Chapter 6
Connor
If Vox doesn’t stop looking at me like that, we’re going to have a problem. A very big, very noticeable problem.
I don’t know what possessed me to follow him in here.
Obviously, I’m still trying to get to know him, and I’m holding on to the hope that we can develop trust and a working relationship, but when he looks at me like he’s looking at me now, I want to say, ‘to hell with it all’ and slide my sweat-slicked body along his.
I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, or if I’m projecting my own lust onto him, imagining that I see it in his eyes, but it’s making my heart race.
“Vox?”
His eyes finally snap to mine the second time I say his name. Thankfully, the steam makes everything a little hazy, and although I can see details, I can’t see them sharply. I can only imagine that seeing Vox shirtless in high definition would short-circuit my brain.
“Yeah?”
“I’d tell you if I could.”
“If you trusted me, you mean,” he says.
It’s more than just trusting him…knowing he idolized me while he was growing up makes me extra anxious.
If Vox finds out what I did—that I lost control—maybe he won’t look at me like this anymore, and I don’t think I could handle that because no one has looked at me like this in a very long time. I’m getting a little drunk off it.
“I just mean if I could, I would.” Vox eyes me like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, but the way he’s studying me makes me think he wants to believe me, so I try to capitalize on that.
“Sometimes I think it would be nice to share the burden, but it’s also the worst part of myself, so some sick piece of me is happy to hide behind the NDA. ”
Well, fuck.
That’s not what I meant to say.
But the way Vox relaxes a fraction and turns toward me instead of away makes me not regret saying the words, even if they leave me a little raw.
He blows out a breath and shifts, his knee knocking into mine.
Whatever Vox’s heritage, it allows him to stay tan year-round, and the blond leg hair on his golden knees and thighs is more than a little distracting.
It’s just a knee, for fuck’s sake, but it’s the knee of the best snowboarder in the world right now.
Quite possibly the only athlete who could actually pose a threat to my record, and it sends a jolt of desire through me so strong I’m surprised I haven’t combusted.
I’m sure Vox is just as unhinged in the bedroom as he is on the slopes and I—
Nope. Do not finish that thought.
“All right, why you disappeared is off limits,” he starts, calling my eyes back to his face. “How about your injury? Can you tell me what’s messed up? Or how you did it? Were you boarding?”
“My injury?” My brows pull together in confusion, and immediately Vox’s look mirrors mine.
“Uh, yeah? Grey said you’re still recovering from some injury and that’s why you’ve been riding the snowmobile around.” He pauses, and then a scowl darkens his features. “Unless that’s a lie, too?”
“Hey.” I reach out to grab his forearm, and as soon as I make contact, I know I’ve fucked up.
His skin is slick with sweat from the steam room’s heat, and he tenses at my touch, making the muscles under his skin flex.
“I’ve never lied to you.” To my horror, it comes out raspy and weak.
I’m actually hoping he interprets it as pleading and not the lust-filled reaction that it is.
He gives a soft huff of a laugh, like he doesn’t really think it’s funny.
“Unfortunately, that’s not true, but I guess I’m not surprised that day meant a lot more to me than it did to you.” He’s climbing out of the steam room before I can fully process his words, but my skin is still buzzing everywhere we touched.
What day?
After getting back home and showering, I still have enough time before simulator training to make the drive and do the only thing that makes me feel better when my brain plays the guilt game—which, thanks to this…pull…I feel toward Vox—has increased lately.
When Grey found me, I was only living an hour from here. After the accident, I couldn’t move away. It felt like abandoning Sam and Louisa, and I couldn’t do it. Not when I was the cause of their altered lives.
I shoot off a quick text asking if I can come by, and I’m thankful when the answer is yes.
The entire drive, I try to think about anything else: the weather, today’s training plan, what I need at the grocery store, the meaning of life…literally anything, but all my traitorous mind will give me are images of Vox, shirtless and sweating with flushed skin.
I’m so wound up by the time I pull into Sam’s driveway, I have to sit in the car for a minute and get myself under control.
When I’m finally able to get out, I walk up the ramp and ring the doorbell, immediately regretting not stopping for flowers, or a bottle of wine, or something.
But as soon as Sam opens the door, he greets me with a laugh and says, “Thank God you showed up empty-handed this time. We still haven’t gotten through the last six bottles you brought us.”
I shake his hand as I step into the familiar living room.
“Sam, how are you?” I ask, shedding my coat.
“Doing great, Connor. How about yourself?” he asks, spinning his wheelchair around to lead me into the kitchen.
“I, uh, I’ve been better,” I confess. How fucked up is it that Sam, of all people, is the one I choose to talk to about this?
Then again, I don’t really have anyone else.
A thought slams into me at a hundred miles an hour…Vox isn’t the only one who avoids relationships like the plague.
“Tea?” Sam asks as he wheels up to the counter, grabs two mugs, and begins pouring before I can even answer. He knows I’m going to say yes. This has become our ritual.
“Please,” I respond, taking my usual seat. “Where’s Louisa today?”
“It’s noon on a Tuesday, Connor,” Sam says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s at work.”
“Oh, right.” I grab the mug he’s holding out for me and stare into it, watching as the hot water pulls the tea from the little floating bag. “Aren’t you working?” I ask, knowing Sam works from home.
“Yeah, but I’ll always make time for you, you know that.
” The kid in me wishes I could crawl into Sam’s lap and just be told that everything will be fine.
My face and fidgeting hands must give away my unease, though, because Sam adds, “Start talking, Lang. I haven’t seen you this torn up in quite a while. ”
I love talking to Sam. He already knows the worst of me, and despite that, he allows me inside his home.
He and Louisa, both. They should hate me.
They should’ve turned me away the first time I showed up.
