Chapter 25 Ryder
Chapter twenty-five
Ryder
Idrop my bag next to the door and head straight for the couch, collapsing across the cushions that act as my bed when I’m too drunk to find the real one.
Fucking Frosty. Lumping himself into the reasons I should find some sort of happiness in life…
And when I finally accept that, what does he do?
He makes excuses about not being able to be part of that life.
Apparently, he’s the kind of man to say anything to you want to hear, but doesn’t come through.
I’m used to seeing through the bullshit, but he…
He blindsided me and I fell for it. Hard.
At least one good thing came out of this shit show—I got back on a board.
I still feel guilty about riding when Chase can’t.
I also still feel responsible for his death, but at least now I can separate the crash from getting on the slope.
And being that it’s the only thing I’ve got going for me, maybe I should get back to it, starting with the race Katah Vista is hosting next week.
I’ll probably suck since I haven’t been training. Hell, the whole season will probably be a bust because of that. But at least if I race, I’ll keep the sponsors I have left, and I can make a full comeback the next year.
I reach for my phone and type out a quick text, hitting send before I can second-guess myself.
Delivered.
The tiny text pops up right underneath the message I sent Carter.
I guess that means I’m racing in a few days.
I just wish I knew if I was making the best decision of my life or the dumbest. One thing I know for certain, though, is my board has never weaseled its way into my heart only to dip at the last second. Not like Frosty.
I still don’t have a plan B, so it makes sense to do a race and figure out if I love it the way I used to. What freaks me out is that I might enjoy it enough to keep going, and that means leaving behind the life I’ve started to enjoy again. It means giving up him. Though, maybe that’s for the best.
He’s always said I shouldn’t latch onto him to get my shit together, so that crap about scheduling around his job might be his way of making sure I don’t.
But if he’s so worried about that why’d he let me get close to him in the first place?
Isn’t it more damaging to let me fall for him and ditch me?
Wouldn’t the best thing have been for us to not get involved at all?
Wait—have I fallen for him?
I know I like him—or did up until the shit he spewed today—but is it more than that?
Fuck. I scrub a hand over my face as I replay the last several times I’ve seen him in my mind.
I told him how I screwed up with Blake. I confessed my guilt about Chase.
And I asked if he’d come to some events.
That wasn’t something I planned, it just popped out, and it seemed to make sense in a have-my-cake-and-eat-it-too sort of way. Assuming I go back on the circuit.
“Ugghhh,” I scream to the empty room.
Okay, I more than like him. That doesn’t mean shit though since he doesn’t feel the same about me. And the worst part—he fucking warned me. Hayden flat out told me it’d be risky to get involved before I sorted my shit. Right after riding my dick.
A humorless laugh passes through my lips.
I may have fallen for him, but I’m not going to let that interfere with what I do from here.
I’ll race next week, and if it feels right, I’ll pick it up again.
If it doesn’t, I’ll figure out something else to do.
Either way, he won’t be a factor in my decision.
No one will. After all, people can’t let you down if you don’t let them in to begin with.
***
Damn this is hard.
After countless practice runs this week, I shook off some of the rust, and memorized every inch of this course. But none of that can make up for the two-month head start the rest of the field has on me.
My starts are shit, setting me back a quarter second out of the gate, and while that doesn’t sound like much, it can be the difference between first and fifth.
Not that I’ll even place that high in my first race of the season, but even one tiny disadvantage early on can tank the whole race.
Fortunately, my knowledge of the course keeps me in the mix, but I’m huffing and puffing while the other guys are barely winded.
Still, just being on the board makes me feel alive in a way that little else does.
The anticipation that hums in the air before the start has my body vibrating, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I fly down the hill makes my skin tingle everywhere.
There aren’t any spectators along the run, but there’s a huge crowd at the bottom, and hearing my name each time I finish inspires me to keep pushing myself instead of giving in to the uncomfortable burn in my lungs and my muscles.
I win the first heat, mostly because I’ve got a home field advantage.
The second is tougher, with faster competitors who make fewer mistakes.
I take second, which makes me eligible to move to the next round.
When the gate drops for the third race, I’m already starting to lose stamina, and I’m a full second behind by the time I hit the first turn.
My ‘home’ advantage is dwindling into nothing. Everyone’s run the course several times over by now. My competitive nature keeps me pushing forward, so I’m not dead last, but I don’t place high enough to move to the final round.
Chances are, I’ll take eighth or ninth overall, which is pretty incredible considering my lack of training. It validates what Max was telling me a few weeks back, that I might have the talent to be one of the top racers worldwide. If I commit to it.
A few racers pat me on the back or offer a fist bump as we start to clear out of the finish zone, all of them saying it’s good to have me back. A few catch my eye and nod their head, their version of saying they’re sorry for my loss, and I nod back, grateful that no one makes a bigger fuss.
Spotting my parents with Blake and the rest of our crew in my peripheral, I head in that direction, fighting a smile as they wave their arms like lunatics. I’m not used to having a cheering section, and while it’s kind of embarrassing, it’s also kind of nice.
“Ryder.” I swing my head around toward the sound of my name, going stiff when I see a reporter moving in my direction. I’ve managed to avoid them up to this point, but my day is over, so I can’t escape back to the top of the run.
I rest the tip of my board on the ground and give the guy a little up-nod, the bare minimum acknowledgement I can offer, and wait for him to approach.
“How did you feel out there?” The guy holds a microphone in front of my mouth.
“Not too bad.” I can tell he’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I’d rather keep this little interview as short as possible.
“How important was it to start your comeback on your home slope?”
Who said anything about a comeback?
“It wasn’t. It was convenient.” I press my lips together in a tight smile and give him a curt nod as I try to walk around him. He blocks my path.
