Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BEAU
Drew skids to a stop next to where I’m sitting, my ass in the snow and my board resting on edge perpendicular to the slope. “You’ve got until Monday to land that quad cork or Mark’s going to ream your ass when he gets here,” he says.
“Is that your pep talk?” I ask. Talking shit is Drew’s way of encouraging me to do better. It’s been that way since I met him freshman year of college. But this warning isn’t his normal shit-talking campaign, nor is it particularly encouraging.
Lance skids to a stop, raining powder down over where Drew and I sit. “Asshat,” Drew mutters.
“I’m going to land it right now, just to get you to shut up,” I say to Drew. He’s right though, if my coach shows up and sees that I’ve regressed since this summer, he’s going to be pissed.
“Sure you are.” I glance over at Drew, and he’s got both his eyebrows raised at me. I want to punch him in the face, which is a pretty typical reaction for anyone who’s spent time with Drew. He prides himself on being able to get under people’s skin.
“This weekend’s going to suck,” Lance says as he pops his ass in the snow next to us.
“The crowds will descend for the holiday. Runs will be crowded, there’ll be long lift lines, and you know the terrain park will be overrun by idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.
So you’ve got today and tomorrow to get the quad cork to stick.
Otherwise, Mark’s going to show up only to find out you can’t do a trick you’d mastered in June.
At our age, going backward is not an option. ”
“Dude, don’t give me that at our age shit,” I say. “Shaun White and Jamie Anderson were still killing it in their thirties.”
“Yeah,” Lance says, “but Jamie already had back-to-back Olympic gold medals and was one of the most decorated snowboarders in X Games history before she hit thirty. And Shaun’s just . . . Shaun. A superhuman, five-time Olympian, freaking legend.”
I let out a frustrated sigh and watch it float away as a cloud of ice crystals suspended in the cold air.
I’m not trying to become a legend. But it would be nice to get some more wins under my belt before I’m too old to keep doing this.
I know that my days in this sport are numbered.
I can feel it in the aches and pains I have after particularly grueling days on the slopes.
That never used to happen. Mom keeps telling me I should take up yoga like Jackson did after her ski accident, but that’s just not my speed.
I pop my earbuds in, crank my music, and stand.
It’s midweek and only two other people have gone into the terrain park in the past few minutes.
I glance behind me. No one else coming. Good, I like to have space, to know that no one is going to be in my landing zone or camped out taking pictures of me.
“See you at the bottom,” I say to Lance and Drew, who are now scrambling to get up and join me.
But I hop forward, angling my board perpendicular to the mountain.
I take off, sailing down through the gates of the park and straight toward the first feature where I do a tailslide 270 spin off the rail and head down to the jump where I land a switchback 720.
I approach the last jump committed to landing the quad cork.
I push my doubts aside. I’ve done this before—many times onto the airbag and a couple times on snow—I can do it again.
I’m on the toe-side edge of my board in an athletic stance, prepared to launch off the lip with enough force to propel me through four off-axis flips and five 360 rotations.
As soon as I’m airborne, I throw my head and right hand to the left, and grab the heel edge of my board with my front hand.
Then I count the sky and the ground four times each before I pull out for the landing.
The impact has me going into a deep squat, but I manage to stay upright.
When I skid to the bottom, there are a few people standing around, all of them gawking at me.
I used to love that kind of attention, I’d bask in it.
Sierra aptly pointed out the other night what I didn’t want to see.
I really do seek validation in attention from strangers.
And I’m not sure why the opinions of people I don’t know even matter.
I bend over, putting my hands on my knees and taking a few deep breaths so I don’t have to look at them.
“You fucking did it!” Drew whoops as he comes to a stop behind me. “And Lance got it on video.”
“No shit?” I say as Lance pulls up next to us. I can’t believe I nailed it. There was no fear, it just felt right and I went for it.
“I did,” Lance confirms. “I got the whole thing from right behind you. Wish we’d had someone filming you from below the jump too, but we’ll get that another time. This is awesome footage. I’ll work on it tonight.”
“Sure, but don’t post anything yet, okay?”
Lance gives me a look. “You trying to keep expectations low? Head into the competition and surprise the shit out of everyone?”
I shrug because I’m not really sure why I don’t want him posting the footage.
