Chapter 13 Ryder
Chapter thirteen
Ryder
Something he’ll remember forever . Those words play over and over in my mind as I climb on the bus, dazed from feeling too many emotions at once.
Remember forever. That was supposed to be me. And Chase. The last time we rode together—what should’ve been the last time I rode at all. It was supposed to stay that way, so no other memory could replace it. No memory on the mountain, anyway.
Even before I fucked that up, the details of that day were starting to get blurry around the edges.
I knew that would happen over time, it always does, especially when you don’t know in the moment that you’ll have a need to remember every last detail.
That you’ll want to recall how you both hit the same jump, one after the other, in such perfect synchronization it’s like watching instant replay.
Or the way you raced down the hill, marveling at how well he kept up despite the fact only you raced professionally.
It’s not like there was any special occasion to mark the day, like a birthday or holiday. There wasn’t even any fresh powder to enjoy. It was just another day, until it became the last one we shared together. And it was supposed to stay like that, indefinitely.
Now it’s gone. It’s no longer the last time I ever rode, it’s the last time I rode with Chase. Some people might not see the distinction, but it’s the only thing I see. One more example of how things move on when he can’t. And I let it happen.
I should’ve fought harder. Balked more when Carter gave me his ultimatum or called his bluff about having my probation revoked.
The judge might’ve considered it blackmail, which it kind of is considering the resort makes money off my image.
Instead, I caved at the first sign of adversity.
One tiny threat and I put my board on like a good little soldier, ready for his next order.
But it didn’t stop there. Another command came down the pipeline, and when it did, I ended up back on the mountain with him.
The more time I spend with Hayden, the less he seems to dislike me, and I need him to dislike me. I need him to look at me without seeing the guy who lost his brother. To treat me like any other jerk instead of making exceptions or walking on eggshells, afraid to hurt my already shredded feelings.
I can already see the cracks in his icy regard for me.
They started forming right about the time he learned about Chase.
I don’t know who told him—I’m actually surprised it took as long as it did for him to find out—and to this day he’s never specifically mentioned it.
But he knows. How could he not when suddenly my DUI was a mistake I get to try to rectify, not a character flaw.
I liked it better when he assumed my drinking was a character flaw, and he didn’t hold back what he thought about it, or me. If he starts treating me with kid gloves now…
Frosty’s mouthy little comebacks are the only thing that give me pleasure most days. If they stop, I’ll either be bored out of my mind or, worse, I’ll have to push him away entirely before he starts to actually like me.
Right now, I think any interest he has in me is purely physical.
He doesn’t like me exactly, but he doesn’t hate me either, and he damn sure doesn’t mind looking at me.
Until today, I wasn’t sure of that—I clocked a few lingering looks, which weren’t exactly concrete evidence—but after the way he watched me change in the locker room… His secret’s out.
I don’t care if he finds me hot—pretty sure I feel the same about him—it just can’t go beyond that.
It can’t become more than what we started out as.
Jailer, coworker, enemy—we can put any label on it as long as it isn’t friend.
I’ve got enough of those trying to meddle in my life, I don’t need another.
I just have to hope he doesn’t think of himself that way already considering what I did in the locker room.
A girl pauses on her way down the aisle, eyeing the empty seat next to me, and moving on when she gets a look at the scowl on my face.
It’s not for her, but I’m more than happy not to have her in my space. Too bad I wasn’t wearing it in the locker room earlier.
Call it instinct. Or muscle memory. Either way, it was a serious lapse in judgment to give Frosty a fucking massage, and I’m still pissed at myself for doing it.
He was sore, so what. I knew he would be, and I could’ve sent him off to a hot tub or a warm shower, same as anyone else after a day on the slopes.
Instead, I touched him. And deep down, I liked it.
The way his woodsy shampoo filled my nose when his head shifted, the way his knees would go weak when I hit a sensitive spot.
It made my body wake up, something only he has been able to do these last several months, and while that alone isn’t terrifying, the implications of it are.
And I’m not talking about the physical implications.
Yeah, it’s nice to have confirmation that things are in working order, and even though it’s surprising to have that confirmed by a guy, I’m not freaking out about that.
I’m freaking out about the fact that this guy strikes me as the relationship kind, and if we both find ourselves wanting to scratch the physical itch…
Nope. Can’t go there. I can’t entertain the idea of more. I already did one thing Chase can’t ever do again, which I swore not to do. I can’t add a second, especially given how much I enjoyed the first.
I didn’t want to like riding with Max. I didn’t want to say yes, but that damn cute kid has a way of getting under your skin, and considering the circumstances, I thought Chase would forgive it.
That’s probably why I didn’t push back harder against Carter’s directive to put me on the mountain.
I think I missed riding and tried to justify it using the kid.
Even though it nearly made me sick at first, I ended up liking it. With both of them.
Max is oddly graceful despite his handicap.
All laughter, smiles, and excitement. Hayden is more tiny little grunts and squeals, not to mention all sorts of uncoordinated, but he's determined to not give up.
He actually made a lot of progress for one day, and his smile when he almost did a turn on his own was so fucking real and full of joy, I almost smiled back.
For just a moment, the weight of not having Chase was lifted, and I basked in the familiar pleasure of sliding over the snow. The sense of floating even though you’re still tethered to the ground. It was peaceful. Cathartic.
I don’t deserve that. I can’t take it back, but I can avoid doing it again by keeping Hayden firmly in the jailer/enemy zone instead of... whatever else we could be. I only know of one way to guarantee he stays there though, and lucky for me, there’s a liquor store on this bus route.
***
A sharp pain stabs through my skull as my entire body jolts from the effort of having to yank the door open.
I wonder—not for the first time—how the physically challenged people we’re supposed to be helping can open it if it's hard for me. Not that I’m a model of coordination right now, lack of sleep will have that effect, but the door is a pain in the ass and I’m not operating with their handicaps.
