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I’m very proud of the flippant question—and the tone of voice I deliver it in. At least until I realize that my hands are still shaking, and that Ash is very much aware of that fact.
I expect him to press his advantage after he spots the weakness, but instead he steps back. Puts his hands out in front of him—palms toward me—in an obvious I’m-backing-off-now gesture.
“Sure. Talk away. But you’d better do it quickly. I’ve got to get back to the shop.”
Right. Sure. He has all the time in the world to screw me, but if I want him to have an actual conversation with me, then we’re on the clock. God. Guys really are walking clichés.
Still, I’ve got his attention now. I might as well use it to my advantage. Straightening my shoulders, I hold my hand out for what I hope will be a professional handshake.
“My name is Tansy Hampton, Ash. I work for the Make-A-Wish foundation.” I wait a second for that to sink in, watch as his eyes widen and go even blanker—something I didn’t even know was possible. “My boss has been trying to get in touch with you via the email address on your website for a few weeks now, but she hasn’t gotten any response.”
“I don’t—” He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t check that email anymore.”
I take my first easy breath since I got the call. At least now I know he wasn’t ignoring us. That makes this whole thing seem a lot more realistic. It also makes him seem a lot less like a douche, despite his recent performance.
“We figured it was something like that,” I tell him smoothly, glossing over our moments of panic that we weren’t going to get this to happen. “But there’s a very sick boy who really, really wants to meet you.”
“I don’t know why. I’m nothing special.”
“Well, he thinks so. He’s a huge snowboarding fan and is convinced you are ‘the sickest snowboarder in the whole world.’ His words.”
He clears his throat, shuffles his feet. “Used to be. I used to be a sick snowboarder. I’m retired these days.”
“At twenty-one?” I look at him skeptically.
“Yeah.” For the first time he looks aggressive. “You got a problem with that?”
“No, of course not.” I mean, at nineteen my life is just starting. I can’t imagine—even with the accident that killed his parents—that at twenty-one, he’s so sure his is already over. “But retired or not, that doesn’t change the fact that Timmy worships you.”
“Yeah. About that … how old is the kid?”
“He’s thirteen.”
If possible, Ash looks even more uncomfortable. Not to mention a little sick. “Where does he live?”
“He’s from Boulder, Colorado.”
Ash nods. “Yeah, okay. I could take a day, fly out there to see him. Maybe even bring Z Michaels and Luc Jennings along with me. You think he’d like to meet all three of us?”
“I think he’d go a little nuts at just the prospect. But this wish is a little more complicated than just meeting you.”
His wariness quotient goes up, and for a second, he looks like a wild animal scenting danger. So much so that there’s a part of me that expects him to stick his nose in the air and start sniffing for predators.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he wants to do more than meet you. He wants to watch you snowboard.”
Ash shuts down immediately. “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? I know you said you don’t compete professionally anymore, but he’s not looking for that. He just wants to spend a day on the slopes with his idol, watching you shred the pow.”
He raises that damn eyebrow again. “ ‘Shred the pow’?”
I can feel my cheeks turning red. “Isn’t that what you guys say?”
“Uh, yeah, but it doesn’t normally sound like that when we do.”
“What do you mean?”
