Chapter 7
DELTA
“ H ow did your appointment go, DJ?”
Normally, when one of my brothers asks me a question that I’m not interested in answering, pretending I didn’t hear them is a good way out.
We spend most of our time together wearing helmets and ripping down Blue Pike at breakneck speeds, which lends itself well to a certain degree of plausible deniability.
Unfortunately, that strategy isn’t effective when I’m sandwiched between them on a ski lift. It’s even less effective when it feels like your heart has been crammed in a blender and congealed into one big, confusing, sloppy mess.
I stare forward, pretending to be interested in the group of skiers taking selfies in the chair ahead of ours. “It went fine.”
Shit-show is more apt, considering I walked into Doctor Harrison’s office on Friday night as a fully qualified professional snowboarder, and I walked out on suspension.
Fucking medical suspension. We didn’t talk about it.
He didn’t ask me a single question. He just took one look at my hip and decided he knew what was best for me, my body, and my career.
After an earth-shattering make-out session on the exam table, neither of us acknowledged.
A part of me knows he was just doing his job, that he was looking out for me, and, worst of all, that he was totally right to do what he did.
I shouldn’t be competing, but knowing how bad it is hasn’t been able to silence that nasty voice in my head that says this is the only thing I’m good at.
It doesn’t stop the anger I’m feeling toward Doctor Harrison or the hurt that’s burrowed deeper and deeper into my heart in the two days since I stormed—limped—out of his office.
He didn’t even watch me leave, just crossed his arms and stared at the floor, the fingers of one hand tapping restlessly on his bicep as I struggled to put my pants back on.
I knew he was freaking out, probably regretting kissing me and risking his medical license—as if I would ever tell a soul—but considering he’d just taken an axe to my career, his silence made the whole thing so much worse.
My level of pissed was nothing compared to Dad’s when I told him, though.
Hours later, when I finally went to bed, I could still hear him on the phone downstairs, raging at anyone with a pulse at the USSA who would take his call so late.
It worked too, or partially, because on Saturday morning there were two emails waiting for me.
The first was an automated message from Doctor Harrison’s office, informing me that my records had been transferred as per my— Dad’s —request. The second was a formal notice that my medical suspension was pending following an examination by another doctor.
The appointment is scheduled for Friday .
Dad only grunted when I told him, his hand pausing on the way to pick his cup of coffee off the breakfast table. “Make sure you don’t have anything in your system.”
Anything being the full bottle of pain pills he’d left on my bedside table the day after our talk in the halfpipe.
I looked it up. I’d need at least four days to make sure my drug test doesn’t turn up anything, and as I stood in the bathroom with the bottle in my hand this morning, something inside me broke. My hand trembling, I turned it over and let dozens of little pills fall into the toilet.
I want this, really I do, but not enough to do anything for it. If that makes me weak, or a loser, so be it.
Sensing the shift in my mood, Bay clears his throat, looking past me to Lake. Right at this moment, they’re wondering if I have my period and if they should leave me alone for the next week or bring me chocolate cupcakes after training. “Are you nervous about Everwater?”
“Sure.” I probably should be stressing about it, but I’m too emotionally drained to care.
Physically, I felt good when I woke up this morning.
Two days off made a world of difference to my hip, and I’m feeling confident I can fake my way through some fancy tricks to impress the reps.
Most sponsorship contracts are performance-based, though, and me standing on any podiums this season isn’t exactly what I’d call a sure thing.
Especially if I’m more worried about checking my phone for a text from Doctor Harrison than putting on my game face.
I mean, really , he couldn’t have even texted me? Earth-shattering, panty-melting, life-altering kiss aside, we’re friends. He told me we’re friends. I thought he cared, but the complete lack of contact since Friday has firmly put that misconception to bed.
I’ve let myself get whiplash from this man’s mixed signals, and I’m done with it. I’m not going to be the one to reach out. If he wants to apologize, he knows where to find me.
“Bay and I were talking,” Lake says casually. “We’re thinking about getting a new place in February when our lease is up, without the other guys, you know? Do you want to go in on it? We’ll make sure you have your own bathroom.” He nudges me with his elbow.
It sounds good on paper, to get some space from Dad, but looking at their current apartment as an indicator of how they’ll keep the next one…
They’re trying to be nice, so I keep my shudder internal.
