Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Ryder
Of all the dumbass things I’ve done today, leaving my bag in the locker room comes second only to kissing the ice prick.
Now, instead of facing him tomorrow, I’ll have to do it today, less than an hour after rubbing my dick against him like a horny teenager.
He’s likely to take my quick return as a sign I want more, when really all I want is my housekey out of my bag so I can get home and end this fucking disastrous day.
At least…I think that’s all I want. That kiss was a fluke.
I only did it to shut him up, not because I wanted to…
Right? He drives me halfway to insanity, I can’t actually be attracted to that.
Or I could—the guy really is beautiful, and a damn fine kisser—but I’m not, because I swore I wouldn’t get involved with anyone.
Especially not a man who thinks he can fix me. Fuck, he’s got me confused.
I’m half-tempted to find a couch to surf on just so I don’t have to face him so soon after losing control, but the only couch I’d consider is Deacon’s, and after seeing him flirt with Hayden he’s the last person I want to see.
I can’t even begin to unpack that, right now. Between the fact Deacon’s apparently always been bi, my unfounded jealousy, and that fucking kiss… My brain can’t take any more revelations. I only hope I can get in and get out of the adaptive center unnoticed.
“Ryder.”
Fuck.
Pausing with my hand stretched toward the door, I look over my shoulder at Carter. “For real man? It’s like fifteen degrees out and you’re in a suit.” I drop my hand to my side and spin to face him fully.
He rocks back on his heels as he looks down his tall frame with a little shrug. “Habit. You don’t like it?”
“I’d say you look like my dad but even he doesn’t wear a suit. No one does. I’m itchy just looking at you.”
Carter throws his head back and laughs. “I guess they’re an acquired taste. They also make people take me seriously."
I arch my brow at him. “Owning the whole place doesn’t do that for you?”
“It helps. Plus, Sloan likes them.”
“That I buy. So, what’s up?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, hoping he’ll get the hint that I’m not interested in small talk.
“You’ve taken guests out a few times now, right? How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?” He lifts his brows,
I drop my hands to my side and let out an exaggerated breath. “What do you want me to say? It’s community service.”
His chest rises as he pops his jaw, but instead of giving me shit he blinks a few times and exhales slowly. “Only a few more weeks and you’ll be done. Just in time for the Vista Cup event we’re hosting. Think you’ll race?”
“I haven’t been training.” I lift my shoulders listlessly. “Pretty sure I’m not a contender for the podium.”
“Maybe not, but you’ll have to race to keep your eligibility, and the competition in your backyard might be a nice starting point.”
Now it’s my turn to lock my jaw. “I’ll think about it.” I spin around and push through the door before he can respond, putting Carter behind me.
Get in, get out, get home.
Hayden isn’t in the lobby, the first bit of luck I’ve had in months, so I make a beeline to the locker room before he realizes I’m here, cursing Carter as I go.
The last thing I want to add to my growing list of mindfucks is a competition to maintain my eligibility.
I’m not ready to get back on the circuit, or to deal with all the people talking about Chase.
Even though most people will mean well—except the media vultures who are always stirring up drama—the thought of having to listen to the condolences or, worse, advice on how to move forward literally turns my stomach.
No joke, I could puke just thinking about it.
Plus, I still haven’t come to terms with the fact that I got forced back on the mountain, especially since, if I’m honest, it does make me feel better.
Maybe if I had more time to process that last ride with Chase I’d have found my way back to the slopes on my own since they’re so integral to my life, but since I didn’t have that luxury, I can’t get on a board without feeling a little guilt, and I can’t help wondering if I’ll always have that since my head wasn’t in the right place before I tried to ride.
Mostly though, I’m not ready to face questions about my future.
If I attempt to race, even if it’s just to maintain my eligibility, there will be questions about my future on the circuit, and I don’t know how to answer.
I don’t have a plan B. Never did. Arrogant as fuck, yeah, but it worked, and I did well enough that I’m not exactly hurting, right now. That won’t last forever, though. At some point I’ll have to do something to survive, and I haven’t got a clue what that is.
