Chapter 5
Chapter five
Ryder
Mirroring the arched brow Axel shoots me when I order a beer, I hold his gaze until he relents and sets a pint of amber liquid on the bar in front of me.
It’s a reward I figure I earned after several hours of cleaning, but as I lift it to my lips all I smell are the chemicals I’ve been using all day that seem determined to linger on my skin. Figures.
“Know how you’re getting home?” Axel asks as he wipes up a spill, as if he’s making casual conversation instead of checking up on me.
I bite back the urge to tell him my tolerance is high enough that one beer won’t keep me from spotting the difference between chatting and babysitting. Instead, I roll my eyes. “I’m not breaking any rules by drinking a beer.”
“You’re doing community service because you got a DUI. It’s a fair question.”
Axel’s lived here all of four months and thinks he’s local enough to call me on my shit?
“I’m off the clock. There’s no stipulation that I can't drink, just that I can’t drink and drive. And I’m doing community service, not AA, because I’m not an alcoholic.”
Axel’s chest deflates as he shakes his head, seeming to say, “I’ve heard that before.” Maybe he has, but in my case it’s true. I don’t have to drink. I choose to. I could choose to stop and I wouldn’t have withdraws or some shit like that, I just don’t feel like being sober.
“How’s the volunteer stuff going?” Axel takes another stab at playing babysitter.
“Now we’re pretending I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart?
” I miss being drunk. At least that way I didn’t notice all the bullshit comments and false realities people paint to try to make my life seem better than it is.
Usually by this time of day, I’m well on my way to oblivion, but my “volunteering” has me behind schedule. Fucking Carter.
“Fine. How’s your court ordered restitution going?” Axel’s smile is tight, which instantly lifts my spirits.
“That’s better.” I take a few gulps of beer and wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist. “It sucks ass, what did you expect?”
“Maybe that you'd be grateful to be back on the mountain?” He fills a glass from the tap and sets it on the bar for another customer without looking at me.
“I’m not on the mountain, though. I’m playing janitor.”
That gets his attention, and I school my expression to look blank before he has a chance to study it.
The last thing I need is for Carter to get wind I’m pissed about being forced to clean since that’s keeping me off the slope, which is in fact the last place I want to be.
I’ll have to be more careful about mentioning that little detail.
“I thought the whole point of this gig was for you to be an instructor.”
“Maybe they don’t have enough customers to teach. The place seemed pretty empty today.” I lift my shoulder indifferently and finish the last swallow as I signal for another.
“You sure man? Carter pulled a lot of strings so you didn’t lose your spot on the snowboard circuit.”
“I’m aware. And again, no one said I couldn’t drink, just that I couldn’t drink and drive.”
He takes my glass and gets me a refill, lips pressed in a firm line.
This perk of people being afraid to say the wrong thing works in my favor. No one gives me an outright “no” even when they think they should.
“So, how are you getting home?” He sets my drink in front of me.
“No offense, dude, but just cause you’re dating Lennon doesn’t mean you know me or my life.”
“No offense dude, but if I’m serving a guy I know has a record because of his drinking I need to cover my ass and make sure you have a plan,” he fires right back.
“Touché.” I lift my glass in a mock toast. “Since you’re so curious, I didn’t drive here. Carter took my keys, so it’s the free bus for me.” Using my finger, I swirl it in the beer to settle the froth—Axel’s a better biker than bartender—and take another sip.
“I saw Blake earlier.” My body goes still at the mention of my former best friend’s name. “I bet he’d take you home.”
“I’m good with the bus.”
“When are you gonna let go of this bullshit grudge with him? You know he isn’t the one who hurt your brother.”
Once again, my body goes stiff. Axel doesn’t know Blake well enough to defend him, he’s only doing it since his best friend Jace is boning him. And their boyfriend.
The shitty thing is Axel’s right. Deep down, I know Blake’s isn’t the one who broke Chase’s heart, driving him out of town to lick his wounds.
What I didn’t know until recently—what my supposed best friend never told me—is that he’s gay.
As if I give two shits who he fucks. What really pisses me off is that Blake didn't think he could trust me with that information. Information that could’ve helped Chase.
My brother beat it out of town as soon as he graduated high school, trying to get away from the guy who broke his heart by treating him like some dirty little secret.
Back then, no one in this town was gay, not publicly anyway, and since the only guy Chase confided in made him feel like dirt, he left the second he had his diploma in hand.
But if he knew Blake liked men too, if he had someone he could talk to, chances are he would’ve stuck around.
And if he’d stuck around, I wouldn’t have scheduled a vacation just to see him since he wouldn’t come home, forcing him to get on a plane that would never reach its destination.
Blake may not have been the one that drove Chase from town, but maybe, just maybe, my brother would’ve found the kind of support I couldn’t give him if we’d known Blake might understand his struggle.
So no, Blake may not have broken my brother’s heart, but he could’ve helped save Chase’s life if he’d just been honest. That’s what I don’t know how to forgive.
Now, Blake’s happy with his new boyfriend—boyfriends—while Chase is dead. The worst part is he was so absorbed with his partners he wasn’t there for me. Their little sexual revolution was coming to life while I was dying inside, and the only person around to pick me up was our friend Deacon.
The guy doesn’t feed me a bunch of bullshit about things not being my fault, it’ll get better over time, blah, blah, blah.
