CHAPTER TEN DIEGO #2
Tucking my gloved hands in the pockets of my coat, I rapidly glance at the time on Joe’s watch, indicating to me there’s still three minutes left before it’s Alara’s turn.
The thought of seeing her up there makes me excited, and it’s been a while since I have felt like this.
But, yet again, this girl has managed to stir and awaken sentiments I’ve kept buried deep inside me for many dark years.
“When you gap jump” – Dalton nods, listening attentively – “you dive downhill on the slope, but even if it’s a rookie mistake, you manage to rectify it pretty early.
Also, your knees? Don’t be afraid to go higher when you jump.
I trained my whole life on the trampolines at the high school’s gym – very helpful if you want to practice.
” I pause. “How about you take my number and we can meet up on a weekend to train? If your parents are up for it, that is. I can’t ride, but I’ll watch and coach you. ”
Dalton grins and nods eagerly. “I’d love that. That’s so cool of you, Diego. Thank you.”
“Happy to help.”
After exchanging numbers and making it clear that I won’t be around for much longer, I sit back down, aware of Joe’s gaze on me.
“Just say it, Joe.”
“I’m proud of you, kid.” His words wrap around my heart, intent on leaving their mark.
My throat closes in on itself, the suffocating sensation spreading downward to my chest. It’s hard to swallow past the thick lump, but I nod appreciatively, scared to use my voice.
Fuck. When was the last time someone said those words to me? It feels like a lifetime ago.
I think it’s not lost on Joe that I’m not against receiving some encouragement myself.
I don’t openly communicate it, but the way he’s been showing up for me these past weeks means so much to me.
Coach, on the other hand, has kept his distance, which I don’t mind.
Somewhere deep inside me, I still resent him for pulling that shit on me.
Call me petty, but I answer Coach’s calls only when I feel like it – which is never.
I don’t need him to remind me that I screwed up. He’s already done that enough.
The commentator, who happens to be Thomas, who works at Rock Snow, announces the next contestant. My heart does a very strange thing at the mention of Alara’s name – it stutters, and I almost rub my palm over my breastbone to soothe the funny feeling.
She appears at the top of the pitch, dressed in pink.
Of course she’s dressed in fucking pink.
With her usual, hypnotic grace, she steps on her board and secures the bindings, makes sure her helmet is fastened, and adjusts her goggles.
The sky has recently turned into a deep shade of indigo, and the light cast on the halfpipe circles her body like a halo.
I shift in my seat, sitting on the edge and bringing my forearms down on the table. My senses are heightened solely because it’s her, and, at that moment, nothing else around me matters.
Do your worst, Bradford.
An echo of applause bursts through my bubble, but I manage to tune out all the noises as soon as she begins her run.
She descends and gathers the speed she needs to accelerate up the opposite wall.
Her weight presses down toward the back of the board, and she jumps into a classic Melon grab.
Beginner’s trick, but perfectly executed.
Following with an Indy as she grabs the frontside edge of the board with her back hand, she glides back smoothly on the snow.
My brow arches when she dives in a Switch 540, rushes up the wall until she can flip into a Backside Rodeo – a backflip with a 180-degree rotation as she lands.
Her landing is slightly off-balance, but she masters the mistake with her palms catching the fall and pushing herself back up.
I can’t help but hoot as Joe shouts loud praise. I can barely hear the commotion around me as my blood pumps loudly.
Alara spirals in a 360-rotation, rushes down the hill, comes back up, and flies into a Cab 12 that makes me stand as shock skitters down my spine.
Who the fuck is this and what has she done to my sweet, calm Alara?
Ella es una chingona.
I give my head a little shake, only now noticing how wide my grin is because of the slight discomfort tugging at my cheeks.
Mesmerized, I watch as she does a front grab. To finish this off, she blows my fucking mind away by doing a Switch Frontside spin – but not just any trick. She executes with acute precision a Cab Double Cork 1080.
Holy shit, she’s astounding.
I cup my hands around my mouth. “Atta girl!” I shout, before giving her the praise she deserves by clapping.
My mind is blown.
I’m shocked, and pleasantly surprised.
I can feel the adrenaline rush through my veins, my heart ready to lodge inside my throat as I watch her come to a stop, a spray of snow dancing around her.
Unable to look away from Alara and her breathtaking smile as she tears off her goggles and helmet, I feel my hands tremble with unbridled excitement.
The feeling pushing at my beating heart is one I can’t deny – pride.
Finding me through the crowded place as the public cheers her on, Alara’s features brighten from elation to amusement, but, fuck, if the sight of her happiness doesn’t feel like I’ve been exposed to a bright light of sunshine.
Alara Bradford wears happiness like a crown, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite as beautiful as her.
We grant Alara second place, because she fucking deserves it. Had it not been for her missed landing after the Backside Rodeo, she would’ve won the gold medal.
But seeing her there? On the podium with her flushed cheeks and frazzled hair because of her helmet?
It makes undeniable pride crash over me.
Ever since I got to know her, I’ve always admired her down-to-earth demeanor, her calmer side that doesn’t overshadow her love for life, and her inspirational optimism.
She’s ambitious and determined, which are qualities I find incredibly sexy.
But seeing her run those slopes like she owns them?
I’m still astonished. And I’m starting to believe that she’s hiding so much more beneath the golden-girl facade.
I have the honor of giving the top-three contestants their awards. Draping the bronze medal over Killian’s head, an eight-year-old local, I shake his hand and chuckle when he starts bouncing with excitement.
Some people treat me like I’m some Hollywood star, but I’m really not that great. I’m definitely not worthy of their admiration and praise.
Then, it’s Alara’s turn. I step into her orbit, my surroundings turning into a blur, and slide the lanyard over her head.
The silver medal rests over her pink coat, a prize she has earned with grace, class, and effort.
Delicately, my fingers brush the sides of her neck as I reach for her braid to untuck it from the yellow ribbon.
My stare lingers on her upturned lips, and the first thought that crosses my mind is that I want to taste them. Feel them.
Oh, no, no, no.
Ya valí.
“Congratulations, Miss Bradford,” I say gruffly, teasingly tugging on her braid before taking a step back.
“Thank you.” Her hazel eyes twinkle, but when she gives me that heartfelt, stunning smile, I feel my knees threatening to buckle underneath my weight.
I genuinely wonder when she’ll stop stealing my breath away.
Even if she does it unwillingly, even if she hasn’t a single clue about the way she affects me, she rattles all my perfectly crafted plans.
My control is on the brink of snapping, and with what she’s just proven to me, I think that, maybe, Alara and I could be great together.
I just have to allow myself to want it.
To be selfish.
But that isn’t an option. I’m leaving, and I’m not breaking her heart when I do.