For the past few months, I haven’t cared if my riding career fizzled out.
I never gave a shit about the money, the fame, or the titles.
Still don’t. I raced because I loved to ride, and riding fast came naturally to me.
The fact that I was so good was just job security—not some burning desire to be the best. I have no trouble walking away from that life.
Or at least, I thought I didn’t. But after getting back on the snow, I can admit it…
I remembered why I started riding in the first place.
That the mountain was where I felt most at home.
That didn’t make me want to dismiss my promise not to ride again.
Hell, part of me wants to believe I haven’t actually broken my promise to Chase since getting on the board wasn’t my idea.
But it did get me thinking about what I’d do if I let my riding career go, especially after Hayden said it’s clear I belong on a board.
Aaand now he’s in my head again. Fuck!
I kissed him. Straight up hauled him against me and stuck my tongue in his mouth, and he didn’t fight me on that. What’s worse is, I think he liked it as much as I did.
He’s supposed to hate me, and instead he kissed me back without hesitating.
He didn’t come to his senses and stop it either, which makes me think he wouldn’t have.
If I’m the one who has to be the voice of reason we’re fucked seeing as my mind is shit on a good day.
I should probably stay away. Too bad my dumb ass went and made that harder to do by getting a taste of what I shouldn’t want.
Spotting my bag in the locker I’ve claimed, I march toward it, ready to snatch it and leave without a trace. Then I notice the board Hayden rode yesterday isn’t propped against the wall where I left it, and a queasy feeling rolls through my stomach. He wouldn’t.
Shoving the bag back in the locker, I rush to his office. Empty. His coat and snow pants are missing, too.
Racing back to the lockers, I throw on my gear and jog to the lift where, in my second spot of good luck, the chairs are still spinning.
“Chairs close in five minutes. You sure you want to go up?” The operator looks at me skeptically.
His co-worker elbows him before turning to me. “Go ahead, Ryder. You’re good.”
I’m too distracted to register whether I know the guy or not. I just hop on the chair and try to tune out what I know he’s probably saying. That’s the guy who races for the mountain. The one whose brother died.
At the top of the lift, I get off the chair and head for the run we did yesterday, hoping he’d at least stick to what’s familiar. But the slope is empty, as far as I can see anyway.
I strap in and start to ride, going clear across the entire run each time I turn instead of straight down like I normally would, so I can see if he went off course.
The setting sun casts shadows over the snow that mess with my vision, so I call his name as I go, hoping he’ll hear me in case I can’t see him.
The longer I go without a sign, the faster my heart beats, causing my breath to come out in shallow spurts. This is my fault.
Hayden may be an ice prick on the outside, but there’s a fire inside him that probably flared white hot after what I did today.
Kissing him then shoving him aside… I was disgusted with myself, not him.
I doubt he recognized the difference though.
So yeah, I didn’t push him down the slope, but I may as well have strapped the board on him myself.
Where the hell is he? What do I do if I can’t find him?
I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s hurt…or worse. What are the odds I screw up another person’s life? Am I really that unlucky, or that dangerous to the people around me?
“Hayden!” I call out as I crest the top of a rolling hill and drop onto the descent. “Hayden!”
“Here!"
I skid to a stop, swinging my head wildly back and forth. Nothing. Cupping my hands around my mouth I call out again, “Hayden!” Then I hold the breath in my lungs, so it doesn’t interfere with my hearing.
“Here!"
I spin to my right and look down the mountain, spotting a dark shadow by the side of the run. Suddenly, it moves—he’s waving his arm—and I point my board in his direction, covering the distance between us in a matter of seconds.
Sliding to a stop, I drop to my knees next to where he’s seated on his backside, scanning his body for any damage. “Are you hurt?”
He tilts his head up to look at me from underneath his helmet. “I’ll probably have trouble sitting for the next few days, but otherwise, no.”
“You didn’t crash?” He's precariously close to a tree, but it doesn’t look like he hit it.
“Nope.”
“But you fell?”
