CHAPTER FIFTEEN DIEGO #2
“Please? Let me buy you the books, Alara. Or we can go back to the lingerie store and get you a couple of other sets.” I want to do nice things for her – I’ve always wanted to.
She’s finally accepted that I’ll buy her coffee and lunch, and maybe paying for her books and clothes is a bit too intimate for our casual relationship, but I can only have her for a limited time.
I plan on spoiling her because she deserves it.
She’s been looking after me since I got here; it’s about damn time I return the favor.
“You’re mine for only a few weeks, and I take care of what’s mine. So let me pay for those.”
A swirl of emotions veils her pretty eyes, and I’m not sure I can read them – affection, admiration, maybe a bit of hurt too; as if the idea of me leaving is shattering her heart. But she conceals everything with a blink and, a moment after, a devastating smile touches her lips. “Thank you.”
Part of me wishes I could give her more – because that’s what she deserves.
She’s worthy of a burning red kind of love, a sky full of bright stars, a large field of vibrant flowers.
I really wish I could make her happy like this, but I can’t.
Not in this lifetime. But in the short amount of time that I can have her, I’ll give her a taste of what she deserves.
After me, she won’t lower her standards – that’s a guarantee.
And I’ve already said it: if I get to make Alara smile every day, I’ll do just about anything to see her happy.
I can’t sleep.
I’ve been awake for the past two hours, and the only thing on my mind is snowboarding.
Every time I close my eyes, I see myself on my board, that dull ache in my chest expanding and shifting into a throbbing sensation.
Every time my mind starts drifting toward a peaceful state, my body protests. I twist and turn, unable to find the perfect position to go back to sleep.
It’s a little bit after five in the morning.
All I can think of is the way Dr Ellis planted false hope inside my head, and, now, I want to snowboard.
He said we’d see how things go next week – but he always says that, and if he keeps going at this rate, I’ll never be able to test the waters to see how my body reacts to riding again.
Telling me I’m nearly ready to go back to training cemented something deep in me – determination, a need to prove myself.
And that’s exactly why I whisper, “Fuck it,” and get out of bed.
I rub the sleep, or rather the lack thereof, from my face.
I’ve been feeling confident lately. Been feeling like my body’s demanding one thing, and it’s to hit the slopes again.
I’ve been driving myself crazy for the past month by abstaining and being a good man, but my frustration is about to explode.
I need to do something about it. Need to relieve it.
After quietly getting ready and inhaling a protein bar, I get out of the house, my snowboard tucked under my arm, and start the long walk toward the resort.
This board isn’t the one I train with – I left it in Utah – but it used to be my personal favorite as a teenager. I’ve kept all the boards I owned and used safely stored at Mom’s house. It’ll do for now. I don’t plan on doing any crazy shit either.
It’s still dark out, and the cold air instantly awakens me. That, and the adrenaline pumping through my veins at the idea of what I’m about to do.
The snow crunches under my boots, the otherwise empty street lit by lamps that help me find my way.
A few cars drive past me – people leaving for work, early enough to avoid traffic.
Passing in front of Alara’s street, I mutter a cuss under my breath and pull out my phone to text her and let her know to meet me at the resort for our morning lesson, instead of waiting for me to show up at her place.
I know she won’t ask questions.
That’s what I like about her – she gives me space but lets me know that she’s there if I need anything at all. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like her before – selfless and kind but with a ferocity and tenacity I can’t help but admire.
Here I am, already thinking about her.
So much for focusing on myself and my recovery.
Alara Bradford just had to march into my life and tilt my orbit on its axis.
Before I realize it, I’m nearly at the resort, my short and quickened breaths escaping my parted lips and creating small puffs of cloud that quickly evaporate in the air.
Thankfully, it opens at six for early classes, so when I walk toward the snow park I’m grateful for all the bright lights illuminating this place I call heaven. There’s no one here yet. Just me, and that’s exactly what I wanted.
My legs continue to protest as I go up the steep pitch of the halfpipe, my body humming to life just by being here. Stopping by the outer edge of the pipe, I drop my board and my backpack, taking a seat on the snow just to revel in the view.
I’ve spent years on this terrain – training, perfecting my tricks, wishing I could snowboard for the rest of my life.
I’m a lucky motherfucker. Don’t mistake me for an ungrateful person – not many teens can live their dreams as easily as I did.
But I worked hard, I sweated, I cried, and my persistence and determination brought me to where I am today.
I’d never trade this life for anything else.
I’d never give up on my dreams. I’d never let anyone take them away from me.
Proving that I’m back in the game starts now.
Checking the bindings and making sure they’re perfectly secure, I sigh, wishing I’d taken the step-ons I now use. They’re more practical, but these will suffice. I fix my helmet, my goggles, my gloves, and the moment my boot comes in contact with the board, my heart thunders with anticipation.
Fuck. This is going to feel extremely good.
I don’t think twice and let myself fall on the slope.
I soak in the exhilarating feeling, the adrenaline consuming my senses as the cold air bites at my skin.
I start with a McTwist, then gather the pace I need on my descent and rotate into a Frontside 180.
I don’t think at all, as those basic tricks were perfected long ago with muscle memory.
On my next aerial maneuver, I perform a double grab, and when I land, I ignore the pain shooting up my knee.
Mierda.
I didn’t even warm up. Rookie mistake.
Rushing across the slope, I grind my teeth and cast the ache aside by rotating into an 1800 Melon.
I don’t listen. I don’t listen to anything my body is telling me. All I’m focused on is the thrilling sensation that only riding can produce.
I’m tempted to do a hard trick, but I haven’t trained in weeks, and I can’t risk everything.
If I mess up, I’ll go back to the starting point, and my recovery will only be prolonged.
I realize too late that I’ve been losing myself in my thoughts, so when I attempt a Cab 1080, I know I’ve fucked up with the way my body is positioned before the landing.
An intense jolt of pain crashes through my leg as I trip, making me stumble and roll toward the flat bottom.
Before I can even try to catch myself, I get propelled forward. And as soon as my head hits something I black out.