My sponsors expect frequent posting, preferably with closeups that let the viewer see their logo on my helmet or my jacket.
Constant photos and videos are what keep me relevant, keep the sponsorships and partnerships rolling in, and allow me to afford to keep Lance and Drew traveling with me.
It’s not every job that lets you work with your two best friends, and I don’t take this for granted.
We’ve come a long way from packing up our boards and road-tripping it to Vermont every winter weekend during college.
“I’m starving, let’s grab some food,” Drew says. The sun is low, and the sky is streaked with pinks and purples as we head toward the lodge.
“I’m just staying for one drink, then I need to head home,” I tell them once we’re seated at an outdoor table under the heat lamps.
“What for this time, old man?” Drew asks. “The dog, or the girl?”
“Both, actually. Winston needs a walk, and I told Sierra I’d make dinner.”
The two of them stare at me, and finally, Lance laughs. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Dude, you have chicks all over you all the time. And here we are in Park City, popular tourist destination for the rich and the beautiful, and instead of taking advantage of the opportunities”—Lance moves his eyebrows up and down—“you’re running home to play house.
Either you’re lying to us about not sleeping with her, or you’re the most pathetic asshole ever. ”
“Well, I’m not lying about sleeping with her, so . . .”
“What’s the deal, then?” Drew asks as he puts his helmet in his bag and pulls on his beanie.
“I just like hanging out with her.” I don’t know how else to explain it. Given the option between meaningless sex or hanging out with Sierra, I’m pretty sure I’d choose Sierra every time.
“Without sex,” he adds, his voice flat. It’s not a question, it’s a statement tinged with doubt.
It feels like sex between us should be a foregone conclusion.
The way she looks at me, the way she’s hyper-focused on my gray sweats while pretending to be upset about them, the way she manages to touch me in passing.
I know she’s thinking about it as much as I am, but I’m equally certain she’s not looking for a fling.
She wants someone serious, someone to settle down with.
Someone who’s home at the same time every day and wants a house in the suburbs and kids.
That’s not me. And I don’t think she can move past that, no matter how good the sex would be.
“Without sex,” I confirm. “There’ll be plenty of time for that once we head to Aspen.”
“Did you hit your head? You’re like a different person right now,” Lance says. “What happened to getting laid as a way of life?”
“Speaking of getting laid,” Drew says, perking up, “I heard from Helen this morning.” I snap my head toward him so quickly I might have given myself whiplash. The color drains from his face. “That was a terrible segue,” he says, swallowing hard.
“Speaking of sex and your twin sister . . .” I prompt, tipping my beer toward him casually. It’s not hard to act like this is fine. I have a lot of practice. “I can’t wait to see where this is going.”
“You know what, never mind. This story can wait.”
“Oh no, we’re all ears,” I say, glancing at Lance, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here. We have an unspoken agreement that we don’t talk about Helen. Ever. Last year, Drew flew home for her wedding and didn’t even tell me. Just said he had to go to “a family thing.”
“I’m going to be an uncle.”
I blink and I know I keep my eyelids shut a second too long because when I open them, Lance is silently miming to Drew about what a dick he is.
“Congrats, man. I’m sure you’ll be the fun uncle.” I drain my beer, then set the empty back on the table. “I gotta go.” I’ve got to get back to my pathetic life where I’m fantasizing about a girl I can never have.
“You sure you don’t want to come out with us tonight?” Lance asks. “I think we’re going to meet up with those chicks we were talking to at lunch.”
“Not tonight,” I tell them as I stand and slap some cash down on the table to cover my drink. “But tomorrow, I’m in.”
Tomorrow Sierra will be in Las Vegas and I already don’t want to think about her going out, meeting some guy. She’s not the type for a fling, but if there ever was a place that might change her mind, it’s Vegas.
I’m in the kitchen chopping vegetables when I hear her come through the door.
“Okay, calm down,” she says, and I assume she’s on the phone.
Winston bolts from the kitchen and I peek around the wall to make sure she doesn’t need anything.
She’s holding her phone to her ear with one hand and sets a shopping bag on the floor as she bends to give Winston kisses and rub his head.
She stands more quickly than he’d like, her attention back on her phone call, and he whimpers at her feet.