All You Need Is Gloves

CHAPTER ONE DIEGO

CHAPTER ONE

DIEGO

“Can you repeat that?”

The lengthy silence makes me check my phone to ensure the call hasn’t been disconnected. Coach Wilson’s name is still flashing on my screen, and I sigh as I balance the device on my knee. My gaze finds the blank ceiling, my fingers curling with annoyance atop the armrests.

“Coach?”

“You’re fucking with me, Diego.”

“I’m not,” I protest grimly. “Just wanted to make sure I heard that right . . .”

I’m keenly aware that my diversion tactic of playing dumb isn’t working in the slightest. I’m also certain Coach is busy pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep inhale – just like he always does when he’s trying not to snap at me.

“Drop the act,” he tells me, a bite to his tone. He’s been coaching me for the past eight years, and there’s a ringing sound ricocheting in my ears that screams I’m in deep shit.

I groan. Again. “You can’t send me back there.”

“Oh, watch me, kid.” The last word makes me grit my teeth. “You’re out of the game for the next three months.”

“So you said.” Just like that, the pain in my leg shoots through my body. It’s a constant reminder that I screwed up. I’m banned from training, and the thought of not being able to mount my snowboard is fucking killing me. Absently, I massage my knee, but it’s no use to soothe the pain.

I still have yet to fathom the severity of my punishment because, if I’m being totally honest, I don’t understand at all.

Sure, flashbacks from that day still haunt my dreams, and, sure, the pain isn’t something I joke about, but it was just a stunt that went wrong.

I’ve made it clear that being this harsh is unnecessary, but, clearly, Coach thinks differently.

“You hurt your shoulder,” he says, as if I don’t live with the constant pull every time I try to put my clothes on.

“Thanks for the reminder.” He’s truly annoying me. Why is he pointing out the obvious?

“And your knee is pretty fucked up. Do you think you can get back on your board and take part in tournaments like nothing happened?”

A heavy sigh escapes my mouth. “I wish.”

Luckily, my knee and shoulder didn’t require surgery, but I know what’s coming, and it’s weeks and weeks of rest and recovery. Translation: endless time in hell, a torture that’s meant to kill me, because how am I supposed to survive without snowboarding?

“Look,” he continues gently. The sudden softness only makes my irritation spike further.

“I need you to recover. Need you to think about your reckless actions. We just signed a million-dollar deal with big sponsors – how do you think they felt when they saw you fall down that slope and not come back up? We can’t flush that down the drain. ”

“They’re not going to drop us,” I assure him. “It’s not even that serious.”

“It’s not even that serious?” he echoes, but shouting. I flinch, aware that I’ve struck a nerve. “Are you insane? Do you ever take things seriously?”

“I do!” This sport is the only thing I’m serious about and he fucking knows it.

“Really? Because, right now, all I’m hearing is my most talented rider whining like a little boy because he doesn’t want to face the consequences of his actions!”

Mierda. Coach Wilson is rarely this furious. He has every right to be, but, again, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. I’m not dead. My injuries could have been worse. The team hasn’t lost the sponsorship. He’s overreacting, but that’s an opinion I keep to myself.

“Ah, come on, Coach . . .”

There’s a beat of silence. Another one. Then, I hear a heavy exhale.

“I’m going to say this once, and once only.

This is your last chance. I’m not going to tolerate this behavior again.

” Before I can ask what he’s referring to, he continues, with an edge to his voice that makes me wince.

“Remember that time in Zermatt when you refused to participate at the press conference after you performed poorly? Or that time in Aspen when you got in a heated argument with a judge after your qualifying run? And, after that, you had the nerve to snap at a reporter when he pointed out that you’d lost your cool!

I’ve been patient with you, Diego, I really have, but I’ve had enough of your impulsiveness and nonchalance. ”

I gulp. He’d promised not to bring up those days again, but I knew it was too good to be true for him not to hold a grudge.

Admittedly, my reactions had been terrible, but they were valid.

Plus, I haven’t had any slip-ups since then, and I know he’s just bringing up every single time I’ve messed up to dig the knife deeper in my wound.

But that was last season! are the words resting on the tip of my tongue. Thinking better of it, I bite the protest back. I still think he’s being irrational and unfair, though.

“So, what? The miracle solution is to force me to spend three months in Blue Ridge Springs? That’s how you want me to reflect on my mistakes?