“I’m sure it’s hard to race here at home without your brother, what would he think of your performance?”
My eyes narrow into slits as a wave of rage overcomes me. I straighten my spine, looking down on the little shit who dared to ask that question. His face blanches as I open my mouth, but before I can get any words out a small, gloved hand yanks the guy’s press credentials off his coat.
“You’re in a restricted area. Take your cameraman and leave.”
Frosty?
The reporter points to the laminated tag in Hayden’s hand. “That press pass says I’m not.”
“Since I just revoked it, I’d say you are.”
“You can’t do that,” he sputters.
“When you don’t respect the athletes or this town you forfeit the right to be here. Bringing up someone’s personal tragedy for a soundbite won’t be tolerated.” He crosses his arms over his chest, which in his puffy coat makes him look imposing, despite the fact he’s shorter than both of us.
“It was a relevant question.”
“And it got a relevant response.” Hayden stands his ground, and even though I’m still kinda pissed at him, I can’t help feeling proud right about now.
I know all too well you don’t mess with Frosty when he’s got his mind set on something, and right now it’s set on protecting me. Why would he do that?
“You’ll be hearing from my network,” the guy seethes.
“And I’ll be happy to explain to them why I authorized my employee to ask you to leave my resort.” Carter appears beside me, although I have to do a double-take cause the guy’s wearing jeans. Actual jeans instead of a suit. I didn’t even know he owned any.
Carter pats me on the back as he moves to escort the reporter and his cameraman away from the finish zone, leaving me standing alone with Hayden.
He looks fucking adorable with his chocolatey hair peeking out from underneath an oversized beanie, his cheeks pink with cold. His eyes are wary as they track over me, though.
“You, um. You looked good out there.” His lip tries and fails to hold a smile.
“Thanks. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Why?” He blinks up at me.
“I didn’t think you cared about seeing me race.” Before he confronted that reporter, I really believed that. Now, I don’t know what to think.
He wrings his gloved hands together. “I said I wasn’t sure how to do my job and travel to the races, not that I didn’t care about them.”
Digging through my memories for the conversation I tried to block out, I vaguely remember something like that. I wrote it off as an excuse though. Shit.
“I freaked out again, didn’t I?” My eyes fall shut with disgrace, but not before I see him nod his head. “Why didn’t you call me out on that?” I crack my eyelids, wary of the expression I’ll find on his face.
“Because this time I freaked out, too. Part of me still worries that this thing between us is happening at the wrong time. So, instead of saying I want to go to your races and worrying about the details later, I tried to be logical. Can you forgive me?” He looks up at me from under thick lashes.
“Can I forgive you for doing the same thing I’ve been doing to you over and over again?” I fight the smile that wants to break free. “Yeah, I think that’s fair. Is that really what you want, though? Clearly, I have a habit of getting lost in my head.”
“Seems like maybe we can both improve on that. Maybe we can work on it together?” He bites her lip nervously.
My smile falters.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes grow big.
“I’d have to stay here to do that, and I don’t—I was hoping this race would help me decide, and everything was good until that reporter…” I prop my chin on the gloved hand resting atop my board, using it to keep me upright.
“We both know he’s probably not the only guy that will ask about Chase. Hopefully other people will be a little nicer about it but…” He looks at me with watery eyes. “Would Chase want you to stop riding to avoid those questions?”
“No,” I sigh. “He wouldn’t want his death to end my career.”
“Then you should keep riding.”
“That’s the thing.” I nudge my board with the toe of my boot. “At first, his death did end it, or at least make me not want to ride. But now, if I don’t go back, it won’t be because of him. It’ll be because I’m not sure my heart is in it anymore.”
“What is in your heart? Forget about the reporter and the crowd and everything else, tell me about the race.”
My body relaxes as I recount what I felt on the slope, the way it made me feel alive.
“That right there.” He smiles at me when I finish. “That’s your answer. You light up when you talk about racing. If it still gives you that feeling, you can’t give it up.”
I’d sort of been leaning in that direction, but standing in front of the man who helped me get to this point makes the decision even harder. Could I really give him up for something that—in the end—I could only do for a few more years, anyway?
“Don’t get mad, but I’d be lying if I said you aren’t a factor.
I know you aren’t supposed to be but… you are.
This place is. I just figured out what it means to me.
What you mean... I don’t want to keep racing only to lose it again.
To lose you.” I hold my breath, waiting for him to tell me all the reasons I’m wrong.
“What if there’s a way to have both?” He bites that lip again, and I damn near fall over. If it weren’t for the board propping me up, I probably would.
“How?”
“Carter’s willing to let me develop and market the programs while someone else manages the day-to-day operations.
It won’t free me up for all your races, but hopefully I’ll make half of them.
And we’ll get you back here between as many races as we can, so you aren’t gone an entire season. Think we can start with that?”
I can tell he’s holding his breath since there’s no white cloud in front of his face, and more than anything else that signals how he really feels. “You would do that for me?”
“I’d do it for us, if you want that.”
“I want that,” I rush to tell him. “No, I need it. It probably makes me selfish, but I don’t see how I can live without the two things I love most.”
His full lips part as his jaw drops, trying to form words that don’t come.
“I think this is the first time I’ve made you speechless, Frosty.” I lick my lips, feeling both proud and nervous that I’ve robbed him of his words.
“You love me?” he squeaks.
“You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. How could I not? The question is…can you love me back?” I think I know the answer—why would he put up with my shit if he didn’t—but I’ve never heard those words from anyone outside my family, and I really want to.
“Yes.” His face breaks into a brilliant smile. “I love you, too.”
He squeals when I wrap my gloved hand around his neck and pull him to me, pressing my lips softly against his. The crowd I’d forgotten about cheers around us, and for the first time in months I feel like I really am gonna be okay.