“That’s sweet of you guys, but I’m okay where I am.
Thank you for asking, though.” I drop my head on his shoulder, feeling the tiniest bit better.
Bay, unsurprisingly, isn’t put off. “DJ, I’m worried. We both are. We never see you anymore. You’re always on the mountain… Are your nightmares back?”
My nightmares never left. I just got better about shoving a towel along the bottom of my bedroom door so nobody walking in the hall could hear them. “No. They’re not.”
Groaning in frustration, my eldest brother glares at me. “Tell me the truth. Is there something wrong with your hip? Like, really wrong, because Dad isn’t telling us shit, and he’s trained you to keep your mouth shut too?—”
“Dad hasn’t trained me to do anything!” I snap, rounding on him. We’re nearing the top of the mountain. The chair two ahead of ours is getting off, and we lift the safety bar in unison. “That is so patronizing, Bay.”
“Bay. Stop,” Lake mutters warningly. “If she says she’s fine, then she’s fine.”
Bay snorts. “ Fine? Seriously, Lake? She’s lost a fuck load of weight, she looks like she hasn’t slept in a month, and she’s been snowboarding like shit. You said yourself you think something’s up!”
My jaw drops in incredulous disbelief, looking between them. “I’m snowboarding like shit? Fuck you, Bay, and you know what? Fuck you too, Lake. You’re probably saying the same thing behind my back.”
“Dude, I’m trying to defend you!” Lake snarls, just as our snowboards hit the top of the ramp and we rise as one, sliding smoothly down to the long stretch of open space which branches off into different trails and courses.
I don’t want to see either of them right now, but as soon as I make to board off toward the halfpipe where I’m meeting Dad and the Everwater reps, Bay snatches my wrist and I’m pulled to a stop.
The unexpected jolt sending red-hot pain shooting through my hip and down my leg, and I yelp, ripping my arm away from him.
Shit.
Bay is staring at me with a look of grim satisfaction. “ Fine , huh? Tell the fucking truth for once, DJ. How bad is it?”
Lake stands to the side, looking back and forth between us.
“Guys,” he mutters warningly under his breath, jerking his chin toward a group of girls who are stopped a little way off.
They’re all in our club, and while they’re probably just here to flirt with my brothers, there’s no way they’d fail to tell everyone on the mountain if they heard a word of this.
“I know what I’m doing,” I grit out, turning so the girls can’t see my face. “It’s none of your business, Bay.”
He stares at me, jaw tight. “I’m looking out for you. God knows you won’t do it yourself.”
Yeah, I’m getting a lot of that lately. I have no shortage of men in my life who want what’s best for me, but I doubt any of them are going to take care of me when this all comes crumbling down.
“What exactly do you want me to do?” I ask Bay, my voice deathly quiet and calm.
“I barely got my GED. If my hip is as bad as you seem to think it is, then I won’t get recruited to any college teams. Every penny I earned from my endorsements before I turned eighteen, my winnings from the Olympics, almost everything I’ve made, went into a trust I can’t touch for another four years .
So you can sit there and think whatever you want about me, but I’m doing what I have to do . ”
It’s the truth… just not all of it.
Lake grips Bay’s shoulder and mutters warningly, “Bay. Drop it.”
Bay, predictably, ignores him. “So you’ll…
what? Snowboard until your fucking leg falls off?
News flash, DJ, your days are numbered. Sooner or later, you won’t be able to hide how bad this is from that hotshot doctor of yours, and he’s going to put you on medical suspension.
What then, huh? Going to have daddy make a call and fix it? ”
“Fuck you, Bay,” I snarl, my chest heaving. He has no idea what a fresh wound he’s just poked at, but I don’t care. “You want me to stop because you’re stopping. You want me to be a failure because you are.”
I wait for him to bite, to fight back, and I’m not disappointed. Bay’s lip curls. “Tell yourself whatever you need to, little sister. I think you and I both know the truth. I might be the failure, but you’re the fraud.”
“Enough,” Lake hisses, finally losing his cool. “Stop it, both of you! DJ, head to the pipe. Now . We’ll follow.”
Bay and I stare at each other, and though I’m sure I will be later, I don’t let myself feel sorry. Like me, my brother knows how to go for the jugular in an argument, because his words cut me deeper than I’d ever willingly admit.