” I roll my eyes. I’m thankful we’re not sitting in his office right now, because, if that were the case, he would not only be giving me shit for my lack of seriousness but also for my attitude.

Okay, maybe I understand where he’s coming from and why he’s so completely done with me.

“Yes.”

What the hell?

Basically, I’m in the doghouse now. Great.

Blue Ridge Springs is the small town in Colorado where I grew up – a beautiful place surrounded by endless waves of mountains that are dusted in snow in the winter.

Funnily enough, this is where it all started almost a decade ago, when Coach spotted me training at the snow park one gloomy morning.

We’re both from there, you see. He’s someone I’ve looked up to my whole life and it’s an honor to be one of his trainees.

Wyatt Wilson is a five-time gold medalist – one of the best snowboarders to ever compete.

Unfortunately for him, a severe injury forced him to put an end to his career, and that’s when he started coaching.

That’s when he invited me to grab a coffee and asked if I had an agent, and if I wanted to join his team to compete all around the world.

That had been the easiest yes I’d ever uttered.

Even though he’s currently giving me so much shit, I’m still grateful to him. But, right now, he’s irritating me, and I’m tempted to end the call, but that would only worsen my case.

I don’t exactly visit Blue Ridge Springs much.

To be frank, I kind of avoid my hometown like the plague.

Unless it’s an emergency regarding my mom or sisters, I try to stay away as much as possible.

So, being banished from training and forced to go back there to think about my mistakes is not only making annoyance wrap around my chest, but it pisses the hell out of me too.

Why? Because there’s nothing to do except ski or snowboard in the winter there.

It seems like Coach Wilson’s main goal is to torture me. What have I done to deserve this?

I thought attempting a Quad Cork 1800 during the tournament would give me the gold medal.

I had landed the trick perfectly during practice the day before, but I was clearly out of focus during the competition.

Coach had also advised me not to do the figure because, for one, it’s dangerous, and, two, it’s one of the most difficult stunts to land – but who am I if I don’t take risks? Well, obviously, it has cost me a lot.

“Enlighten me, then,” I say dryly. “How is going back home going to help?”

“You’re going to go to physiotherapy. Three times a week.” My fingers dig into the fabric of the armchair as it dawns on me that there’s no way out. “I’ve already arranged for you to meet with Dr Ellis. He’s a great one, and you’ll be in good hands.”

“Awesome,” I drawl.

“Please stop with the sarcasm,” he snaps. “You’re already testing my patience.”

Tightening my jaw, I look at the screen. The call has been going on for thirty-two minutes. We’ve been going in endless, pointless circles. “Sorry.”

A sigh echoes from his side of the line. “You can’t snowboard while you’re there. At all.”

“Yeah, you already said that.” I drag my hands over my face, hating this ordeal. But he needs me to think about my actions. To do better. To change. My entire future lies in the palm of Coach’s hand. “You expect me to go to a snow resort and not get on a board?”

“Watch what happens if you so much as think about stepping on skis or a snowboard.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you threatening me?”

“You’re not taking me seriously, so yes.”

Coach isn’t one to joke, and that makes me even angrier.

But there’s no use in arguing with him, so I relent. “Fine.”

Deep down, I know he’s doing this to prevent me from hurting myself even further, but he should be the first one to understand that I can’t breathe without snowboarding.

This is going to be really, really, really hard, and I might not survive those three months.

I don’t know how he expects me to do so.

Coach Wilson and my sponsors are diabolical.

“Good. That’s not it, though.” Of course, it isn’t. “I don’t want you to wallow and be miserable, so you’ll have to work.”

“Work?”

“It’s not a word that belongs in your vocabulary, is it?”

I scoff. “No need to be an ass, Coach.”

“Sorry.” He’s not sorry at all. “But, yeah, you’ll work at Rock Snow and you’ll assist the owner’s daughter during her skiing lessons. I need you to give back to the community.”

“Give back to the community?!” What does that even mean?

“What are you? A parrot?”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Taking a hold of my phone, I stand and suppress the grunt rising in my throat when the pull in my leg becomes uncomfortable. I walk around the living room, running my fingers through my hair. I breathe in calmness. Breathe out anxiety. “You want me to work at Rock Snow?”

“That’s literally what I said,” Coach deadpans. I can tell he’s done with me.