Chapter 40
Connor
Pulling my Vertigo board from the nook by the front door, I welcome the familiar feeling of butterflies in my stomach.
They’re much different now than they were the night I tried to get back on a board for the first time since the accident.
These butterflies are familiar, creating a heat low in my belly, making me hungry for victory.
And this particular victory will be oh so fucking sweet.
I run my hand along the board, caressing her, and checking her over for any spots I may have missed last night when doing my pre-race check. My hands are steady despite my nerves as Vox approaches me from behind and wraps his arms across my chest.
“She’s beautiful, Connor. She’s ready to fly, just like you,” he says reassuringly. My stomach clenches because I can hear the sadness in his voice. He wants to race so fucking badly.
“I’m going to win this for you,” I tell him, gripping his crossed arms where they rest against me.
“No way, baby. You’re going to win this for you.” He pauses and then adds, “And Sam.”
Suddenly choked up, I nod, too afraid to speak.
“We need to roll. Are you ready?” he asks.
Nodding again, I let Vox look me over.
“Goggles, check. I’ve got your backup pair in my bag.
Not sure yet what the weather’s going to do, so if you want to switch your lenses, just let me know.
My dad said he’d have your Fall Line Boards jacket at check-in for you.
Boots look good. Chapstick in your pocket?
” he asks, as his hand pats the pocket over my chest. “Yes. Good. It’s windy today, so you’ll want to make sure you pull this up,” he says, tugging on my balaclava.
“This isn’t my first race, hotshot,” I remind him, his checklist spiking my nerves.
“I know. I just feel so fucking useless. Being your equipment manager makes me feel like I’m still a part of it.”
I grab the back of his neck and kiss him before putting my helmet on.
“You’re the best part of it.”
As Vox and I are making our way to check in, we’re joined by Turner Montgomery, who hands me a gorgeous ice-blue racing jacket with his logo splashed across the back. Seeing my last name sewn above it makes my heart skip a beat, and goosebumps break out across my flesh.
Taking the jacket from him, I choke out my words.
“Thank you for this opportunity.”
“Thank you for the opportunity to reconnect with my son. Have fun out there today.”
“Yes, sir.”
As we approach the registration booth, I give my name, and the guy checking in next to me whips his head in my direction, yelling, “No fucking way! No one told me you were going to be here!”
I smile at the guy as Vox takes my number and begins pinning it to my jacket.
“The Connor Lang?” the guy asks.
“One and the same,” I say with a smile.
“How the hell did I not know you were racing here today?” Before I can answer, he turns to another guy on his team. “Yo, Kevin, check this out! Connor Lang is racing today!”
After that, more and more people catch on to the fact that I’m here and ready to race.
Fuck, it feels good.
I’m standing off to the side, shaking hands with athletes, coaches, and fans, when a familiar barrel-chested frame pushes through the crowd.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Grey growls at me.
“Racing.”
“Not for Patterson, you’re not.”
“Grey, I wouldn’t race for Patterson if you were the last snowboarding company left on the planet.” I point to the patch over my chest. “I race for Fall Line Boards.”
“What the fuck is Fall Line Boards?”
Turner appears between Vox and me, one arm thrown over each of our shoulders as he calmly states, “Your newest and biggest competitor.”
Snarling, Grey leans in. “This is how you repay me for rescuing you from that shitty office job and your lackluster life?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Of course not, this is how I’m repaying you for introducing me to the love of my life, taking advantage of him, threatening us both, and keeping him locked in a gilded cage.”
“You were supposed to help me keep Vox in line, not push him out of it,” he bites.
Beside me, Vox speaks up. “Grey, you should know by now, I take the same line every time. The fall line. The fastest, steepest, most direct route to victory. You had no fucking right to keep him from me or pull me from this competition. And you definitely have no right to be pissed that we figured out a way to win anyway.”
Grey’s angry eyes and ruddy cheeks zero in on Vox. “I fucking made you; therefore, I have every right to do as I please.”
Turner pushes past Vox and me, squaring up to Grey.
“That’s funny. I don’t remember you being there the night Alyssa and I brought Vox into this world.”
It dawns on me in this moment that this is the first time I’ve ever heard Vox’s mom’s name.
