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“Why with him?” he asks, looking hurt.
“Because he didn’t look at me with the same look in his eyes as you and Dad do.”
“What look?” he whispers.
“The look that says it should have been me,” I rasp.
With that, I leave him standing in the driveway, backing the car in reverse before speeding away.
Two days later
I don’t want to go to the X Games, but I promised Cill I would after we spent yesterday riding together. The guys were all fighting their hangovers, but I loved spending time with them in the snow, and it was all thanks to snowboard guy. I didn’t talk to my brother the whole day. I guess we both needed time to think before we say something we’re going to regret. I park the truck and head to the main entrance, staring at my phone without any new messages from the snowboarder in question.
“Damn it,” I mutter, walking to the grounds. Cillian is waiting for me there, talking to a couple of guys. When I get into his line of sight, he walks over and hugs me.
“Hey, friend,” he says, kissing my cheek. “Here are your credentials.” He hands me an all-access pass. “I’ll be walking around doing damage control.”
I hang the pass around my neck and follow him in. Everywhere I look there are snowboarders, skiers, and other athletes wearing vests with their numbers on them.
“How’s it going?” I ask, and I hate to admit I love the buzz and the excitement. It reminds me of when I was younger, when Dad took me to events like this across the country.
“Good, a couple of our guys won, but we still have the Super Pipe final in half an hour. Want to go check it out?”
“Sure,” I say. When we get closer to the pipe, the music and commentators get louder.
“Wow, Cill, this is massive,” I say, looking around in awe.
“I know, right,” he says, pointing to the pipe looming up in front of us. There are people standing behind barriers lined with sponsor names, waiting for the riders to drop into the monstrosity. At the bottom of the slope, the crowd is even bigger. We flash our passes and Cill guides me to an area reserved for family and friends of the riders, which he explains as we walk. There are also beautiful girls all decked out in the latest snow fashion, probably the girlfriends of the contestants.
Near the railing, I lock eyes with the girl I met a week ago, when I planted my butt in the snow with Jesse. She is even more beautiful than I remember. Giving me a small smile and brushing a manicured hand through her long locks, she turns her back to me.
Cillian introduces me to a couple of colleagues, and we slowly make our way to the front. The pipe is huge, with lights shining into it and fans on either side. I’m mesmerized. Cameras are flashing. There are even two gigantic screens on either side of the pipe where clips of the riders are shown. The buzz of the people, photographers, and influencers probably makes this the hottest ticket in town. I even recognize a couple of celebrities.
“How big is that thing?” I ask, pointing to the pipe.
“It’s sixty-six feet wide, with an eighteen-degree ditch, and two hundred- and twenty-two-foot vertical walls. It measures about five hundred and eighty feet in length, and fuck yeah, I studied the stats.” He chuckles.
“This is nuts.” I smile.
“Wait till you see the guys that are going down there in a couple of minutes. The rotations they do will blow your mind. Buttermilk Mountain is the best when it comes to this shit,” he explains.
I look around, with even more people are arriving. “How many people are here?”
“A couple thousand spectators. This is broadcasted live on Red Bull TV, and the sponsors pay big bucks to advertise here. Even your dad’s company is sponsoring this shindig.”
“I had no idea,” I mumble. Although I should have guessed; he’s probably walking around here somewhere.
“Really? You didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “We don’t exactly talk that much about the company anymore,” I confess, looking at the banners of the Kurton brand in the distance.
“This is one of the most in-demand events of the three days, besides the Olympics. Your dad was here this morning to check it all out. Hey, there is Shane,” he says, waving at him. They shake hands and he smiles at me.
Cill answers a call. When he hangs up, he says, “Sorry, guys, duty calls. See you later,” leaving the two of us alone.
“I didn’t know if you would stay or head back to Seattle,” Shane says, pulling on his gloves.
“Garrett and Ray asked if I would show some family their apartment in town. And maybe I can get my shit together and head over to my parents’ place,” I tell him. “And Cill was so proud when he talked about his work here, I couldn’t not come.”
