Chapter 9
NOAH
Coach Jones has us at Catinas restaurant in the center of Aspen. Freshly poured beers and warm bread are served to us while we put in our orders for dinner. We’re all dressed casually, enjoying the second-to-last night of our time in such a welcoming place.
It’s been almost a year since our participation in the Winter Olympics, and we’re finally at the last stop of our tour from visiting other states across America to thank and meet the ones who supported us back home.
I’ve had my fair share of fun, met one beauty after another, but I’m happy to end the tour on a high note and get my ass home.
The restaurant is low-key, with dim lights and soft classical music playing while waiters and waitresses tend to neighboring tables. The place boasts black satin tablecloths, and shiny silverware is arranged for each course, though I’ll probably use one fork.
I’m already halfway through my first beer when Coach drops the bomb.
“How would you feel if we added one more stop to our tour?” He clasps his hands on the table, a hopeful smile on his face.
We groan in unison, Taylor lowering his head, mumbling, “The old bastard can’t let us rest.”
“This old bastard is not much older than you.” He takes a hearty sip of his beer.
“The only difference is that our bones don’t crack when we get out of bed,” jokes Mark.
Coach chokes, and Cody has to smack his back to get him to stop. “I’m only thirty-five!”
“That’s pretty old if you ask me,” I tease. I butter a warm piece of bread, then shove it all inside my mouth, trying to smile between big bites.
Tommy Jones is the youngest in history to coach the Olympic snowboarding team. With twin daughters of his own, his passion for snowboarding started at the age of ten and blossomed as the years went by.
Unfortunately, he sustained an injury that cost him to lose a chance at his spot on the team, but he had the opportunity to work under the last coach and now has to wrestle us around as the lead.
And I know he loves every second of it.
Steamy, hot plates grace our table. From filets to salmon, with sides of broccoli and mashed potatoes, we all dive in. Every bite of the filet is like butter, melting the minute it hits my tongue.
I moan, enjoying my meal, when Taylor comments, “Funny, that was the sound you were making last night when”— I kick him hard in the shin. Taylor hollers, and people around us stop mid-meal to check out our table.
Coach closes his eyes and sighs. “Please, not at the dinner table.”
“Fucking Christ, Noah. Could you kick a little harder?” Taylor's halfway under the table, rubbing his leg.
I side-eye him while shoving a big piece of meat in my mouth.
“We’re still sorry about that,” Cody apologizes.
Cody will always be the sensible one in the group, and for that, I’m grateful. I nod in his direction, silently acknowledging his attempt to derail the conversation.
“Who’s ‘we’?” Mark waves his fork around, a piece of salmon hanging on for dear life. “'Cause, last time I checked, Noah is the only one who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“I don’t want to talk about anyone’s extracurricular activities at dinner, please, I want to keep my food down for once,” complains Coach, running his hands down his face.
The bastard isn’t much older than us; hell, he’d had his girls when he was barely nineteen.
Cody changes the subject for us. “Let’s go back to the topic of possibly extending our stay?”
“Yes, right, well, good news is—we are!” Coach dives back into his mashed potatoes, definitely preparing for our reactions.
Why the hell am I not surprised he pulls something like this? Last minute, too. Yeah, typical Coach Jones for you. I swear he finds the thrill of sharing shitty surprises.
I grind my teeth, pushing my empty plate aside. “Can I skip?” Any longer on the road with these fucks, and I might actually put myself through therapy.
“Dinner? Or our new stop on the tour? Cause I’m going to say no to both.” Coach takes another bite of his salmon, eyeing me down to challenge his authority.
I grab Cody’s hand, securing it around my neck, pretending he’s choking me. “Put me out of my misery.”
“It’s only one more stop. That’s it.” Coach pulls out a trifold pamphlet, tossing it in the center of the table. “Snowy Peak in Burlington, Vermont. I know the owners, and they asked for a favor, so now we’re heading there tomorrow morning.”
Mark snags the pamphlet, flipping through its contents. “It’s family-owned since the early 2000s and accommodates wheelchairs…hmm…oh, they have impeccable slopes.”
Taylor rips it out of his hands. “I love the little cabins.” He smiles, his eyebrows rise. “There's a sauna and a jacuzzi, too? Sign me the fuck up.”
“I don’t mind if it’s to help others,” Cody states.
“I’ll see if Sophia wants to come. Maybe make it a little vacation for us,” Mark comments, taking back the pamphlet.
“So, you weren’t going to wait for our answer? You just did it anyway?” I snipe. Because god-for-fucking-bid we get a decent break.
Coach slides his empty plate aside, wiping his mouth with the black cloth napkin. “I’m sorry, but when a friend calls in for help, I come to support. That also means you all come with me.”
“I didn’t know I was shackled,” I mutter.
“You’ve already made a commitment for this tour, and that includes dates added at the last minute.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.
Silence hushes over our table, and Cody nudges me, probably wondering if I’m okay.
I haven’t been okay in months.