Instead, they welcomed me with open arms and have always made it known that I have a place at their table anytime I want it.
Fuck, I get choked up every time I think about it.
“I got a new job,” I finally say.
“Well, congratulations!” Sam bellows with honest enthusiasm.
He’s in his early fifties now. A good-looking guy with a full head of gray hair and a killer mustache to go with it.
The muscles in his legs have atrophied, as was to be expected, but he works hard to keep up the strength in his arms, chest, and back.
It’s his strength of spirit that I admire more than anything, though.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“You don’t sound so thrilled. I’d have thought anything was better than that office you were in. Why’d you take it if it was going to make you more miserable than your last gig?” he asks, bringing the cup of hot liquid to his lips.
Taking a deep breath, I dive in.
“I was asked to join the coaching staff of Patterson Performance’s co-ed Winter Classic Team.”
Sam laughs. “That sounds exciting, but you’ll have to elaborate. You forget I skied as a hobby, not because it was some great passion of mine.”
Those words twist the knife of guilt lodged in my gut even deeper.
Reading my expression correctly—again—Sam sighs. “Connor, I’m going to kick you out if you don’t wipe that look off your face.”
He’d do it, too. He’s done it before. His one condition for my visits has always been that he doesn’t want my pity.
Schooling my features, I continue with my predicament.
“Okay, so the Winter Classic is a major professional snowboarding event. It hosts teams from all over the world; members of the Olympic committee will be there, and it’s a really big deal.
I was brought in to help coach the athletes competing in parallel slalom and snowboard cross.
” My nerves get the best of me as I talk, and my palms are so sweaty I have to set my mug down so I can wipe them on my jeans.
“Sounds like a great opportunity,” Sam says.
“It is,” I confirm.
“But to my knowledge, and despite my best prodding, you still haven’t been on a board, have you?” I shake my head. “What’s it going to take, Connor?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Have you talked to a therapist?” he asks.
“I can’t—”
“Oh, fuck the NDA!” Sam shouts, surprising me.
“You’re allowed to seek help. Your sessions would be protected under doctor/patient confidentiality laws anyway.
I love catching up with you, but we both know I’m no therapist. I’m a marketing director.
I live in a world of numbers, A/B testing, and analytical market research.
When it comes to feelings and trauma, I know about as much as you do, probably less, actually.
” Softening his voice, he adds, “It’s been five years, son. You need to move on.”
I can’t help the tears that sting the corners of my eyes as I nod my head. I know he’s right, but godfuckingdammit! How do I move on?
In true Sam fashion, he’s said what he needed to say, so he switches gears. “Now, tell me more about this job. Are the athletes all hotshots like you were?”
I think about Vox and nod, a smile forming at the phrase Sam chose.
“One in particular is going to give me a run for my money.”
Sam laughs, and the sound warms my heart.
“Well, I’ll have to start paying more attention. What’s their name?”
“Vox Montgomery.” As his name passes my lips, I feel relief just from being able to say it out loud.
“Vox? That’s an unusual name,” Sam points out.
“Yeah. Not sure where it came from. Guy’s a total menace, and he boards like the chip on his shoulder is pushing him down the mountain. He’s talented as hell, but I worry about him. What he lacks in control, he makes up for in arrogance, and that has the potential to be deadly.”
“Then it’s a good thing they brought you on to coach him.”
I lift my gaze to look at Sam—apparently, I find this now-empty teacup fascinating.
“Why does everyone seem to think I’m the best option for this guy? He doesn’t even like me, and I’ve already managed to fuck up with him.”
Vox’s words ring in my ears—I’m not surprised that day meant a lot more to me than it did to you—as Sam’s voice brings me back to the present.
“You know I’ve watched all of your performances, Connor.
Several times. Early on, I was practically begging the universe to give me some evidence of your recklessness.
But it couldn’t because there was none. No one has ever had more control over their snowboard than you.
It was an extension of your body. It moved on your command as easily as your hand reaching forward to hold that cup.
The connection between your brain and board was one you didn’t even have to think about.
” He lowers his voice and covers my hand with his.
“Which is how I know there was absolutely nothing that could have been done to avoid our collision that night.”
Sam rarely mentions the accident. He came to terms with the outcome a long time ago. I’m the one still struggling with it.
Leaving him paralyzed from the waist down wrecked me. This kind, compassionate man was just out enjoying an evening with his wife on the slopes, and I ruined everything and turned it into the most traumatic night of his life.
“I’m only going to say this one more time, Connor, so make sure you’re listening.
” Not only am I listening, I’m squeezing Sam’s hand so tightly, I’m probably about to cost him a finger or two as well.
“You weren’t the drunk asshole flying down that mountain.
When that guy cut you off, you had less than a second to react.
If you had hit him, one of you likely would have died.
I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I know you tried to avoid hitting me.
The fact that you had enough control to angle your board away from my head at the last second saved my life. ”
My lip is quivering as I speak in a whisper. “But I still hit you and took away your ability to walk, Sam.”
“Do you think less of me as a person because I have to rely on a wheelchair to get around?” he asks.
“What?! Absolutely not!” I shout.
“Do you think my intelligence took a hit because I lost the ability to walk?”
“Of course not,” I say.
“Neither do I. Connor, I love that Louisa and I have gotten to know you over the last few years, and we’re so glad you’re in our lives, regardless of what brought you here.
So please, please stop punishing yourself.
Get help. Get back on a snowboard and teach these athletes everything you know because you were a damn good snowboarder.
You could share information with them that might save their lives one day.
Don’t let that drunken idiot take more from you than he already has. ”
With tears freely flowing down my face, I make the decision to try getting back on a board.
For Sam.
For me.
For Vox.