Without another word, I slam my free boot into its binding and kick off toward where Dad and the Everwater reps are waiting. I expect to be able to push the fight with Bay aside, but with every nasty stab of pain through my hip, they worm their way deeper.
Fraud.
I am a fraud. The only reason I’m on this mountain is because of Dad.
How many snowboarders are out there who are more talented than I am, work harder than I do, and deserve it more than me?
I told myself that it was okay that I took the drugs, that it was just to get through training, but it wasn’t okay .
I’m a spoiled rotten princess who doesn’t know how to lose, and now I’m a cheat, too.
Fraud. Fraud. Fraud.
The word rings inside my head, so loud it’s nearly deafening.
“DJ!” As I approach the halfpipe, I see Dad standing with a pair of men in bright blue jackets, embossed with the logo for Everwater. He waves me over, grinning, the tension I’d seen in his face this morning long forgotten.
My smile doesn’t come as easily. “Hey, Dad.” I skid smoothly to a stop beside them.
“DJ, this is Daryl and Lucas from Everwater.”
They both ring my hand, smiling broadly. “Excited to get you on team Everwater, Delta,” says the taller of the two; Lucas. “Everyone back at the office is so pumped, I had to fight off junior executives who wanted to come meet you.”
This is the part where I’m supposed to laugh, saying something bright and sassy, like “I don’t blame them,” but I can’t. “Thanks,” I mumble instead, offering a strained smile. Beside me, I feel Dad stiffen.
The second guy, Daryl, clears his throat.
“Well, don’t let us get in your way. I’m sure you’ve got training to do.
We’re just here to take some pictures for the Everwater social media page and have you sign those contracts.
River here said you guys would join us for dinner at the Log Jam Steakhouse tonight to finalize? ”
It’s a testament to how shitty I feel right now that I’m not even slightly looking forward to eating at a place that sells baked potatoes covered in bacon and melted cheese. I smile weakly. “Sounds great.”
Dad follows me up to the deck, which spans the length of the halfpipe, the silence growing heavier by the second. It’s a beautiful day, the kind of conditions you live for, and yet I barely notice as I sit down on one of the benches to get my board on.
Fraud. Fraud. Fraud.
“What was that, DJ?” His voice is measured and low, calm even.
He’s standing beside me, surveying the pipe with his arms crossed.
I’m not sure anyone who isn’t related to him could see the frustration simmering just below the unaffected surface.
“I would have killed for an opportunity like Everwater when I was your age.”
Yeah, he probably would have. I turn my eyes back to my boots. My whole life is crumbling down around me, dismantling piece by piece while I stand there, unable to move one way or another.
Fraud. Fraud. Fraud.
“I’ll put my game face on for dinner.” Straightening up, I push over to the edge of the pipe, staring down the steep ramp.
Off to the side, I can see the Everwater reps watching with their photographers and a handful of other random people.
They’re here for me, they’re expecting me to be great, and like a child, I just want to run and hide.
Fraud.
“Dad.” My voice cracks and my eyes burn. I turn, looking over my shoulder at him. “Dad, I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t?—”
“DJ.” He steps forward, putting himself between me and the small group watching far below.
“That asshole doctor got in your head. We’ll discuss this later, but right now, you need to get your ass in gear.
” We stare at each other, and my tiny flair of defiance dies out almost as quickly as it was born.
Dad’s eyes flash furiously. “Do you want to be a goddamn failure, DJ? Is that what you want?”
The icy mountain wind rustles against my coat, biting at my exposed skin, but I barely feel it as I pull my goggles down. I don’t want him to see my face. Do I look scared? I think I’m scared.
“Wait a second, kid.” My chest seems oddly hollow as I pause, waiting, but Dad doesn’t speak right away.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting him to say, something fatherly, or even commiserating.
Lately, it’s felt like there’s so much unsaid between us, but maybe that’s just on my side.
He’s the same as he’s always been. I’m the one who’s changing.
I’m the one who’s failing.
Dad clears his throat. “You’ve been under-rotating on your second turn of the switch backside. Watch that.”
Okay. I’ll watch that.
He thumps my helmet and steps back.
Fraud. Fraud. Fraud.
I push myself over the edge.