Chapter 17 Skylar
Skylar
I ’m excited to debut her to the world.
An ache burgeons deep beneath my ribs. Pike said he wasn’t going to Whistler. He said he wouldn’t tell the media about me.
He lied.
I bury myself under his duvet, hating how it smells like him. Ten minutes ago, I loved being covered in his clean, manly scent. After that hug, I even fantasized about Pike joining me in bed.
I should have known better. I’ve never been able to rely on anyone in person—it’s why I prefer my support group. I can’t believe I thought Pike was different. That I could trust him.
But this entire relationship has been a lie from the start.
My stomach bubbles with nausea. I pretended to be his girlfriend so I wouldn’t risk losing my group. Now he expects me to go to Whistler too?
A muffled version of his argument with Laurie drifts into the room. His mom interrupts him constantly, like mine does with me. Once she leaves, I sit up too quickly. My head swims, the way it always does when I lie flat too long.
“Sorry for the wait.” Pike drags his ergo chair over to sit across from me. “Brought you something.”
It’s a strawberry crêpe with a dollop of whipped cream. Damn him for picking the one I would’ve chosen myself. He holds out the plate between us, along with one of two forks. The intimacy of sharing food makes my heart twinge.
I can’t play nice anymore.
“Does it give you some kind of twisted satisfaction to keep blackmailing me? Have I not done everything you’ve asked?”
“What?” Hurt flickers over his face. “I’m not blackmailing you.”
“What do you call this fake-dating thing?”
“An agreement…?”
“The only reason I agreed to this is because you threatened to ruin the one good thing I have. But pretending to be your girlfriend in front of a million people?” I point at the open window, like Blake’s still standing out there.
“I can’t. I don’t want my life blasted on the internet.
I thought you knew that. So go ahead. Tell the admins I lied to your mom. I’m done.”
Pike’s jaw goes slack. “I’m not going to tell them. I never was.”
“Then why did you tell me you would unless, and I quote, ‘your performance is satisfactory’?”
Shame flashes in his smoky eyes. “I didn’t know the group was that important to you.”
“I founded it. It’s the only thing that gets me through my shitty conditions.”
“I mean—when I first met you—” He struggles for words. “I didn’t realize you were so—that you kept to yourself like this. That you haven’t even met your best friends.”
I don’t know how he found out, but his words unhinge something in my chest. “That’s not weird. Online friendships are valid.”
“I never said they weren’t.”
“My friendships are real, and I’d do anything for them. Including date you.”
Pike shoves a hand into his hair. “I’m sorry. I did, initially—wrongfully—hold the group over you. I was afraid you’d flake. But after the snowstorm, I thought you were still doing this because we’re friends.”
I scoff even though his words cut like a razor. “You said I had to meet your mom twice.”
“I see. Well.” He makes a grand sweeping gesture toward the door. “Consider yourself off the hook.”
“How? You told Blake I’d be in Whistler!”
He smiles sadly. “I lied to him so he’d get off my case. I’ll show up with someone else. Everyone will forget about you, and you’ll be out of the spotlight.”
The air punches out of my lungs. “But…who?”
“Who cares? Someone I meet the night before. We’ll do our thing, and I’ll move on to the next one. That’s what everyone expects of me. Hell, why don’t I bring two women while I’m at it?”
I can’t think of anything to say. I feel too small.
Pike was protecting me?
“Sorry I come off as that big of an asshole,” he says. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go enjoy my crêpe.”
He leaves without another word. The longer I sit there, the worse I feel.
He told me the very idea of going to Whistler made him want to throw up.
He’s not only going to face the media, he’s going back to where he had his accident—his old home—to face his friends and the passion he can no longer pursue, all to protect me.
I’m not that guy anymore. He’s told me that many times. For some reason, it’s important to him. Now he’s willing to let everyone think he’s still the same so I won’t be in the spotlight?
Pike did a huge thing.
For me.
I run after him.
He’s perched on the edge of a square ottoman in the den, elbows on his thighs.
“You’re not an asshole,” I say quietly. “That’s exactly it. I got so upset because your words with Blake contradicted everything you’ve shown me about yourself. I got scared and assumed the worst of you. I’m really sorry.”
