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Mom: You’re both idiots.
Mom: Where’s Mollie?
Craig: Probably being pregnant somewhere.
Mom: Funny.
Despite my impending meltdown, I laugh and let them know we’ll be there. I freshen up in the bathroom and fix my hair, but I don’t change my outfit. When I come out, Tucker is standing outside the door, looking down at his phone while he waits for me. He gives me a reassuring smile, and then we’re on our way to the buffet.
Dinner proves to be a good distraction, between my brothers’ antics and the plethora of delicious food. Everyone makes plans to get up early tomorrow—my brothers snowboarding and my parents skiing. I decide to do some shopping in the outdoor mall right next to the resort.
We kiss and hug our goodbyes, and then Tuck and I are heading back to our room. We’re in separate beds, something I insisted on a couple of months ago. We haven’t had sex since before I hooked up with Cam, but even sleeping in the same bed feels wrong now. It blurs the line, and right now, boundaries are our friend. It would be easy to crawl into his bed, into his arms, and accept the comfort my best friend has to offer me, but I know I shouldn’t. It would be selfish, knowing he still harbors feelings for me on some level.
“Molls?” Tucker asks after a few minutes, his voice low and sleepy.
“Yeah?”
“It’ll be all right.”
I smile in the dark.
“Thanks, Tuck.”
“Wake up, shitbag. It’s time to teach the privileged,” Cord says, throwing my snow boots at me. I double over in bed, clutching my stomach as the boots narrowly avoid my nuts.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, pulling the pillow over my head. I stretch and feel a pang in my knee that reminds me exactly why I’m in this position in the first place—not that I need reminding. I think about that day twenty-four seven and what I could’ve done differently.
I didn’t even hurt myself snowboarding, for fuck’s sake. I was on my skateboard, trying to smith grind down a rail when I unexpectedly locked into another trick. My weight was distributed for the smith, leaving me no chance to bail. And that’s how I tore my ACL, also known as every athlete’s worst fucking nightmare.
I had surgery a few months ago, and instead of doing everything in my power to heal, I was on a downward spiral from hell. I never wore my brace, never went to physical therapy, and if I did leave my house, it was to get belligerent, and most times, ended up thrown in the drunk tank for bar fights. If that wasn’t enough, all my sponsors dropped my ass like a sack of potatoes. I don’t blame them, though—they were sick of my shit. I couldn’t compete, and I wasn’t taking recovery seriously. I was a PR manager’s worst nightmare.
I had my wake-up call when Cordell bailed on Aspen because he was afraid to leave me alone. Me—a grown-ass man—couldn’t even be left alone. That’s a whole new level of fucked up, even for me. I didn’t care about messing my own life up, but I didn’t want to drag my brother down with me.
Slowly, I stopped getting black-out drunk, started going to physical therapy, and last month, I took a job as an instructor for the resort’s ski school. I’m abl
e to ride, but I’m nowhere near ready for the X Games. So, for now, I’ll put in time at the gym and kick it on the bunny slopes, teaching a bunch of six to eight-year-olds to ski and snowboard.
Most days, I’m okay with how my life has changed. I wish I would have kept my ass off that skateboard, but it could be worse. Surprisingly enough, working with the mini assholes has done wonders for my outlook and my mood in general. But yesterday was just one of those days where I felt like a failure and like I lost my shot at my dream career.
Then, I saw her. Mollie Mabey. The girl I hooked up with right before my injury. She was looking fine, too. But then, she noticed me and acted like she had no clue who I was. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that her boyfriend was with her. Did she think I was going to make a scene because we had one night together? Fuck if I know. I was already in a sour-ass mood, and her looking at me like I was the loser she made the mistake of slumming it up with over summer vacay did nothing to help my mood.
I could have my pick of any girl on this mountain when I was in my prime. And she was embarrassed of me? Fuck that. Hell, I can still have my pick. Chicks love athletes, and an injured one? Even better. They have this innate instinct to nurture and nurse them back to health. It’s like that shit is in their DNA.
I look up at my ceiling and see the time glowing in blue from my alarm clock projector. Eight thirty-eight. I have twenty-two minutes to get dressed and be on the mountain. I scrub my hands down my face, trying to shake off the sleep, and make a mental note to shave. I let myself get a little burlier than I usually am.
I throw on my snow pants and jacket with The Pines’ logo, grab my board, goggles, hat, and gloves, and head out the door. I throw my board onto the roof rack of my cobalt blue WRX, and then I’m off. Once I park in the resort’s garage, I grab my shit and make my way toward the lift. This is my favorite part. The ride up the mountain. The crisp, quiet air. The calm before the storm.
Once I’m at the top, I round up the hula-hoops and tip connectors for the kids’ skis and trudge through the snow.
“Camden!” a tiny voice squeals, and I turn just in time to see Emersyn barreling toward me. She tackles me at the knees, and we both go down. Good thing we have fresh powder today, or that would’ve been a bitch for my tailbone. I chuckle, righting the beanie that shifted during the fall, and she uses her mitten-covered hands to push the blonde hair from her face. Red cheeks and a toothless smile beam up at me.
Emersyn may be seven, but I can already tell that she’s going to be a lifelong snowboarder. When she first came to me, I made her start with skiing. Kids usually do better learning that way first. She was a natural, so I spoke to her parents about getting her a snowboard. The kid fucking loves it. And I know she’s going places. Which is why I agreed when her parents asked if I could give her private lessons.
“What’s up, Mini Shredder?” I ask, grabbing her under the armpits and propping her on her feet.
“Nuffin’.” She shrugs. “Can we try the box today?” she asks, clapping her hands together.
“Nooo,” I drawl. “We’re going to work on carving and getting your pops nice and clean with the other kids. We’ll do some tricks during your private lessons. Deal?”
