Chapter 4
Connor
Before I’d even arrived in Ricochet Ridge, Grey warned me Vox doesn’t love change, and he loves new people even less, but I didn’t expect him to jump right to the heart of my most closely guarded secrets the first second we were alone.
His arrogance truly knows no bounds, and he’s going to make a lot of enemies in this sport if he hasn’t already.
However, seeing as I’m now his coach, it’s on me to smooth things over.
Understandably, Vox is standoffish this morning.
His teammates have naturally broken off into a pair and a group of three, and I watch as one of the women, Angel, I believe, approaches Vox and throws a thumb over her shoulder, clearly inviting him to join them.
Vox says something with a small smile and shakes his head. Angel returns to the group of three alone while Vox sits down on a bench and begins strapping into his board. Everyone else is still waiting for instructions when Vox takes off for the lift by himself.
“Always has to be first, that one,” Grey says, coming to stand beside me. He chuckles to play it off, but I can tell he’s concerned about Vox. I can read it in the strain of his voice. “How’d introductions go yesterday?”
I sigh. “We’ll need a redo,” I tell the man honestly. Grey just hmphs like my answer doesn’t surprise him.
“He’s a tough one to get close to, but once you do, he’s fiercely loyal,” he finally says.
“I don’t have to get close to him. I just need him to listen to me,” I point out.
“We both know he isn’t going to take instruction from someone he doesn’t respect,” Grey argues, causing me to turn and pin him with a stare.
“Why’d you bring me out here if he’s a lost cause?”
“He isn’t a lost cause, but the stakes are getting higher, and he’s getting older…and even more independent. I needed someone who already had a foot in the door with him.”
“And you think that person is me?” I ask incredulously.
“Vox watched you board for years, Connor. He’d probably kill me for telling you this, but he demanded I let him compete on a Vertigo board in all his junior events because that’s what you rode.”
There’s no way for me to cover my shock over learning this information. Vertigo was Patterson Performance’s number one competitor back then. Now, a few other brands have hit the market and are giving him a run for his money, but Vertigo was the original competition.
“And you allowed that?” I ask as calmly as I can, trying to name whatever this emotion is clogging my throat.
Grey laughs. “Kid wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Told me he’d race on a Vertigo board or he wouldn’t race at all.
Vox knows how to get what he wants. But so do I.
And what I want is him racing for me. He respects me, but I still wouldn’t say we’re friends.
Love him like he’s my own, though. I’m telling you, that face could charm the pants off anything, but the thorns underneath are sharp. ”
Well, fuck.
This conversation has done nothing to make me feel better about this season, and the clock is winding down. With no Winter Olympics this year, all eyes are going to be focused on the Winter Classic Games. We have three months to show the world that Vox and this team are the best.
“What other competitions are the team signed up for this season?” I ask as we make our way toward the snowmobiles.
The only way to get to the wooden observation deck built into the slope is to either ski or snowboard there, or take a snowmobile…
and since I currently can’t strap into a board without having a panic attack, I lied and told Grey I’m nursing an injury that requires the use of a snowmobile.
“The other athletes are free to choose which events they compete in as long as none are within three weeks of the Winter Classic.”
That sounds fair.
“Which ones will Vox and Renner be competing in? I assume I’ll be traveling with them?” I clarify.
“Renner is doing a competition in Utah around Christmas. Angel is also going to that one, but Montoya already agreed to go.”
“And Vox?”
Grey keeps his eyes forward and clears his throat nervously as he answers. “Vox isn’t competing in anything other than the Winter Classic this season.”
I stop walking because that’s just crazy. Snowboarders compete on a circuit with at least four or five stops. That’s his chance to earn money for the year, gain exposure, pick up additional sponsors, etc.
“What? Why?”
“Because I need his focus to be on the Games,” Grey answers simply.
“I mean, of course, but that really limits him, don’t you think?
Don’t his other sponsors require his participation in additional events?
” I ask, not understanding Grey’s logic.
Vox is the biggest name in boarding right now.
Surely his other sponsors require his attention to give their brands visibility.