“Repeatedly. I don’t understand why though. I’m doing everything you said.” I see his brows draw together through the lens of his goggles.
“You think you’re doing what I said. Without me here to force you to lean forward you’re probably leaning back and gaining more speed than you’re ready for.
” His eyes dart away just long enough for me to realize I’m right.
“Dammit, Frosty. What were you thinking? You came up here alone, right before the lifts shut down—what if I hadn’t forgotten my bag in my locker? No one would know to look for you.”
“I was only going to do one run. It just took longer than I expected.” He purses his lips, and I just know there’s a frown to match under those goggles, but his stubborn pout doesn’t sway me.
“You say that like it’s some monumental discovery when it should be common sense. Of course, it’s going to take longer when you’re breaking the whole way down the hill. And if that’s how you’re riding, you aren’t ready to ride on your own.”
I’m being an ass, but I don’t know how else to hide the fact he scared the shit out of me. That I’m relieved he’s okay. Whether that’s guilt from driving him out here or something else, I don’t know. I only care that I can finally breathe.
“Yesterday, you said I was doing great.”
I narrow my eyes.
“You did,” he insists.
I pop up to standing and offer him my hand. More out of a desire to get off the mountain than because I’m feeling nice.
“Yeah, I said you were doing great with me there to tell you when to turn and which direction. It’d take days, maybe even weeks, before you’d be ready to do that on your own. Did you really think you’d mastered it after a few hours?”
He huffs out a frustrated breath and pops his lips together. Still, he reaches for my outstretched hand. At least he’s not so pissed he can’t be reasonable. Once he’s back on two feet, I guide us forward.
“Heel side,” I bark at him.
“I know which direction to turn.”
“My bad. I’ll shut up.” And I do, keeping my lips pressed in a firm line as we glide across the hill, straight for another tree. “Are you playing chicken with the tree or are you waiting for me to give you instructions.”
“You said you were shutting up.”
“I decided I’d rather speak than crash. Toe side,” I command, and he leans on them just enough that our boards turn down the mountain, away from the looming tree trunk.
“Should I continue?” I ask wryly.
“Yes,” he answers through gritted teeth.
Our descent takes around fifteen minutes, more than double the time it would’ve taken me on my own but easily a quarter of the time it would’ve taken him.
For a brief minute, that makes me think maybe I was too hard on him.
After all, coming down so easily in tandem probably would make it seem possible to do on your own.
Then I remember having him angry with me might uncomplicate my life. At least where he’s concerned.
As we reach the bottom of the run, I drop his hands and skid to a stop. “I assume you’ve got it from here?” I avoid looking at him by bending over to loosen my bindings.
“Yes.” He hisses, as he unstraps his helmet and tries to yank it off, only to wail when it doesn’t leave his head.
My chest constricts as the cry echoes around us, but I tamp it down and paste an annoyed look on my face. I step off the board and stand to my full height. “What now?”
“Get it off, get it off,” he squeals, clawing at the chinstrap.
I step forward and pull his fingers loose, forcing him to let go of the helmet. Some of his hair has slipped out from underneath his hat and—wet from one of his many falls—frozen around the strap right where the helmet covers his ear. Damn, this is a mess.
Clutching the stiff strands between my fingers, I roll them around, hoping that little bit of friction might cause the ice to melt.
“Are you playing with my hair?” His voice is testy behind his locked jaw. It makes me want to shut him up the way I did earlier, but since I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re in this mess I don’t.
“Fuck no. I’m picking the ice out of it.”
“Oh.” His voice comes out much softer, uncertain, though I can’t tell if that’s because we’re standing so close or because I just snapped at him.
Doesn’t matter, just fix it and get out of here.
“There,” I grunt as I work the strap free, making the mistake of peeking at his big doe eyes in the process.
He looks so confused, and for a second, I’m tempted to reach out and stroke his flushed cheek.
Give him some sort of reassurance after what must’ve been a scary ordeal.
Then I remember touching him is the other thing that led to this little disaster, and I fist my hands at my sides.
“Don’t do that again,” I bark, spinning away before his dejected expression can pull me in.