Chapter 3
Vox
Was it kind of a dickish power move to buy Connor Lang’s dinner?
Eh. Maybe…but my turf, remember?
The idea came to me as I watched him intentionally ignore our table after making eye contact with me.
He’s about to be my fucking coach. There’s no way he didn’t recognize me.
Besides, it’s not exactly like I blend in.
If my face didn’t give me away, I have bright purple tips in my hair that definitely would, and anyone who’s as ingrained in this world as he is knows exactly who the fuck I am.
So, if he wanted to act all high and mighty, I thought I’d knock him down a peg.
Buying his meal seemed like a good way of subtly letting him know that he can ignore me all he wants, but I’ve got my eye on him.
Plus, I knew I could pass it off as nothing more than a welcoming gesture if he had decided to make a scene.
This morning, the team is meeting for breakfast in the lodge restaurant for our official welcome and introduction to the coaching staff.
This ought to be interesting.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Grey says, clapping his hands as he steps in front of the tables we’re occupying.
“First of all, to those of you who are new to us, welcome to the Patterson Performance team. For those of you already a part of the Patterson family, thank you for your continued trust in us to represent you. I’m so happy to have this group here, and I know our representation at this year’s Winter Classic is going to be incredible.
I’ve done my best to set you up with a coaching staff that will match your talents and has the knowledge and experience to get us to the top, but first, a few rules before we get started.
None of you are new to the professional world of winter sports.
With that having been said, this is the first year the largest games competition is hosting teams…
co-ed teams at that. So, I want to be very clear that under no circumstances are you to hook up with your teammates or anyone wearing a Patterson logo.
This includes my coaches, my administrative team, my social media coordinators, etc.
It creates division within the team, and we don’t have room for that kind of drama or distraction.
Anyone caught in violation of this rule will forfeit their sponsorship and be sent home. Do I make myself clear on that point?”
Everyone murmurs yes, but I offer a silent nod of my head instead.
“Everyone on the team is over twenty-one, and as such, you are allowed to drink alcohol…occasionally and responsibly. My entire coaching staff has the ability to suspend you from practice, require additional practice, or pull you from this competition entirely if they see you being unsafe on the slopes or off. I can promise you no drink is worth losing this sponsorship. Obviously, you will be tested by the governing body of this competition for any form of doping. Just like with the other two rules, there is a zero-tolerance policy. If you’re caught, you’re gone.
” He takes a minute to make eye contact with all six of us before continuing.
“Now, with the basics out of the way, let’s move on to the incredible staff that is going to help secure this year’s wins.
Our technical skills coach, Coach Leon Montoya, comes to us from Salt Lake City.
He has twelve years of coaching both skiers and snowboarders under his belt.
Everyone will spend some time with Coach Montoya. ”
We all clap dutifully before Grey moves on.
“Next, I’m pleased to welcome Coach Randolph Fuller.
Randy and his wife just had a baby, so treat him well because he’s probably not getting a ton of sleep at home, and he’s offered to sacrifice time with his newborn in order to be out here with all of you.
Coach Fuller is our big air coach, and those of you needing power and precision will be training with Coach Fuller. ”
Another round of applause rings through the cafeteria.
“Last,” he moves to stand behind Connor Lang, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders. Connor is wearing a stoic expression and actively avoiding looking in my direction.
I know why I’m conflicted about him being here, but what the hell does he have against me? I’m not the one who abandoned this sport at the top of my game and let my fans down.
“Connor was a hard man to find, but I’m nothing if not persistent,” Grey laughs, looking proud of himself as he continues.
“Connor will be our speed coach. He will also be focusing on balance, terrain reading, and control.” Grey looks right at me as he says the last part before allowing his eyes to wander to the others in the room.
“Connor still holds the world record for parallel slalom and—”
“Not for long,” I mutter with a cocky grin, just loud enough to make their eyes snap to mine.
“Cool your jets, Montgomery,” Grey reprimands. “You could learn a thing or two from Coach Lang.”
“Bet I can teach him a thing or two also,” I smirk.
Grey rolls his eyes as he presses on, but it’s Connor’s clenched jaw and flared nostrils that have my attention now.