“Vox doesn’t have other sponsors. Patterson is it for him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to hop on a call with my development team.”
No other sponsors? That makes no sense. Vox could make a killing on sponsorship alone. I’d love to see his contract, but something tells me Vox isn’t going to just hand it over, and neither is Grey.
Once I’m parked, I take my place with Montoya and Fuller and get ready to watch our team as they come sailing down the mountain on a warm-up run.
Vox looks good as he goes flying by, but he’s tightly wound. I can see it in the jerkiness of his hips and the way his arm movements are reactionary to keep his balance and not flowing to help him gain momentum.
I make a mental note to apologize and clear the air, feeling guilty for contributing to his tension.
A few runs later, he narrowly avoids sideswiping Gibson by running out of bounds because he isn’t paying attention to anything but getting down the mountain as fast as he can. A second later, I hear his shouts from here.
The almost-accident has me swaying on my feet. The ringing in my ears starts first, followed by tunnel vision as I sit back in the snow.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” Vox yells.
“Hey, man, you came into my lane,” Gibson calls back.
“This entire goddamn mountain is my lane,” Vox fires off.
“Lang, you all good?” Fuller asks, looking over his shoulder to see my ass in the snow.
“Yeah, must’ve been standing with my knees locked,” I lie. “Felt woozy for a second, but I’m good now. Thanks.”
Montoya laughs next to us. “Not to mention, this altitude’s a bitch.”
Exchange over, I refocus my attention on Vox, who’s still adjusting something on his binding.
I whistle and call Vox’s name, but the bastard just blasts by me as if he didn’t hear me yelling for him. I’ll give him the rest of the run to cool down and catch him on the next lap.
But when he ignores me a second time, I can’t let it go.
My jaw clenches in frustration as I climb on the snowmobile and haul down the mountain after him.
Coming up along his side, I see his eyes widen when he realizes I’m chasing him, and I laugh into the wind.
We’re going too fast to talk, so I hold up both hands, bobbing them up and down in a motion to tell him to slow down.
He doesn’t.
Looks like we’re doing this the hard way then.
I give him plenty of time to prepare. After everything I’ve been through, I wouldn’t risk another boarder, no matter how pissed I was or what point I was trying to prove.
I pull the snowmobile horizontally across the cutoff he’ll take to get back to the lift he needs, forcing him to come to a stop and talk to me.
He’s going a little faster than I anticipated, though, and he turns sharply, driving the edges of his board into the snow—hard.
Once he comes to a complete stop, he rips his goggles off and storms over to me, close enough to touch.
“What the fuck was that, Connor? You couldn’t wait until we got to the lift? You could have seriously fucked me up.”
His words are a punch to the solar plexus, but I stand firm because keeping this job is more important than his feelings…or mine.
“You were at greater risk of fucking yourself up. You’re boarding like you’re the only one on this mountain, and I’m sorry to say that isn’t the case anymore, Vox.”
“Yeah, well, it should be. It’s better when I’m alone,” he mutters, and something tells me he isn’t just talking about on the slopes.
For all the easy smiles he offers the media team and fans, I’m starting to think he’s been holding himself together with accolades and anger for quite some time.
Vox moves to turn his back on me, but I grab his arm.
Just like the first time I touched him yesterday when we met, there’s a low hum of electricity buzzing in my veins as we touch.
Having been the star myself for several years, I don’t really get starstruck, but I can’t deny that having access to Vox is a heady feeling.
I also can’t deny that I probably need to get laid.
“Hey, let’s start over. Otherwise, this season is already lost. If you don’t trust me, I can’t help you, and what’s the point of coming out of retirement to coach a kid who doesn’t trust my advice?”
“Well, first of all, I’m not a kid,” he argues, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at his semantics. “And second, you call that disappearing act ‘retirement’?”
Dammit, I’m trying, but he has to meet me halfway, so I lighten my tone when I respond, completely ignoring the retirement comment.
“You’re right. My apologies, you crusty old curmudgeon.” This earns me an eye roll in return, as well as a shake of his head.