He nods. “It’s fine.”
“Thank you for protecting me.”
“It’s no big deal.”
But he’s doing that thing again. Answering in clipped words. Not looking at me. Pretending he doesn’t care.
It’s how he is with his mom.
“It is a big deal,” I insist. “Please don’t pretend it’s not. I know you don’t want to go to Whistler.”
“Better to get it over with.”
“Pike.” I lower myself to my knees. He finally looks at me, his intense eyes filled with something I don’t recognize. “Why would you do all that for me?”
“I’m the one who’s famous. It’s not your job to be my buffer.”
“True, and I appreciate that.” I gently put my hands on his knees to keep his attention. “Fake dating you hasn’t been that bad. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. I like the man you’ve become.”
“I care about you,” he says gruffly. “It’s been a while since I’ve been a decent friend to anyone, and I didn’t want to mess this up.
” He reaches for me, covering my hands with his own, and a thrill rushes down my spine at the unexpected reciprocity.
“I didn’t want you getting hurt. But you did anyway. ”
His words hit hard. I don’t want him hurting because of me either.
“I’m sorry I lashed out,” I say.
He threads his fingers through mine and squeezes. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain beforehand. It was intense, right?”
Intense. That’s a good way to describe everything swirling inside me. And sitting here touching each other, knowing he’s as decent as I thought, makes me want to touch him in other ways.
I force myself to my feet. “Do you have any more strawberry crêpes?”
In the kitchen, I watch his delectable mouth devour two crêpes while I finish my strawberries and whipped cream. We eat in contented silence until curiosity gets the best of me.
“What do you actually need to do in Whistler?” I ask.
“I’ll go to the ceremony, do the interview, see my crew.”
“Will there be paparazzi around your crew all the time?”
“Before big events, there’s more media involvement. We’re well known in snowboarding circles. Grace gets the most press these days.”
Emy and Analia’s Pike!! emails come to mind. “Grace Kwon, who won gold in women’s halfpipe?”
“Yes.” He beams at the mention of his friend, warming my heart. “We’re not movie stars. Unless something juicy’s going on, no one cares.”
“But I thought your interview was a big deal.”
“It is. For me. There will be curiosity from the community, especially since I’m the one who usually…”
“Had something juicy going on?” I tease.
“But their interest will fade once my story’s wrapped up. How often do you hear reports on past Olympic medalists?”
“Not too often…”
“After this exclusive, they’ll forget about me. I’ll say I’m doing great, Blake will write something inspirational, report I’m still moving from woman to woman, and that’ll be the end of it.”
I put my spoon down, a knot pulling tight in my stomach. “And the woman you present as your girlfriend?”
His attention drifts to the window. “They’ll comment on who she is, compare her to past flings, then never see us together again. That’s why I’ll pick someone eager for five minutes of fame.”
“Huh. I imagined photos on red carpets, constant media attention, people following me at work. Blogs dedicated to us as a ship.”
Pike laughs lightly. “I doubt it would be that extreme, but they would dig into your life. Post private things if they found anything juicy.”
“And there’s the ableism,” I point out.
“Exactly,” he says. “Maybe, if this were real…I don’t know. It’d still be better to keep you from being exposed.”
I chew on my crêpe, absorbing it all. Is Pike really that famous? I didn’t know who he was. It’s a niche sport. Who’s really going to care?
The fans and snow bunnies, probably. His old friends. Other disabled people for sure.
It’ll matter to them.
“I wonder if there’s another way,” I say. “Something that doesn’t exploit your disability or hide it. We could ask our support group what they’d say if they were interviewed about living with a disability.”
“Skylar, all I care about is getting through the weekend without losing my shit in front of everyone.” He stands and carries his plate to the sink but doesn’t wash it.
He just braces both hands against the counter until, eventually, he drives out a harsh breath.
“Lately I feel more like a museum exhibit than a person. My body on display for everyone to critique.”
I hate seeing him like this. Being around people who don’t understand this kind of grief is incredibly isolating.
I remember how it felt to mourn my old life as I struggled to accept my new reality.
After my diagnosis, my friends planned a trip to New York City.