Oops—I mean their disabilities.
Look at me being all politically correct and shit.
I glance around to make sure Frosty didn’t hear me say that, even though I’m pretty sure I said it in my head. Come to think of it, why should I care if he did hear me? I’m supposed to be pissing him off, and using the wrong word generally has great results.
The mental image of his pursed lips and dagger sharp glare has me fighting a smile, until I realize I’m looking at it in the flesh.
“I thought you said you weren’t an alcoholic.” Hayden’s brown eyes narrow to little slits, and I’m pretty sure if he could shoot fire out of them, he would. I’m torn between feeling proud and ashamed I can make this normally docile guy so pissed.
Proud, Ryder. You’re feeling proud. Pissing him off is the goal.
I paste a blank look on my face. “I’m not.”
“And yet you’ve been drinking, enough that I can smell it from here.”
It took more shots than I was planning on to find some measure of sleep last night, but I didn’t technically cross the line into drunk territory. And if he can smell that on me…again, that was the idea.
“Sleep deprived or hungover, Frosty, take your pick.” I give him my best photoshoot smile, no teeth with a hint of smug satisfaction. Photographers love it. It also usually works for an invitation to bed—not that I’m looking for one of those—I just want to knock him off balance.
He crosses his arms in front of his slim yet firm chest, puffing it up just enough to confirm he’s solid despite being on the slender side. Huh, can’t complain about that view.
“Are you saying you can’t sleep unless you’re drunk?” Somehow his brows pull even closer. “How does that not make you an alcoholic?”
Damn his cheeks are pink, and not in the way that says he’s thinking dirty thoughts. No way he’ll put me on the mountain now. Mission accomplished. Why am I not gloating?
“Maybe I’m an insomniac.”
“Or maybe I was right not to trust you.” Now Hayden’s eyes look kinda shiny. Or is my headache making my vision blurry? Either way, I don’t love what I’m seeing.
I rub at a faint pain in my chest. “I don’t care if you trust me or not. I’m just here to do my penance and then I’m gone.”
“And after that?” His eyebrows climb higher on his face. “You’ll just go back to drinking your life away?”
“Not your concern.” I double down, determined not to let his sad eyes sway me.
“What about Max? He’s counting on you.”
Fuck, why’d Frosty have to go and bring him up? My mind wants to reject the idea of working with the kid yet my stomach clenches at the idea of letting him down. He doesn’t deserve to have someone fail him after what he’s been through. But he doesn’t deserve my baggage either.
“He’d be better off with someone else.” The words taste like literal shit in my mouth. Huh-I always thought that was just an expression.
“I agree.” Hayden throws his arms over his head and starts pacing back and forth. “But for some reason he wants you—” did his lip just quiver “—and since you seem to believe in his ability, I don’t want to punish Max because you’re an ass.”
I feel myself wince as Frosty spits his words at me, every single one of them true, which hurts more than I expected considering I wanted to earn his ire.
But that was supposed to get me kicked out, not remind me a little kid is relying on me.
The really fucked up thing is I don’t even know what’s more upsetting, that I’ll disappoint Max, or that I’ve disappointed Hayden.
He was supposed to just send me packing, not let me see that I’ve let him down. Now what?
“I should call Carter and have him deal with you, but Max is due here in an hour, and I won’t disappoint him unless I have to. So, here.” Hayden grabs my bag out of my hand and drops it unceremoniously to the floor. “Close your eyes and walk.”
My guilt turns to indignation as I glare down at him. “Close my eyes and walk? Are you drunk testing me, right now?” Of all the…
“You bet your ass I am. Heel to toe. Ten steps.” He points a finger at the floor.
“Nine.”
“What?” His brows draw together.
“It’s nine steps, not ten.” I cross my arms in front of my chest with a smug grin.
“How would you know?”
“I’m doing penance, why?” I shoot him a pointed look.
“That’s stupid.” He ignores my question. “Nine is such a random number.”
“Which is why they use it.” I fight not to roll my eyes as I sigh. “If you can’t remember the number you’re just as guilty as if you can’t walk the line. Where is the line anyway?” I pretend to look around the floor for a line we both know isn’t there.
“Just walk. If you topple over, you fail.”
Holding my arms out to the side for balance—which you can’t do but Frosty apparently doesn’t know that—I take my nine steps, turn around, and take nine back. “Satisfied?”
“No. Stand on one leg.”
“Should I pat my head and rub my stomach, too?”
“Yes, actually.” He gives me a wicked smirk, which I’d find amusing if he wasn’t seriously testing my patience.
I lift my leg, but instead of rubbing my stomach I hold my arm toward him and lift my middle finger. “We done here?”
“Almost. Say the alphabet backward.”
“That’s not part of the test.”
“My program, my rules.” If he wasn’t so fucking proud of himself, I might applaud his effort, but that sickly sweet smile begs me to one up him.
“Z. Y. W. No, X. Fuck—This is a worthless test. I can’t recite the alphabet backward, period. Either put me on the slope with Max or send me home.”
At this point, I’m not even sure which I want him to do.
Before I walked through the door my plan was to get kicked out, but bringing up Max…
I shouldn’t ride, not because I’m hungover and exhausted but because I need to put as much distance as possible between me and the mountain.
I don’t want to be the guy that disappoints him though, so if Hayden says I’m good I’ll give the kid what he wants. Only the kid, though. No one else.
“You better hope that kid does those turns you’ve got him convinced he can do.” Hayden’s soft declaration echoes louder than his pissed-off tirade from a few minutes earlier, probably because it reeks more of disappointment than defeat.
And it leaves me feeling numb.
I’ve been aiming for numb for months, so why am I not satisfied?