Chapter 4
Hanlon
Okay, so Stone might’ve had a point about my boots. It was a rookie mistake. Especially since I live in Vermont, where our average annual snowfall is seventy-two inches. I’m pissed that I’m already giving him reasons to be angry at me.
Being face-to-face with him again is confusing as fuck. I mean, I wasn’t really expecting a warm welcome, but I guess I have to admit a small part of me was maybe hoping for a handshake or a pat on the back.
Before I leave his office, I decide to try to be the bigger person.
Extend an olive branch. Think through shit better.
Prove I’m an adult capable of taking care of myself.
Nodding my head with resolve—because I can do this—I push up from the chair, gather my new things, and head into the main portion of the office building.
There’s another guy in a red ski patrol jacket, eating a banana as he looks over a map. When I enter his space, he looks up, and his grin curls into a full-blown smile.
“Hey, man. I’m Logan. Bad-ass helicopter pilot and explosives extraordinaire,” he says, extending a hand.
“Hanlon Winchester. Nice to meet you.”
“So, Hanlon, who do you do for fun?”
“Logan,” Stone growls menacingly from the corner in a warning I don’t fully understand.
“Get your panties out of a wad, Addario. I’m just asking the kid about his hobbies.”
Hearing Stone being addressed by his last name sends an unexpected pang of longing through my chest. My mom let me keep my dad’s last name when she married James because James never legally adopted me, but everyone else in the family shares Stone’s last name, giving me one more thing that makes me feel like an outsider.
It would be weird to change my last name now, but sometimes I think it would be nice to match the rest of my family.
But even that comes with feelings of guilt because my dad was an only child, and so am I…
plus I’m gay, so my dad’s name will end with me.
Which feels like his memory will, too, and even if I don’t have many of those, it’s a tough pill to swallow.
“Leave him alone, Logan,” Stone fires back, making Logan laugh.
“Damn, you really woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, didn’t you?” Logan says to Stone before returning his attention to me. “Stone’s always an asshole, so don’t expect that to change, but it’s usually not quite this bad. I keep telling him he needs to get laid, but the fucker—”
“ENOUGH!” Stone shouts, cutting Logan off. “Hanlon, let’s go.”
“It was nice to meet you,” I tell Logan, already liking him. Anyone who can get under Stone’s skin like that is a winner in my book. Plus, he reminds me a lot of Chase, and I could definitely use a friend like that while I’m out here.
Speaking of, my phone goes off as soon as I climb into Stone’s Chevy Tahoe.
Chase
Have you seen him? How’s it going? Do you need backup?
I snort and text a quick reply. Before I put my phone away, another text comes in, causing Stone’s phone to chirp as well.
Family Chat
Mom
Did Hanlon make it?
Hanlon
Yeah, Mom. I’m just getting settled in.
Mom
Oh, good. Stone, thank you in advance for taking care of your brother. Dad and I are so happy you boys are finally getting time together.
Hanlon
Mom, I can take care of myself. Stone’s driving. He says hi.
Mom
Of course you can, sweetheart, but you know I worry. About you both. Call me later and tell me everything, okay? Love and hugs.
Hanlon
Love you too.
“Don’t read that,” I tell Stone as he focuses on navigating the snowy road into town.
“I’m sure I can already guess what it says,” he replies. I don’t like his tone. He’s always been nice to my mom, but right now it feels like he’s just as annoyed with her as he is with me.
I drop it, though, remembering my resolve to make this arrangement work.
Stone goes back to driving quietly, and I turn up the radio. Unsurprisingly, a Bad Omens song is playing from his Spotify account.
“You still play guitar?” I ask, aiming for neutral ground in an attempt to get him to open up.
“Sometimes.” I think that’s all he’s going to give me, but then he follows it up with, “How about you? Still play the piano?”
My mom got me started playing piano when I was five.
The pediatrician told her it would be good for my motor skills, hand-eye coordination, and sensory processing abilities, which were already lagging a little behind by that point.
As soon as I met Stone, I wanted to switch to guitar, but the extreme, tightly curled finger positions made my fingers cramp and were too painful.