I wanted to be included, even though I’d been sick all year, and it hurt that hardly anyone made the effort unless I could go out with them and be active.
I went, but nobody mentioned my illness or asked how I was.
They expected me to keep up with their plans, and there were no accommodations.
When I spoke up about it, they said the whole group couldn’t adjust for only one person.
After several nights of crying myself to sleep while they partied, I lied and said something came up with my brother.
I went home. We never hung out again.
I don’t want the same thing to happen to Pike. It was the worst trip of my life, and I didn’t even have to give an interview about it.
Pike’s sitting at the counter now, drinking orange juice, not looking at me. Not looking at anything.
Shit. I care about him too.
I sink onto the stool next to him. “So, um, out of curiosity. What if I actually went to Whistler?”
The glass trembles in his hand. “People will find out who you are. It’ll be too much.”
“You said it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
“Compared to other celebrities.”
“But aside from the interview,” I say, “it’s mostly a vacation?”
“All-expenses-paid. First-class flight. Luxury hotel.”
“Would there be a hot tub?”
“I mean.” Pike’s suddenly heated gaze flits over the length of my body. “There can be.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’d have to come to the awards show. Otherwise we can do our own thing. Whistler’s gorgeous.”
I haven’t been on vacation since that trip to New York City. A luxury trip—even with strings attached—is likely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And with this broody hot poet?
“That doesn’t sound as awful as I imagined,” I say cautiously.
“I don’t know, Skylar. I’d make it worth your while, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”
My hands are trembling, too, so I fold them in my lap. This isn’t a good idea. I don’t want strangers knowing about me. Commenting on my life.
But I can’t shake the feeling that Pike shouldn’t do this alone. And maybe, if I’m honest with myself, the idea of doing the interview isn’t as unappealing as it seemed when I thought he was forcing me into it. Platforms can be powerful.
“Could I mention IIH in the interview? Name the one research foundation we have?”
“You can say whatever you want, as long as you don’t tell anyone we’re pretending.”
“There wouldn’t be another woman—or two—if I came?” The thought of him with other women for a publicity stunt leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
The thought of him with other women, period.
“Only you.”
“What about kissing?”
Pike’s eyes drop to my mouth. He wets his lips, making my toes curl. I cannot be the only one feeling this vibe.
“What about it?”
“Would we need to kiss on camera?” I’m not sure I could do that in public. Pike’s lips make me lose rational thought. Now, in private…
“No, but I’d appreciate some hand-holding.” He looks at me, all hopeful, and I melt. “My crew probably wouldn’t believe it otherwise. You know.”
“Because you’re a physical guy.”
His neck turns adorably red. “I was pretty affectionate—playful kisses, having women on my lap.”
My skin goes hot at the thought.
“But I know that’s not your thing,” he says quickly.
I blink. It’s not?
“I don’t have to be the same,” he says. “Maybe it’d show I’m serious. Whatever works for you is good with me.” He takes my hands. “And if you needed to bow out, you could.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
“Really?” Pike scoops me into his arms so quickly I’m pulled onto my feet.
I relax in his embrace. I didn’t realize how much I needed this hug, but Pike’s arms are strong and hold me perfectly.
They make me feel safe. “I don’t know why you changed your mind,” he says into my hair, “but thank you. Thank you.”
“I need to see what happens with my pressure. If it gets worse, I can’t fly.”
“Just the fact you’re considering it.”
He kisses the top of my head, and in that moment, I know I’m making the right choice, even if it’s scary. It’s what I’d want a friend to do for me.
“Aw,” Luis croons, and we jerk apart. Pike’s roommate rolls into the kitchen in pajama pants and a faded Bills sweatshirt. He smirks as he ruffles his hair, pushing the dark brown waves out of his face. “Did you two make up?”
“Get out of here,” Pike growls.
“But now that all the drama’s over, I want my crêpes. All I’ve eaten for the last three days is Cyrus’s sholezard.”
I head to the fridge. Luis was so sweet earlier when I was freaking out. “Come eat. I want to hear all of Pike’s dirty secrets.”
Pike groans, but when I wink at him, he smiles like I’m his favorite person. Something buried deep inside tells me I’d like to be.