“As you know, you all will be training halfpipe, slopestyle, big air, parallel giant slalom, and snowboard cross according to your designated disciplines. If you have any questions or concerns, please come talk to me,” Grey finishes.
“Holy shit,” Renner mutters under his breath next to me. “I can’t believe we’re going to be coached by Connor-fucking-Lang.”
“He’s just a normal guy,” I reply, more for my benefit than Renner’s.
He scoffs. “We both know that’s not true, dude. Maybe he’ll tell us where he’s been all these years,” he says, sounding hopeful.
Connor Lang is five years older than me. I’ve watched him compete since I was a thirteen-year-old, acne-covered adolescent. I was watching when he won his first pro event. I saw his Olympic time-trials. I saw him take gold. Twice. And then, just as I was starting to hit my stride, he disappeared.
And I took that disappearance personally. Connor Lang was the only role model I ever had…until he became another reminder of why it’s better to work alone. It’s somehow easier to accept disappointing myself than it is to be disappointed by others.
Besides, we met once, two years later, and he made me a promise that he broke two weeks after that.
So, it’s going to be a lot of fun showing him who’s the boss…because it sure as shit isn’t him anymore. Not here, at least.
While Grey drones on about the schedule, the format for the competition, etc.
, I take in every inch of my idol that my greedy eyes can see.
If Renner is hot, Connor is quietly, confidently sexy.
No one in our sport is particularly bulky, and Connor’s frame is currently buried under multiple layers, but I remember what I saw in the bar last night when he shed his coat.
It’s evident he’s spent a large amount of his hiatus from boarding in the gym.
His stomach is flat, and his chest and arms are huge. His short brown hair is messy in a stylish way. His stance is confident, and his hands are in his pockets, pressed against the tree trunks he calls thighs. To my teammates, he probably looks relaxed, but I see the tension in his shoulders.
I’m still perusing my prey when Grey wraps up the meeting.
“All right, I think that’s all for now. Why don’t you guys grab some breakfast and pair off with your primary coaches to get to know them better?”
Chairs scoot across the carpeted floor as my teammates rush the food lines, but I stay seated as I prepare to shake hands with my idol for the second time in my life.
A mix of emotions swirls within me.
Logically, I know my abandonment issues have nothing to do with Connor and everything to do with my parents making a hasty exit from my life, my grandmother dying, and having no close friends, but illogically, part of me is still pissed at him for dropping off the face of the planet when I looked up to him so much and needed the security his talent provided for me.
It was like, if Connor competed, I knew he’d win. And if he could get that good, so could I. I studied his style, his moves, and his training program. Hell, I even researched the gear he used. I wanted everything he had.
And then he was just gone.
And I was on my own again.
So, as excited as I am to work with him, I’m hesitant because I’m bringing baggage and resentment to the table that he knows nothing about.
In an effort to protect myself as best I can, I give him media-ready Vox. The surface-level shit he probably expects from me and the version that’s hellbent on cracking his armor before removing my own.
Snapping a cocky smile into place, Renner and I move toward him.
I let Renner do his introduction first. He’s practically vibrating next to me, and if I’m honest, I’d prefer to have my moment privately.
“Gentlemen,” Connor says, addressing us both, holding his hand out for Renner, who clasps it immediately.
“Oh man, it’s such an honor, dude…uh, Connor…uh, sir,” he corrects. Connor’s lips twitch in an almost-smile as his cobalt eyes travel to mine over Renner’s shoulder.
Once Renner finishes verbally vomiting all over him, Connor politely says, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Gentry. I look forward to working with you this season.”
Before Renner can respond, Tasha calls him over to the breakfast line, leaving Connor and me alone for our introduction, giving me the privacy I’d craved for this moment.
Grey catches my eye and nods, and suddenly, the nerves come rushing in.
Grey knows I’ve idolized Connor my entire career, and I can’t help but wonder if he brought Connor on for me specifically, to ease the burden of the new team format that he knows I’m less than thrilled about.
My chest grows tight at the thought, reminding me that I do have someone in my corner. Suddenly, my plan to be an arrogant dick doesn’t sit so well with me, and I rein it in a little.
