket around my neck. It was significantly colder in the mountains in Maine than it had been back in New York.

  “Look there she is.” April pointed to the giant monitor that was showing a still picture of Melinda with her official bio and the FIS points she had gained this year alongside it before it changed to a live shot from the top of the mountain.

  My breath stilled as I saw her in the starting gate with the others. “She has the red bib on because she must have had the fastest time in the last round.” That meant she got first choice on which position she wanted at the starting gate. She was the farthest competitor to the right and was wearing her new grey fatigue style jacket and pants with the Black Cat Records’ roaring lion logo. Separates were a requirement for ski cross, and they had to be loose fit, too. No skin tight speed suits were allowed. My eyes drank her in. My heart swelled with pride for her, while my stomach tensed tightly with nervous anticipation. Poles in a gloved grip, she was rocking side to side to keep her leg muscles warmed up. I imagined that those beautiful sapphire eyes were bright with excitement behind her slate tinted goggles. She looked ready to race. The count to attention was called. The clock started beeping.

  • • •

  Melinda

  My thundering heart shot adrenaline into my limbs as soon as the gate panel dropped. I was the first one out, Katherine’s influence already paying off. Up and over the first steep step-up jump I went. A girl wearing a blue bib beside me didn’t have enough momentum on her pull. She got hung up on the flat and got left behind.

  The rest were right with me though my skis were a breath ahead. I tucked tight down the slope and took the first roller. I pulled slightly out in front, though I could feel the pack directly behind me. I focused on the upcoming ramp and the next jump, propelling myself up in the air and landing softly on the very next incline. These back to back jumps were tricky. One moment of inattention, one lapse and you could fall too far behind to ever make up the deficit. Or worse.

  Down the slope and into the rollers I noticed that the group had thinned to only me and Muriel now. The Swede. Number one in the world. She cast an imposing figure beside me. She was nearly six feet tall, an advantage where power was required. I had to put my hope in finesse.

  Eyes straight ahead, I was prepping for the next feature in my mind when my pole nearly got knocked out of my hand. I glanced to the side. Blonde hair trailing behind her, Muriel shouted something. I returned my gaze to the course. I couldn’t worry about her. The crescent shaped bowl Katherine had warned me about was coming up next. I had to be ready. I had to ski my race.

  My form was perfect over the bumps. I barely had any air under my skis. Heading down a steeper slope, than any of the previous ones so far, I was flying at top speed. I saw the sharp turn up ahead and pointed my skis toward it. I was going to take it low and tight. I was determined to pull ahead of Muriel.

  Suddenly, I got bumped hard. Muriel again. I could see her colors out of the corner of my eye. I flailed off balance, skidding dangerously close to the upper edge of the bowl. If either bump got caught on tape and were judged to be intentional, Muriel would be disqualified.

  I righted myself and tried to duck back down to regain the momentum I had lost. I was planning to pass in front of her, but she was off balance. Her arms wind-milled and her pole tangled together with mine. She went one way, and I went the other. My skis headed straight for the blue spray painted lines that delineated the edge of the course. My eyes grew wide behind my goggles. Panicking, I abandoned the dream and all thoughts of winning today.

  Sager and his warning echoed in my mind. Be safe. Be safe. Be safe.

  But it came too late. One of my skis got caught in the orange plastic net fencing. Up and over the edge of the bowl I catapulted. No control. Highway speed. Everything whirling. My skis snapped off as I tumbled. Snow sprayed all around me. My teeth jarred together. Shoulders, hips, and legs slammed into the ground.

  Then a sudden terrible stop.

  Pain exploded inside my skull.

  And then there was nothingness.

  CHAPTER-THIRTY-NINE

  Sager

  I hadn’t taken a complete breath since Melinda had been evacuated by life flight off of the mountain. Her coach and Mary Timmons had traveled with her. Sounding uncharacteristically harried, the CEO had called me as they had lifted her into the air and again when they had arrived at Central Maine Medical Center a two-hour trip by car from the resort. Details were s
parse. Melinda was alive but remained unconscious.

  The last update from Mary had been over an hour ago. The nurse at the desk behind the frosted window looked sympathetic but couldn’t give us any new information due to HIPAA restrictions.

  “I can’t lose her, Juaquin.” I turned my head to regard him while clutching the cross at the end of the rosary tighter in my grip. “I feel like it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have encouraged her to keep skiing. I should have told her to quit.”

  “Would you quit playing your bass or stop drawing just because someone else didn’t like you doing it?” His tawny eyes were steady beneath layers of uncharacteristically mussed jet black hair.

  “No.” I shook my head. “But it’s not the same.”

  “You know how she feels about the skiing. If you had bullied her into quitting, you know she would have resented you for it. Don’t beat yourself up. It was a freak accident. It’ll be ok. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “Shouldn’t I?” I squeezed my eyes closed. When I reopened them I didn’t try to hide the savage emotion raging inside me. “It feels like Jude all over again. Just when I have something beautiful within reach, something for me, something worth keeping it gets taken away.”

  “She’s still here, Sager.”

  I made a disbelieving sound. “I didn’t protect her. I didn’t keep her safe. Just like I couldn’t keep Jude safe.”

  “Mi hermano, she’s a grown woman, not some little child. You can’t control what other people do. We all make our own choices.”

  I nodded though I remained unconvinced. My chest ached from the tension. I teetered on a razor’s edge. It didn’t help that the television in the ER waiting room kept replaying the accident over and over again with the usual sensational morbid commentary.