Chapter 47
HANNAH
The sound of a snowboard skidding across freshly leveled snow never gets old; however, for Noah, it’s a constant reminder that he can’t grasp his turns and landings.
At one point, about forty minutes into our practice, his Alley-Oop looked promising, except his strength wavered, causing his unbalance and skidding down the halfpipe.
But he persisted, getting right back up and making it to the top hill every time, only to meet another failed attempt at his tricks.
It’s dangerous to let someone with the twisties perform, but he’s showing promise, and not only is he more relaxed with his thoughts, but he also proved me wrong and stomped most of my own anxieties.
Eventually, I call for a break, watching his face fall when he sits in the snow, patting the seat next to him.
I join him, enjoying the morning air that fills my lungs. Noah keeps his head low, goggles swaying from his fingertips. If only I could get inside his head and rearrange the gears to move him away from self-deprecating thoughts.
Because it’s not his dead dad that’s making him lose control, it’s something else entirely.
Instead, we sit in silence for the remainder of practice, hoping the peace at the top can settle the unease I know is creeping near. It comes off his body in waves, dread filling the small space we share in such a wide-open area.
It’s suffocating, even for me.
I wonder if it’s like that all the time for him.
“Noah,” I say, watching him from my peripherals.
“I think my career is over.” He chucks the goggles on the ground and removes his winter hat, twisting it between his hands. His voice sounds so small, making my heart ache.
“Noah, it's not over. This happened before, right?”
I barely get the words out when his eyes turn dark. “Who told you?”
“Coach Jones. I confronted him when I realized what was happening at our first practice. But you overcame it before, didn’t you? Henry wouldn’t delve into the details eith—”
“'Cause it’s nobody's business but mine, Red.”
“But if we can use how you overcame it before—”
“NO.” It’s the first time he’s raised his voice at me. “You think because we’re working together, you have a right to know my personal business? It doesn’t work like that. So, stay out of it.”
But it’s not the first time for me when it comes to a man yelling at me. It makes me sick to my stomach, shrinking my size down to a tiny ant, his boot keeping me stuck to the bottom of his heel.
Where is the man I washed in the shower? Who let me sleep in his arms after he touched and claimed all my intimate parts?
Noah catches the hurt in my eyes and my silence, reaching for me, but I back away. Because when trauma meets trauma, everyone gets hurt. “Red, I’m—”
“Hart!” yells Mark from the bottom, waving his arms.
“What?” Noah shouts back.
“Coach Jones is looking for you both!”
“Shit,” he hisses under his breath.
Up until now, I totally forgot Coach Jones wanted an update on Noah’s progress by the end of the week, and we have nothing to show for it.
I’m failing Maya and her family, getting too distracted by Noah’s touch rather than making sure he overcomes his mental block.
It’s too much, everything. And now I have to meet with Coach Jones to discuss another failure.
Coach Jones takes a comfortable position behind the desk, rocking back and forth in his chair. He clicks a blue pen with his thumb, waiting for one of us to speak. Noah looks only at his coach.
I, however, want to fucking hurl my breakfast up.
“Update?” Coach Jones says, continuing to click that stupid pen. I want to throw it at his head.
Noah shrugs. “I keep eating shit, if that’s what you want to hear.”
The room falls silent, and Coach Jones looks about ready to explode. His face turns a deep shade of red, veins protruding along his neck. “You can’t be serious.” He turns to me. “Is he serious?”
“I—”
Leave it to Noah to start an argument with his own coach. “Who else have you told about my past?”
“No one. But I think you should shed some insight for Hannah, at least that’ll give her a chance to reverse the mess.”
“Or we can just admit it’s over. No point beating a dead horse.”
“Listen to me—”
“Save the lecture. It’s going to make my ears bleed anyway.”
His words are sharp, and before Coach can respond, Henry comes in, eyes darting back and forth between the three of us.
Well, this can’t be good.
“Now is not the time, Parker,” Coach advises, continuing to grill the shit out of Noah.
“I believe it’s the perfect time.” Grabbing a chair and wedging it between Noah and me, he continues, “Cause someone alerted the press, and Anthony and Jill are trying to get the staff to control the mob outside.”
“Fuck,” hisses Noah.
“Who in the flying fuck alerted the press!” Watching Coach Jones lose his shit is one thing, but witnessing him take a stack of books and launch them off the table, screaming, “Fuck!” is another.
“The rest of the team is aware and is hiding out in their cabins.” Henry starts making phone calls, trying to keep it under control.
“I don’t understand,” I finally speak, my voice sounding off.
Noah finally looks at me, his eyes holding no emotion, slipping on a mask.