He’s just…there. And while I don’t buy into his belief that a good fuck is the cure for everything, I appreciate that he doesn’t try to tell me the right way to grieve or avoid me like the plague.
So yeah, I may have originally been pissed at Blake for the wrong reason, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have a reason to be pissed.
“I don’t know shit, except that Blake’s not the guy I thought he was.” I see Axel’s shoulders slump from the corner of my eye, which is focused on the clean-shaven brunette striding to the other end of the bar. Why isn’t this day over, yet?
Axel drifts over to his new customer, momentarily blocking him from my view. Then he fills a glass of iced tea—who the fuck drinks iced tea in the winter—and sets it on the counter before punching his order into the register thing behind the bar.
When the chocolatey eyes of my jailer meet mine, I lift my beer in a mock toast. His soft smile turns to a scowl, which damn near makes me smile with pride. Damn he’s cold. Frosty. I chuckle at my witty joke as he averts his gaze, which gives me the chance to study him.
Now that my head isn’t pounding between my skull, I can see that he’s not just attractive, he’s sort of beautiful. Stunning really, in an ethereal way, with creamy fair skin underneath that silky brown hair, and cheeks that are pink from his contempt of me.
What the actual fuck?
Did I really just think of a man as stunning?
That’s not like me at all. I mean, for Chase’s sake I’ve taught myself how to recognize what makes a guy attractive, so acknowledging a guy is hot isn’t a totally foreign concept.
Especially when that guy has features that are more delicate than rugged, which appeals to my cis nature.
Usually, someone has to point him out first though, and never, not once, have I used the term stunning to describe a guy.
I don’t know why my mind conjured up that term looking at my jailer, who’s gaze has wandered back to me, but at least the guy’s glowering at me.
That makes me unreasonably proud, and I cast him a smirk that matches the sincerity of my toast. His eyes narrow to slits—God, that attitude—and I have to fight my smirk from turning into something a little more… inviting.
Under different circumstances I’d meet that attitude head on.
Sassiness has always been my weakness. In chicks anyway.
I loved the challenge of trying to melt the seemingly untouchable woman with some time between the sheets.
Sex came second only to snowboarding, and the high I got from both was a feeling I lived for.
I always figured I’d never get tired of either, but just like riding, sex is the furthest thing from my mind right now.
Deacon says a good fuck will wake up my libido, though I’m not sure it’s asleep. It feels like it’s gone. Nonexistent, just like my desire to ride.
I can connect the dots between Chase’s death and my lack of interest in riding, but as for the lack of interest in sex…
I got nothing. Given my anger, if nothing else you’d think I’d be up for a good hate fuck, but no.
I can’t muster the energy to even think about fucking much less go through with the act.
It makes sense I didn’t have interest in much of anything the first few weeks after Chase died, and it makes sense that I don’t want to get on a board now.
But I’ve still got no desire to bury my sorrows in someone else’s body, which is pretty out of character for me.
That’s why Deacon’s theory is that I need a jumpstart, but if I do what he says one of us will be proven right, and I’m not sure I’m ready to know the answer.
I’m scared I might feel something, though I’m just as scared I won’t.
Not knowing seems like the safest option. That’s why I’ve been content to just exist in this drunken limbo where I’m blissfully unaware of reality, but because of Carter's intervention, I’ll be forced to find out how I feel sooner rather than later, as far as riding goes.
Eventually, he’ll convince Hayden to put me on the mountain just like he convinced the judge to make me fulfill my hours there.
I can stall for a while—I have a feeling if I act impatient to get on the slopes it’s practically guaranteed Hayden will keep me off them—and as long as I don’t bitch about the cleaning stuff, I figure I can buy at least a few weeks before Carter finds out I’m not riding.
Maybe by then I’ll be ready to find out if I can even face the mountain.
Yeah, right. It’s been over four months and I’m no closer to getting on a board now than I was then.
That’s not going to change in the next few weeks.
I don’t care what they say about time healing all wounds, no amount of time will change the fact that the last time I rode was with Chase, and if I ride again that’s gone forever.
Damn Carter for pulling strings in the name of my career.
Chase is dead, and it’s my fault—nothing else matters.
That’s why, even though my new babysitter is hot, and riling him up gives me some hint of pleasure—twisted though it may be—I’m gonna stay on my barstool.
Even twisted pleasure is something I don’t deserve.
I manage to zone out a bit on the basketball game playing on the TV behind the bar, though it’s impossible to ignore my jailer completely since his seat across the way is still in my field of vision, and we’re the only two people here in the lull between lunch and dinner.
A mop of brown hair makes it difficult to see his face as he scrolls through his phone, though I’m aware he looks up periodically.
I can feel his eyes on me, heating my blood.
Judging me, I’m sure. Screw that. I’m done for the day, so he doesn’t get an opinion on how I spend my free time.
I signal for another beer, ignoring the look Axel shoots me that warns this is the last one.
I’m not sure how long I get lost in the TV—I don’t even know who’s playing, much less the score—but at some point, I register movement across the room.
Hayden drops a few bills on the counter as he rises from his stool, waving away Axel's offer to make change. His eyes wander to me one last time, and I lift my beer with a cheeky smirk. He spins on his heels and bolts out the door.
I win this round.