CHAPTER FIVE DIEGO
CHAPTER FIVE
DIEGO
“Don’t be a dick today.”
At the sound of my sister’s command, I raise my brows and look up from the eggs I’m scrambling in the pan as she walks into the kitchen. “Morning, Gabs. I slept well too.”
She’s already dressed in all black, her job’s required outfit, on top of which she’ll add a maroon apron once she gets to the café.
I love that Gaby is sticking around while waiting to start her new job instead of booking a no-return flight and traveling the world.
She has done a fantastic job taking care of the family ever since I left, but the guilt coursing through me is a constant reminder that I should be more present.
Turning off the stove, I pile my eggs onto a plate, a haze of fatigue still clouding my senses. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, although I have to admit that my old mattress is more comfortable than the one at my Utah apartment.
Consider me stressed out. Frustrated.
I keep waking up every day thinking this is all a bad dream, but this is my reality now. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this – to working, following every step of Coach’s plan, and nodding like I’m okay with everything he’s putting me through.
“Has Mom already left?” Gaby asks, taking a box of cereal out of the pantry.
“Like ten minutes ago.”
Mom works as a concierge at the resort. Her days are long, exhausting, but she seems content enough to come back home with starry eyes and funny stories to exchange.
As long as Mom and my sisters are okay, I can breathe.
But that doesn’t stop me from wondering if I’m doing enough for them.
I’m the man of the family now – I should do more, right?
That’s exactly why I even went pro in the first place, to take care of them and make sure they don’t struggle.
I stare into emptiness as I shovel my breakfast into my mouth, listening to Gaby ramble on about her weird dream. When she snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, I sigh.
I meet her gaze. “?Qué?”
“Can you, for once in your life, be nice?”
“I’m always nice.”
“Oh, really?” I swear, if she rolls her eyes one more time, they’re going to get stuck in the back of her head. “So you were as sweet as sugar last Friday when Alara trained you at the cash register?”
I grind my teeth together, my tongue poking the inside of my cheek as I replay the moment I snapped at Alara for helping me – a moment I deeply regret.
If there’s one person who doesn’t deserve my anger, it’s her, and projecting all my frustration onto her was a terrible mistake.
It just felt as though I couldn’t control the ball of unrelenting irritation that had been simmering deep inside my gut for the entire week, and when I let it slip it blew up. Not just into her face, but mine too.
I haven’t spoken to her since the day I walked out of Rock Snow with a large lump of anger straining inside my throat, even when she came over to have dinner with us on Saturday night. I didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak to her. And it’s not like she tried to talk to me either.
As expected, I got a call from Coach Wilson bright and early on Saturday morning. I’d debated not answering and blatantly ignoring him, but that wouldn’t have done much in my favor.
He was so happy to hear about my outburst . . . Not. For the millionth time, he emphasized the fact that I could lose everything if I keep fucking up. The reminder felt like having a bucket of ice poured over my head.
I don’t blame Alara for telling her dad about what I said and did. I was a total asshole.
I spent the whole weekend sulking in my room, reading, sleeping, and staring at the mountains and wishing I could be on those trails.
On Sunday evening I helped Mom with making dinner, then retreated to my sanctuary in silence.
I simply didn’t have the energy to pretend everything was fine.
And I still don’t. I’m more irritated than ever, and I feel like the more I’m in Blue Ridge, the worse I feel.
Last chance, Coach reminded me. As if I’ve forgotten.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I say, leaning back in my chair. Upstairs, I hear Valentina stomp towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She’s not a morning person.
“No, but you’re going to apologize to Alara.”
“I was planning to.” I scoop up my plate as I stand, and go to rinse it in the sink. “I have to leave soon if I want to see her before the skiing lesson starts.”
Of course I was going to apologize. I wanted to do so the moment I turned my back to her, but my pride is sometimes my worst enemy.
Do I want to help Alara with those lessons? Absolutely not. Do I have a choice? Not at all. But assisting her might also be the only time I’ll be close to a snowboard for a while, so I’ll take it. I’ll do anything to finally get back on a board.
Even if that means crawling in the snow to beg for forgiveness.
Alara is my only shot at redemption.
I’m not going to mess up again.
She’s the first person I see when I enter the lodge.