So, instead, I learned every song on the piano that he learned on the guitar.
“Not as much as I’d like. Studying, trying to date, and working out sort of took over my life,” I say with a chuckle.
His knuckles tighten on the wheel, and I have no idea what I could’ve possibly said to make him angry this time, so I just sit in silence until we pull up outside a backcountry gear store and hop out.
Stone greets the man behind the counter by name and makes a beeline for the ‘Heated Wear’ section.
He’s rifling through vests when I pause to look at the price tag.
“Holy shit!” I yell. “Stone, I don’t think I need one of these. This thing is three hundred dollars!”
“You do need it, and I get a discount because of my job. I buy all our gear here. Go grab a cart,” he orders.
A cart? How much shit does he think we’re buying? Instead of asking my burning questions, I do as he says and return with the cart to find him holding up two pairs of gloves.
“Did you bring the heated gloves I bought you for Christmas that one year?” he asks.
I almost feel bad when I remind him, “Stone, you bought those for me when I was fourteen. My hands haven’t fit in them for like six years.”
“Right,” he says without looking at me. “Try these on, then.”
“I did remember to bring gloves, though,” I tell him. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he says with conviction.
“Look, the winters out here are different than Vermont. They’re dry, and often, you don’t realize how cold it is until it’s too late.
Without the added moisture in the air, it doesn’t seep into your bones early on.
Your gloves are probably fine, but when your bone marrow is suddenly cold, you need something that will get blood back into your hands and feet fast.” Then, in the softest tone he’s used all morning, he says, “Can you just trust me on this?”
It’s that tiny bit of humanity in his voice that makes me agree without arguing.
“Sure. Get whatever you think I need.”
By the time it’s all said and done, I have a heated vest, heated gloves, heated socks, portable hand warmers—extra, because apparently the fifty I brought with me aren’t enough—glove liners, and Gore-Tex boots. I’m shocked he didn’t try to buy me heated underwear while we’re at it.
When we get to the register, he pulls out his credit card.
“Dude, no fucking way. Let Mom and Dad pay for this stuff,” I argue, pulling out my credit card. “Use this; it’s connected to their account.”
“I’ve got it,” he says in a clipped tone.
“That haul’s gonna run—”
“Your total is eight hundred forty-two dollars and sixty-eight cents,” the man behind the counter says, cutting me off.
“Stone…”
“Hanlon, I said I’ve got it,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for arguing.
Whatever.
“Okay, well, thanks. I’ll pay you back.”
The drive back to Ricochet Ridge Ski Resort is quiet. Stone’s not even making an effort to lessen the awkwardness floating between us.
“When we get back, I’ll show you where everything is. Today and tomorrow will be pretty easy, but it’ll get busier as the season goes on. The more snowfall we get, the more charges we have to drop.”
At this, my head whips toward him.
“Do, uh, do I have to go up in the helicopter?” I ask, swallowing hard. Being airborne has never really been my thing, and I was doing well to survive the two flights here.
“Did you even read the internship details for Ricochet?” he asks.
“No, because like I said, it wasn’t on my list of preferred locations. The programs all vary a little. Some are more educational, you know, based indoors with labs and stuff. Others are more hands-on, which I’m coming to realize will probably be this one. Lucky me.”
“Yes,” he confirms. “You have to go up in the helicopter,” he confirms. “But I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“Great, so now I have to worry about being pushed out of it, too. At least I’ll probably have already passed out by then,” I tease.
“Jesus Christ, you really have no self-preservation instincts, do you?”
“Says the man who handles explosives and purposely triggers deadly amounts of snow to fall down a mountain on the daily,” I snark. “Does Mom know you aren’t just out here helping injured skiers down groomed slopes?”
Stone scoffs. “Please. I’m totally safe. Besides, we both know our parents are far more concerned about you coming back in one piece than they’ve ever been about me.” He goes still as soon as the words leave his lips, like he didn’t mean to say that last part, and I turn to face him in my seat.
“You can’t seriously think that’s true.”
Can he?