“And I don’t remember you being there from the day I met him until you randomly decided you briefly wanted to play father,” Grey fires back.
“I never claimed to be perfect, but he was still my son, you bastard.”
My presence was already drawing a crowd, but the heated argument is driving even more attention our way, and suddenly, Renner breaks through the throng.
“What the hell, dude?” he says, clapping my hand and pulling me in for a bro-hug as though we’re friends and not recently coach and athlete. “You didn’t tell me you were racing!” Laughing, he adds, “Damn, now I get to tell my kids I got my ass kicked by Vox Montgomery and Connor Lang.”
Grey turns his eyes toward Renner.
“Mr. Gentry, I expect you to come out of this race on top.”
Renner snorts a laugh. “Yeah, right.” Fist-bumping Vox, he winks. “I’ll catch you later.”
“This isn’t over,” Grey says as he begins to back away.
“I’m pretty sure it is,” Vox corrects.
Thirty minutes later, Vox is standing behind my chute, where the other coaches are standing with their athletes.
“I know you wish you were in this box right now,” I tell him. “But I’m going to do my best to make you proud.”
“An hour ago, I was pissed and heartbroken, but seeing you in this chute, knowing you’re about to race again, makes me so fucking happy, I’m not even sad to sit this one out.”
The buzzer sounds, alerting coaches that it’s time to leave their athletes, and I kiss Vox goodbye as I pull my goggles down. I’m competing in his events today because they were my events first. I’ll be glad to have snowboard cross out of the way since parallel giant slalom is my main event.
It’s been a long time, but the same laser focus I’ve always managed to find before a race descends on me as I get into position.
Gripping the handles in the front of the gate, I prepare to launch myself out of the chute and down the mountain.
I’m in the far-right lane, which isn’t ideal.
Four of us race at a time, which could be worse, but it’s foggy and visibility is low.
I stop my mind from thinking about collisions and do my best to focus on the task in front of me.
The guys to my left are professionals, not drunken idiots.
We know how to respect each other on the mountain.
The warning beep starts, and for a brief moment, I think I may shit my pants, but as soon as the gate opens, the feeling passes, and all I see is the course in front of me.
I begin pumping my legs for speed immediately.
I need to hit the first ramp fast but keep my air low, landing quickly.
As soon as we land, I squat a little lower and rock back on my edge, keeping my board facing downhill to pick up speed.
As the next jump looms in front of us, I do one little hop and get just enough air to see daylight under my board so I don’t get disqualified.
I land first, but we’re rounding into a corner, and the guy on the inside has the advantage.
Shifting my attention to his hips, I can tell he’s going to come out of the turn and move to his right, cutting the rest of us off.
It’s time to take a page out of Vox’s book and do the brand name on my jacket justice.
The jumps make it hard to find the fall line on a course like this, but not impossible.
Coming out of the turn, I pass behind the guy on the left and feel my board gain speed as the degree of the slope increases ever so slightly.
I pull ahead before the next jump and stay low once again to minimize my air time.
One of the boarders drops back after that, having gotten too much air.
There isn’t enough course left for him to catch up.
The guy behind me is still fighting, but I’ve pushed him off the fall line, and his only way to get it back is to catch me, which he won’t do.
The last guy is making me work for it, but he’s not as good as Vox, and even Vox couldn’t beat me down the mountain.
Throwing my arms behind me, I pull my knees to my chest on another jump.
My board is still so fucking responsive.
A small twist of my hips, and we’re flying into the final turn.
The last jump is directly after the turn, and I swing out to hit the high side on the bank.
Sailing through the air in a downward trajectory literally feels like I’m hurtling off the edge of the world.
Most boarders, including the guy fighting to catch me, would take the softer part of that jump and already be decelerating by the time they cross the finish line.
But no one said you have to cross the finish line on the ground.
I fly through the air, hand clutched to the back of my board, showing off just because I can, and cross the finish line at full speed.
When I hit the snow, I hop once more, twisting my hips, positioning my board perpendicular to the slope, and skid to a stop.
The other racers congratulate me while my hands are on my knees, and I’m struggling to catch my breath while also trying not to cry. I offer fist-bumps and haven’t even straightened up yet when I’m knocked to the ground.
Vox is straddling my waist, his hands on either side of my helmet.