***
Over the next three days, Max and I meet on the slope. They’re half-days since I’ve learned that the same prosthetic that makes this possible also puts a lot of strain on his little leg, especially now that he’s moved from green to blue runs. But I’m starting to live for these sessions.
Swerving over the snow in an elegant arc, feeling the crisp air against my face. Every now and then, I get a little cocky and let myself get soaked up in the view, only to wipe out. It earns me a round of laughter from my little shadow, and that sound is pure ecstasy. It breathes life back into the shell I was slowly killing, giving me something to look forward to each day.
Back when I was riding daily, I never had to question how important it was to my sanity. How it brought me peace-of-mind, even when I was more focused on speed instead of having fun. For people who don’t ride, that probably sounds like a bunch of hippy-dippy bullshit, but after giving it up for months, I can see the truth. It’s who I am, and I need it. Racing or no, I just need to ride, like I’m doing with Max.
For the first time in a long while, the goal isn’t to get to the bottom as fast as I can so much as it’s just to enjoy the ride, and I’m strangely okay with that. I don’t know if that means my competitive edge is gone or I’m just not ready to look for it yet. All I know is that in these moments, I’m content.
I’m afraid to dissect it beyond that. I’m afraid to dissect anything beyond riding. I may be able to see how I took riding for granted andblamed it for Chase’s death so I wouldn’t have to face the reality of riding without him, but I’m not ready to do anything other than tackle the slope one run at a time. For now, that’s all I can handle, especially since this is Max’s last day.
Riding with him has become comfortable. Safe. He doesn’t have any expectations beyond having fun, and right now neither do I. I don’t know if that will translate to riding with other people, to riding by myself, and especially to racing. I’ll have to figure that out at some point, just not today.
Near lunchtime, we finish our last run and meet up with Max’s parents so they can take some pictures. I haven’t been on camera –TV or otherwise—since before Chase died, and it feels a little weird to do it now. But I don’t hate it. Not since I’m posing with Max.
“I can’t tell you what these past few weeks have meant to him,” his mom says as she tucks her phone back into her pocket. “At the risk of sounding overdramatic, you gave him something to look forward to. It brought him back to life.”
Ducking my head to hide the impact of her words, I rub the back of my neck as I talk to the ground. “Actually, I think he did that for me.”
Despite my reluctance to get back on the mountain, and the lingering sense of betrayal I feel over doing what Chase no longer can, I recognize now that the mountain is part of me. Max helped me figure that out.
“Don’t be modest,” his father booms. “We know how generous it was of you to give your time to Max, and we appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to do that for him.”
I offer a polite nod when all I really want to do is snort. Schedule? I don’t have one of those. With Max leaving my community service is fulfilled, so I haven’t got shit to do.
The wave of anxiety that accompanies that realization has my legs feeling suddenly weak.I don’t know what comes next.
Max wraps his arms around my waist in a bear hug, jolting me back to the present. “This was the best vacation ever. I hope I get to see you again someday.”
“Well, you know where to find me, right?” I ruffle his hair.
He gives me a toothy grin. “Yup. Bye.” He waves his hand and shuffles off with his parents, loudly recounting all the runs we took today. It makes me smile until they’re out of sight, when a heavy weight settles in my chest.
Logically, I knew this day was coming, but I didn’t expect it to make me sad. To hurt. That damn kid got under my skin, making me look forward to each day. With him gone, I don’t have our rides to look forward to. I don’t have anyone who’d be looking forward to seeing me considering I pushed most of them away, or at the very least avoided them.
Hayden might’ve been the one person who’d care, but I screwed that up. I’ve straight up avoided him by meeting Max at the lift every day and going directly home after our rides, so I don’t have to see the hurt look on his face. A look I would’ve put there.
I miss seeing him though. Miss riling him up. But while I’ve sort of come to terms with getting back on the board, I’m not sure where I stand on my feelings for him.
I like him. I’m attracted to him. But do I deserve him? Fuck no.
Shit. I scrub my hand down my face. I’m right back where I started; by myself. Missing people who are no longer around. Almost like the last few weeks didn’t even happen.
Not that long ago, I would’ve coped with that by having a drink. Now… Well, how is now any different than then? It isn’t. Not really. So, why should I avoid the one thing that brings me some measure of peace?
Chapter twenty
Hayden
He’s clearly avoiding me. I expected that to a degree—someone trying to escape his emotions isn’t going to willingly put himself in a position where he has to face them. Although, I didn’t expect him to go full-on coward by instructing Max to meet him by the chair lift for the rest of their time together, so he didn’t have to set foot in the building.
A little backtracking after the tentative connection we made would be normal, but this… So much for that breakthrough I thought he had.
What’s almost worse than the total brush off is the fact that I miss his presence. Even if he was surly most of the time, I’d sort of become used to seeing him every day. Looked forward to it even, because under the prickly exterior is someone I’ve come to respect.
I say that about most of the people who come through here, since they’re all fighting a battle in their own way, but only Ryder is pushing back against the fight, determined to dwell in his darkness. Yet based on the glimpses of him on the mountain, it’s clear some part of him won’t give in to that. At first, I thought it meant deep down he'd come to terms with his demons and maybe start to enjoy his life againtoo. Now, I’m not so sure. That hits me harder than expected. What’s worse, I can’t tell if I feel that way because of him, or me.
Normally, it’s all about the client. If they’re struggling, my heart goes out to them for what they’ve lost, what they might never regain if they don’t learn to adjust to their new normal and find the joy in that. With Ryder, I can’t help but think about whatImight lose if he insists on dwelling in his self-imposed prison.