“You’re kind of an idiot,” he says, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. It’s too soon to tell, but it feels like progress.
I shrug. “Eh, I’ve been called worse. So, what do you say?” I ask, holding my hand out.
He doesn’t back down as he asks, “I say it depends on why you left the sport.”
Immediately, my fingers pinch the bridge of my nose because I. Can’t. Fucking. Answer. That.
“Look, man,” Vox continues. “This is my whole career we’re talking about.
This is it for me. It’s all I’ve got. And if I don’t do well at the Games, my best shot at getting back to the Olympics goes out the window.
So, if you left because of some shady shit involving doping or rape or something that’s going to come back and bite us both in the ass, then no, I’m not interested in working together. ”
The worst part is that his concern is valid, and I totally respect it.
Trying to find middle ground, I offer the closest thing to the truth as I can get.
“There are reasons, including an NDA, as to why I can’t fully answer your question, but I’ve never cut corners by doping. And it absolutely was not rape. For fuck’s sake, Vox, what kind of monster do you think I am?”
“I don’t know!” he bellows louder than I was expecting. “That’s what I’m trying to get you to tell me!”
I’m losing him. Whatever ground I had just gained is slipping away, and I need this season as much as he does.
“All right, I hear you,” I say, pausing as I try to figure out how much I can divulge and how I can phrase it so I’m within legal bounds because the truth is, I don’t know Vox any better than he knows me.
He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to run his mouth, but am I willing to risk a lawsuit over that?
Considering I’m financially broke, definitely not.
“There was an incident. It was handled privately to keep my name out of the press and off the Olympic Committee’s radar.
I left the sport when my sponsors dropped me. ”
“But what happened?” he asks again. “What was the incident?”
“I didn’t rape anyone. I didn’t murder anyone or bury any bodies. I didn’t dope. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t steal. And I’m sorry, but that’s as much as I can tell you.”
He sits with this for a minute before dropping his voice and asking, “Did you want to stop boarding?”
This question is much easier to answer.
“Fuck, no. Like you, boarding was my whole fucking world.”
This seems to be the right answer because Vox nods his head slowly, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask any more questions.
“Okay, then. Let’s start over,” he says, holding his hand out this time. “Vox Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you, and also, I’m going to smash your record in parallel slalom this year.”
I’d be pissed at his arrogance, but the smile he throws me is the most genuine smile I’ve seen from him yet, and it does a whole helluva lot to ease the tension between us.
I place my gloved hand in his. “Connor Lang. Pleasure’s all mine. If you can beat that record, your drink’s on me.”
Vox lets out what can very loosely be described as a snort, but maybe there was a little laughter mixed in.
The sound is nice. Deep. Full of testosterone. I hope I get to hear it again.
“Come on, let’s get you back up top,” I tell him, finally remembering I have another athlete I’m supposed to be watching. We’ve been out here all of twenty minutes, and already I’m completely consumed with the force that is Vox Montgomery.
Vox takes off for the lift below us as I head for the far edge of the slope to ride the snowmobile back to my starting point.
As soon as I’m settled, Renner boards over to me, coming to a stop. “What do you want to see from me this morning, Coach?” he asks eagerly, obviously wanting to make a good impression.
“Why don’t you take off at moderate speed? Three runs. Just let me watch and figure out your mechanics before I start demanding changes.”
Renner takes off, and I’m feeling much better as I get settled back into my spot on the side of the mountain with the other coaches.
“Vox seems like a handful,” Montoya says around Fuller, keeping his eyes on the slope in front of us. “Grey’s going to have to give him to you one-on-one. I don’t think the spoiled brat likes to share.”
Maybe not, but the bigger concern is that I could easily see myself not wanting to share him with anyone else, either. His talent and arrogance demand that he be coached by an equal, and I may not have been on a board in five years, but I’m the only one holding a record he hasn’t beaten.
When Vox flies by on his next pass, he throws me a mocking salute, and something about the gesture makes the blood in my veins begin to buzz with desire.
Whether it’s to race him, knock him off his high horse, or something much more dangerous, I’m not sure because I refuse to examine it too closely.