Fall Line (Ricochet Ridge #2)

Chapter 1

Vox

Fucking disgusting.

Don’t get me wrong, I support safe sex, but if you could not lob your used condom off the ski lift, I’d really appreciate it.

How does one even get laid on a ski lift in the first place?

I groan as my gloved hands squeeze the handles on the trash-grabber and put the fourth condom of the day into the bag as if it’s a prize.

It’s not glamorous, but working ground maintenance at Ricochet Ridge Ski Resort helps pay my bills between snowboarding events and during the off-season.

I live here, work here, eat here, sleep here, and train here, so I take it personally when fucktards mess it up.

Located in northern Montana, this place has been my life since my dad first strapped me onto a toddler-sized snowboard, and I’ve loved every minute of it—even if neither of my parents stuck around long enough to watch it happen.

Now, at twenty-five, with nothing but a high school diploma and an obsession with a sport that can only be done six months out of the year, my options for making money are limited, but I try not to complain too much, since I’m living my dream…minus the used condoms.

“Hey Voxy!” Stone calls from his snowmobile as he swings by on his way up the mountain.

“You hit double digits yet?” The leader of the avalanche division of our ski patrol is kind of a dick.

His name suits his personality, but for some reason, he took a liking to me early on.

I mean, doesn’t everyone? I chuckle to myself.

In reality, I think it’s just because we both eat, sleep, and breathe this mountain, counting on it for our sanity as much as our livelihood.

“I’m at four so far,” I tell him, knowing he wants an update about today’s condom count. “But give it time. I’ve only been out here for an hour.”

“One of them might be mine,” he says with a smirk.

“Doubtful. That means you would’ve had to have found someone willing to fuck you, and those chances are slim,” I tease back.

Taking the insult in stride, Stone laughs. “Not all of us can look like St?le Sandbeck and ride like Shaun White.”

“So, what you’re saying is you think I’m hot?”

“You’re not really my type,” he responds in a tone more serious than this conversation warrants.

In an attempt to dispel the storm cloud now resting on his features, I hold my hands up in disbelief. “I’m everyone’s type!”

It kind of works, and Stone throws me a smile as he shakes his head. “Oh, Grey’s looking for you. I think he’s at the lodge.”

A pit forms in my stomach. My new team is arriving today and I’m sure Grey wants to make sure I’m on my best behavior.

“Okay, thanks.”

Stone waves as he speeds off.

I swear that guy is only happy going a hundred miles an hour, dropping charges out of a helicopter, or doing something where the risk of death is insanely high.

It’s not like my career choice is super safe, and I chase my own kind of thrill, but Stone tends to take things to a different level.

Plus, I have Grey Patterson and a bunch of his employees constantly hounding me about safety in an effort to make sure I don’t die doing what I love.

Without Grey and the Patterson Performance guys, I’d have nothing, including a parental figure in my life, someone to teach me how to file taxes, change the headlight in my Jeep, and keep up with going to the dentist.

I won’t go so far as to say I was a snowboarding prodigy, but I was gaining local attention by the time I was eight, and I became the youngest sponsored rider at eleven.

I was living with my paternal grandmother when Grey Patterson showed up on our doorstep.

He and Grandma talked numbers and terms while I ate cereal in the living room, and by the time he left, I had a sponsorship, new gear, and Grandma said we could celebrate by having steak for dinner—so I was a happy camper.

Despite being outgoing, I’ve always been a loner, but when Grandma died shortly after my eighteenth birthday, it was the first time I was ever truly on my own.

Grey was the one who helped with the funeral arrangements, selling her house, and getting me set up with permanent lodging and a job on this mountain. He’s really been my only family since then.

Just like Stone said, Grey’s waiting for me when I pull my snowmobile back into the lodge’s parking lot a few minutes later.

“Hey, Grey.” I greet my sponsor-slash-boss-slash-friend, holding up my bag of trash. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to do that right now.”

Grey chuckles. “It’s all good, Vox. I just wanted to check in before everyone arrives.”

He must easily read the look I don’t try to hide because he pats my shoulder and says, “I know it’s not your first choice, V, but you’ll still be entered in the individual events, we just need to make sure we’re represented across the board, and that means doing some team stuff as well.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” I manage a fake smile that I know he sees right through.