Connor holds his hand out to me. When I clasp it, he pulls me in and slaps my back like we’re long-lost friends. The way his solid chest feels bumping against mine distracts me…a lot.
Pulling away a second later, he nods and says, “Vox Montgomery. It’s an honor.”
Hearing my name fall from this man’s lips instantly has my cock reacting. And Christ, he smells good. The familiarity of him catches me by surprise, and I huff out a laugh, trying to ignore the disappointment I feel that he obviously doesn’t remember our first meeting.
“I’m pretty sure that’s my line,” I say smoothly after taking too long to regain my composure.
Ignoring my statement, he releases me and motions toward a table. “Shall we sit?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I stutter, taking a vacant seat at a nearby table. Being in his presence is fucking with my brain. This is Connor-fucking-Lang, for Christ’s sake.
“So,” he starts casually, “Grey tells me you and Renner are entering individual and team events for snowboard cross and parallel slalom, is that right?” he asks, crossing one leg over the other, making no comment about how those have always been his events as well.
Connor’s in dark jeans and a tangerine-colored Patterson Performance pullover, and I’m trying like all fuck not to drool on his pant leg right now.
“Uh, yeah. That’s the plan,” I confirm, silently willing my mind to get on board the mentor-mentee train and off whatever debauched locomotive I’ve found myself on instead.
Hell, Connor’s not even into guys, and even if he was, he’s definitely not allowed to be into me.
Connor nods before asking, “What areas do you think you need the most help with?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Considering I’m currently ranked number one, I really don’t know. Guess that’s where you come in.”
“You’re ranked number one in banked slalom,” he reminds me. “That’s a race against you and the clock since no one else is on the course at the same time,” he points out.
“Speed is speed,” I tell him.
Connor and I are locked in a stare-off, with him trying to figure out how to read me and me trying to figure out how I feel about this surreal moment, but before either of us can make much progress, Renner returns to the table with a tray full of food.
He plops a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon in front of me.
“Thought you might want to eat before the tourist rush gets down here and clogs the lines.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely, pulling the plate of food toward me.
I go through the motions of chewing and swallowing while Renner does a much better job of answering Connor’s questions and acting like he’s grateful for this opportunity.
The longer I sit face-to-face with Connor Lang, the more apparent it becomes that I need answers from him before I’ll trust him with my training. So, when Renner finishes breakfast and his conversation with Connor, and moves on to talk to Coach Fuller, I seize my opportunity.
“Where the hell did you go?” I ask, more rudely than the situation calls for.
Connor’s coffee mug pauses halfway to his sinful mouth.
“Go?” he asks, though the tension in his jaw and the creases in the corners of his eyes tell me he knows exactly what I’m referring to.
“You won two gold medals, and then suddenly, you were gone. Pulled out of every event, walked away from your sponsorships; your social media wiped. What the hell happened?” I demand.
If I’m not mistaken, Connor loses a bit of color in his cheeks.
“Just needed a break, is all.” There’s no conviction in his voice when he says it, making it clear he’s lying.
“Look, you don’t have to tell me your darkest secrets, but how am I supposed to trust you with my training if I don’t know anything about you?”
Chewing on his lip, Connor says, “I was born in Colorado. My parents run a distillery. I’m allergic to dogs and shellfish. And I’m an only child. Satisfied?” he quips with a bite.
Okay, so he’s an asshole. Oh well, better to know now before I get invested.
“Nothing I didn’t already know from your Wikipedia page, but thanks.”
I stand to take my mostly empty plate to the trash when Connor says, “Vox, wait.”
I turn to look at him, the thirteen-year-old inside me pleading for him to make it better.
Be the man I’ve always thought you were.
For a brief second, he looks like he’s about to offer an apology or an explanation, but as quickly as the look was there, it’s gone.
His features are back to blank, revealing nothing. Our moment has passed.
“Look, Montgomery. I’m here to do a job, and that job is to ensure you bring home more wins. I can make you a better athlete, but we don’t need to be friends for that.”
Well, alrighty then.
“Hell, I don’t even need you as a coach for that, but thanks for proving my original theory correct.”
I’m better off on my own.