I hate it. I hate this version of him. It’s like when we first met. His arrogance and coldness push me over the edge.
Coach Jones storms out, most likely assessing the situation outside.
Henry eventually answers my question. “The media is already aware of the Olympic team doing the event; however, they never swarm this fast unless a story breaks about one of the players.” He side eyes Noah. “You guys practice before the guests are allowed on the slopes, right?”
“Yes. From seven to nine.” Like we agreed.
“Apparently, it came from an inside source, according to the article on page six in the L.A times. Once they get hold of information, it spreads like wildfire.” Henry gets another phone call, barking orders to some poor soul on the other end.
My stomach turns. If people know of Noah not being able to perform,it might turn others away from coming altogether.
My breakfast rises in the back of my throat.
“Red?” Noah claims my attention, eyes wide with panic. “You’re as white as snow. Are you okay?”
Afraid to move, my fingers dig into the upholstery, trying to breathe through my nose. My hearing is shot as a loud ringing in my right ear penetrates my skull, pounding at my temples. Dizzy, I feel dizzy and out of control.
Noah pushes Henry out of the room, but all I catch is the sound of my erratic heartbeat pumping, no chance of slowing down.
Noah gets on his knees and shifts my chair to face him. But I need to get away. I can’t stay here, not like this. Not when he’s this version of himself, too much back and forth with him.
No, I have to go now.
Bolting from the room, I catch sight of the mob outside the foyer, cameras flashing, blinding in all directions. Someone shouts for Noah; Anthony and Jill are trying to get the staff to shuffle the paparazzi outside.
I can’t see, but someone shouts for Noah, then more follow after, when strong hands touch my shoulders.
“Who’s the girlfriend, Hart?”
“Give us a kiss!”
“Hart, is it true you’re retiring?”
“Red—”
“Hannah!”
Maya! Thank god.
Another set of hands grab me, taking me away from the chaos. We duck into the dining hall, skirting past the staff and into the head chef's office.
Maya pants, hands on knees, trying to catch her breath. “I’m so out of shape.”
Sliding down to the floor, I hug my knees, panting as well. “Time to head back to Zumba.”
She pretends to gag. “Fuck that, I’d rather walk a mile at my old high school track than be surrounded by all those sweaty bodies.”
“It’s because that chick removed her tank and slapped you in the face by mistake.”
“I wanted to die, okay. How do you just blatantly take off your stupid tight-fitting tank top and just swing it around like you’re riding a goddamn bull! THIS ISN’T A RODEO. It’s fucking Zumba in the North End.”
Her outburst makes us pause, then laugh, holding our stomachs. Maya joins me on the floor and rests her head on my shoulder. “I think Noah putting his hands on you really put the paparazzi in a frenzy. I wouldn’t be surprised if your face is plastered everywhere now.”
I groan, banging my head back against the wall. “Did you hear what they called me?”
“I mean, it’s better than calling you his booty call.”
I give her the side eye. “Doesn’t help.”
“Why did he come out in the first place? He looked disheveled. What happened there?”
“Told Coach Jones he’s done. It’s like he didn’t want to try anymore.
” Does that also mean our arrangement is over, too?
Would it be so bad if it were? After he yelled at me at the top of the halfpipe, maybe it’s for the best. Maybe our transaction has expired, and it’s not doing any of us favors.
It fueled a fire brighter than the sun, and I think it’s starting to sizzle out.
But to tell Maya all this right now, I don’t have the mental strength to deal with her questioning.
“Do you think he’s done?” Maya asks.
“Does it matter what I think?” Because at the end of the day, Noah is going to do what he wants, when he wants, and will never apologize for his ways.
The door opens, and the head chef looks at us huddled on the floor.
He hesitates stepping in, wondering if it’s safe to enter his own office. “I…just…uh, need my master copy of the menu.” He stretches his long legs almost into a split, grabs the menu off his desk, and shuts the door without another word.
It sends Maya and me into a fit, not expecting the head chef to make an appearance in his own office.
“Gosh, what a mess,” I say, taking a deep breath to suppress any more laughter.
“Well, someone leaked Noah’s business. My parents are most likely calling the cops right now. I think they’ll add a new policy to the resort after this, with no paparazzi allowed.”
“Can they do that?”
“Yes.” She plays with the gold ring on her middle finger. “It sounds like you do care about what happens to Noah.” Leave it to Maya to find a deeper meaning than intended.
“I’m lucky I got his ass out of bed.”
“True. But he can’t resist you.”
He can’t, but not in the way she thinks, and oddly, it hits me hard in the chest, a somewhat dull ache starting, making it difficult to catch my breath.