After all, he signs my paychecks, and his company is also responsible for the sweet collab deals I get, managing my social media, and all the other shit I wouldn’t know how to do on my own.

I owe my entire life as I know it to Grey Patterson.

Which is why, when he announced we were moving to a team format this year for the Winter Classic Games, I kept my mouth shut instead of arguing and backing out like I wanted to.

I don’t do team competitions…but I’ll do them for Grey.

The Winter Classic is this year’s main event, and it’s being hosted right here at Ricochet.

Scouts from the Olympic committees are going to be here, and because it’s my best shot at going to the games next year, Grey has informed me it’s the only event I’ll be competing in this season, which blows, but what can I do? He’s the boss.

“We have a good group coming in,” he says, like he’s trying to convince me. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. We’re all the same. Egotistical assholes who aren’t too bright when we’re off a board. “Help them get settled, and show them around since this is your home turf, will ya?”

“Sure, Grey,” I say with a tight-lipped smile and a nod.

Kill me right the fuck now.

“Good. I asked Frank to let you off early today. Go grab a shower and clean up; the team should be arriving soon.”

I nod again as my stomach churns.

Patterson Performance has sponsored a handful of riders in the past, but it’s always felt like they only sponsor me.

Grey has never handed me off to one of his lackeys to manage.

I think it’s because he got me so young and helped me through so much shit when my grandmother died; he feels responsible for me, but with all these new faces coming in wearing Patterson orange, well, it feels like they’re encroaching on what’s mine.

Doing as Grey asks, I clock out, grab a shower, and throw on some jeans, boots, and a bright orange sweatshirt with the Patterson Performance logo on the front and my last name splashed across the back.

Might as well let everyone know who the favorite is right off the bat.

Looking on the bright side, at least I live in employee housing since I’m here year-round, which means I won’t be slumming it in the athlete housing at the bottom of the mountain. It’s a small, non-flashy two-bedroom condo, but it suits me just fine.

Grabbing the beanie I keep on the table by the front door, I toss it on and brush my hair out of my eyes.

As I make my way down the icy sidewalk, I easily spot the first member of my new team.

Unruly hair.

Glassy eyes. Chill with the weed, dude.

Gangly gait.

And…wait…he’s wearing a replica of my Olympic jersey from three years ago.

Huh, maybe this guy’s not so bad.

He sees me walking toward him, and his bloodshot eyes grow wide.

“Holy shit, dude! You’re Vox Montgomery!” he says in a slow, classic surfer accent, like that turtle from Finding Nemo.

I laugh because hellloooo stereotypes.

“That’s me.” I hold out a fist for him to bump.

“Angel,” he says to a girl rooting around the back of the SUV he pulled up in. When she doesn’t respond, he tries again with more impatience. “Angel!”

“What, Eric? I’m a little busy!” she fires back.

“Angel, LOOK!”

Finally, Angel pokes her head around the corner of the vehicle. She looks me over once and gives me a chin nod.

“What’s up, Vox? I’m Angel Creedmoor, your new teammate.” Then she goes back to digging around the back of the car, less than impressed.

Okay, she’s not so bad.

Laughing, I look back at the guy she called Eric. “I thought it was you who was moving in.”

Angel scoffs behind the SUV. “Oh, please. Look at his eyes. Fucker can’t stay sober long enough to find the mountain, let alone board down it.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Eric argues.

“Whatever,” Angel says. “Vox, can you tell me where I’m headed with this shit?” Shooting a look at the guy still staring at me from the sidewalk, she adds, “On my own, apparently, since my useless brother is too busy drooling over you?”

I look at Eric and shrug, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, man, everyone does it. It’s cool.”

“Greeeaaatt. Another arrogant asshole. Way to be original,” Angel says, coming around the side of her car with her arms loaded.

I move to take the load of shit from her. “I like you,” I tell her.

“And just like that, all my dreams have come true,” she deadpans, causing me to let out an honest-to-God laugh.

Over the next hour, I meet a couple of the others joining the team and help them find their way to the athlete housing.

I’ve competed against a few of them before, so their faces and names are familiar to me, but I never stuck around long enough to get to know them…

or cared enough to grab a meal with my competition or anything.

The group isn’t bad. Two chicks, four guys, for a team of six.

“You guys want to grab a beer once I get this shit unpacked?” A guy named Renner calls over to another guy named Gibson and me.