A bright smile illuminates her features as she laughs with the two people standing across from her – instructors too, I assume. She’s wearing a red ski suit, elegant and classy with a belt around her waist, faux fur trim to the hood. She’s flamboyant, alluring, captivating.
This girl is fascinating. She’s kind, but she’s not afraid to give me shit for my attitude.
She doesn’t seem impressed by my coldness, but she doesn’t let me walk over her.
Her easy banter is what threw me off-balance at first, because I wasn’t expecting so much snark and wit coming from her.
Maybe we can go back to that exhilarating push and pull if she forgives me.
I swallow the knot in my throat, tucking my hands in my pockets as I walk over to her. I’m not sure why I’m nervous, but all I’m hoping for is that she gives me a chance to explain myself.
The moment she spots me, her smile falters. She recovers quickly, though, and says something to her friends before waving at them and coming up to me.
“Hi,” I say gruffly. Regret clings to my chest, painful and stubbornly unwavering, and the need to make everything right becomes overwhelming.
This need to apologize has nothing to do with Coach and his stupid plan to polish my image.
No, it’s because Alara is actually a sweet woman, and no amount of bitterness I feel toward the rest of the world should be projected on the one person who’s willing to help me.
I hate that hurt flashes so blatantly in her eyes. I hate that she’s not smiling. I hate that she doesn’t get snippy, as I deserve, and only whispers, “Hey.”
The words are there, the apology right on the tip of my tongue, yet I feel powerless and unable to voice them. Alara won’t meet my gaze, simply tucking a rebellious strand of hair that has escaped from her braid behind her ear.
The moment I clear my throat, she starts speaking up, but stops short when she notices I was about to open my mouth. “You go first—”
“No, go ahead,” I say, gesturing toward her. I inwardly slap my forehead. “Ladies first. I mean, chivalry’s not entirely dead.”
What the hell am I even saying?
She nods slowly, studying my expression, my flaming cheekbones. We’re silent for a few seconds too long, causing me to bounce on my heels in discomfort. “Let’s go. Unless there was something you wanted to tell me?”
My lips are pressed in a thin line. “Nope. All good.”
It’s official: I’m an idiot.
Only fifteen minutes have passed since the beginning of the lesson, and I want to bury myself under a pile of snow. Maybe like that I’ll feel numb. Maybe like that all those strange feelings clawing at my throat will taper off.
Every time I glance at Alara, she looks back at me like she can feel the weight of my gaze on her. We both look away so rapidly that our eyes barely connect, the silence so uncomfortable that I almost blurt out idiocies to fill in the void.
The feeling of the sun beaming down on me while thick snow crunches under my boots makes me smile – albeit secretly.
Looking around, I can’t help but sigh wistfully as I watch a couple get in line for the approaching chairlift.
Up on the horizon, colorful dots are people running down the pistes, and snowboarders catch my attention as they walk by me with their boards tucked under their arms.
I forgot how beautiful Blue Ridge Springs’ resort is. I forgot how amazing it feels to be on the trails where I first learned to ski.
Seriously, this punishment is pure torture. I get that my body needs some rest after the fall, but forcing me to work and check on kids as they try to stand on skis remains the most ridiculous idea.
“Diego will help you, okay?” A dulcet voice cuts through my thoughts – a little stream of sunlight pushing past clouds.
I blink, and there she is, standing in front of me with her hand on a young girl’s shoulder.
“Right, Diego?” Alara arches a brow, expecting me to get my shit together.
Why can’t I just brood in a corner alone? Why can’t I pretend I don’t exist for the next hour or so?
Aside from the brief introduction I gave to the group we’re teaching this week, I’ve been standing on the sidelines, watching Alara work her magic.
She’s so gentle. So kind and patient. She’s taken the time to speak with each student – there’s only eight of them, but still – and I have a feeling they’re all already fond of her.
I mean, how could they not be?
I clear my throat, looking down at the girl, who’s wearing a pink jacket and matching ski pants. Strands of blonde hair peek from her helmet on top of which her goggles are resting. “Yes, of course.” I get down on my haunches to meet her at eye-level. Fuck, my knee. “What’s your name?”
“Lou,” she answers shyly, and adorably. “I’m five!”
I widen my eyes in faux shock. “Five? You’re so big already.”
Lou puffs out her chest. “I know. But I’m scared of getting on the skis.”