Chapter 18 Pike
Pike
So. I’m a real genius, aren’t I?
I’ve avoided snowboarding for almost two years, and now I’m standing in front of a whole fucking mountain. Technically, it’s two mountains.
I turn my back to Whistler-Blackcomb. I need to chill out or Skylar won’t enjoy herself.
“Here we are,” I say as I guide her inside my former favorite bar. After a nap, Skylar insisted we do something “fun.” If it were up to me, I’d still be at the hotel after the long flight and drive from Vancouver.
But Skylar was miserable on the plane ride with her pressure, so if she wants to go out, I’ll do my best to keep up. She deserves a night to enjoy herself. And I should savor our time together while it lasts.
“My crew used to hit all the clubs,” I explain, “but we migrated here when that scene got tired. It was a great place to unwind without forgetting our names the next morning.”
“And whoever you hooked up with the night before?”
I hate that it’s the first thing she thinks of, seeing me back in my old territory. But the band’s twang drowns out my retort. I shudder. This is the only place I tolerate country music. Every other Friday, it’s line dancing in the middle of the floor.
“If the music bothers your head—” I start.
Skylar pulls me into the crowd, giving me a perfect view of her gorgeous ass in that tight little skirt I love. Maybe going out is worth it after all.
She finds us a table away from the band so we can still hear each other. I squirm on the uncomfortable bar stool, unable to get my hips happy.
“Brandon fucking Pike? No way!”
Please no. Not on my first night back.
Someone slaps me on the back. Ow. But all my annoyance vanishes at the sight of a stocky Vietnamese man with gauged ears and a barbell through his nose.
“Ryan?”
The owner of the bar crushes me into a hug. “I can’t believe it! How have you been?” Before I can answer, he notices Skylar. “And who is this fine lady?” He waggles his eyebrows.
I have the sudden urge to protect Skylar from my past. Ryan has witnessed many of my indiscretions here. I may hate country music, but women sure love line dancing after a long day of shredding.
“This is my girlfriend, Skylar. She’s new to this scene.”
“No way!” Ryan regards her with reverence. “Pike’s a legend around here. Not just for snowboarding.” He proceeds to tell her about a time I got shitfaced and danced on the bar. While stripping.
“Thanks, Ryan,” I say, cringing. “Can I get a pint of whatever you’re brewing and one of every appetizer?”
“Sure thing. On the house.” He slaps my back again. “Brandon fucking Pike.”
Skylar won’t stop smirking. “You danced on tables like Magic Mike? That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”
I grunt. Adorable wasn’t the adjective used when that dance went viral the next morning.
When our food and drinks arrive, she watches me accept my beer.
“It was easier to order one than to explain why I don’t drink anymore,” I say.
Skylar selects the small Caesar salad bowl, then grabs a couple of celery sticks from the wings platter. “I do the same thing sometimes. Just to avoid standing out.”
“Really? You seem like you’ve navigated the whole disability identity thing smoothly.”
“Hardly. When I got sick, I had to compromise constantly, even if it was subconscious. I’d hide my needs because people made them seem like inconveniences. It’s why I don’t bother much with in-person friendships anymore.”
“But the girls are disabled too,” I say. “Wouldn’t they get it?”
“Who’s to say they’d want to meet in person? Let’s talk about you. Can I see your old place later? It’s huge, right?”
I reach for a fry that’s been smothered in cheese curds. “It’s a small chalet.”
“That sounds cute, though.”
“If two flights of circular stairs to get to the loft bedroom is cute, sure.”
Her face falls. “I’m sorry. It must’ve been awful, not being able to go home after all that time in the hospital.”
That was one of the hardest parts. In the midst of my pain, all I could think about was selling the chalet, but now I wonder if I should’ve handled it differently—maybe rented it out or made it more accessible and hired a nurse.
I knew my friends would be busy with their lives, training, and traveling, and I wanted a familiar face during my recovery, so moving to Rochester to be with Mom seemed like the best choice at the time.
“I miss the people,” I admit. I miss the view, too, but I don’t want a daily reminder of what I’ve lost. I pour ketchup on my bison sliders but can’t muster the appetite to eat. Being here is a reminder of what I’ve lost.
“What’s the plan tomorrow?” Skylar asks. “Room service in bed all day?” Her fingers trail up my hand, and my imagination goes a little haywire.
Since she agreed to come to Whistler, the vibe has shifted between us.
There’s more trust. More playfulness. We chat online almost every night, and now I’m not the only one who reaches out first. She even looks at me differently.
There’s an undercurrent of tension whenever our eyes meet, a magnetic pull.
But it’s only Friday, and I need to take things slow.
My only aim this weekend is to gently nudge Skylar toward the possibility of something more between us.
We’ll have some time by ourselves, and with its picturesque landscapes and romantic ambiance, Whistler’s a perfect backdrop to plant some ideas.
But if she makes a move? Hell if I’m putting on the brakes.
“We could totally do that,” I say slowly.
She snorts. “I’m kidding, Pike.”
Of course she is. I smile like we’re in on the same joke until I notice Jax, Macken, and Grace heading straight for us.
I take Skylar’s hand in mine and grip a little too tightly. “Things are about to get awkward. If you want to bail—”
Jax sidles up behind Skylar, holding a tube of Smarties.
A beefy arm wraps around my shoulder. “That’s how it’s going to be?” Macken’s gruff voice sounds in my ear. “No message you’re here already? No nothing?”
Skylar’s eyes widen as she takes him in. Macken’s a white-blond Norwegian built like a truck. A truck with tattoos all over his face.
I grin. “I had prettier faces to see than yours.”
Macken’s deep chortle nearly bursts my eardrum. “Oh yeah? This Skylar?” He puts me in a chokehold. “Jax says you’re the woman who finally has our boy whipped.”
Skylar’s lips quirk up. “I am, in fact, Skylar. And you are?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“He did, but he also said you like to introduce yourself.”
A beat. Then everyone’s laughing and I’m shoving Macken away. I could kiss Skylar for saying that.
“Macken does like being the center of attention,” Jax concedes. “I’m Jax, and this is Grace.”
Skylar eagerly turns to Grace. “The other gold medalist.”
Jax strides over with a roguish grin, his fair skin already flushed pink from the heat of the bar—or maybe from drink. Jax loves to pregame as much as he loves to party. “Didn’t think you’d come,” he says, pulling me into a hug.
It feels so normal to be around him again, like I haven’t been gone for almost two years. Even his thick brown hair is mussed up as usual, making it seem like he just got off the slopes, but I’m betting he still styles it that way on purpose.
Macken pulls up a bar stool. “So, you’re healin’ and all that?” He jerks his chin at Skylar. “Can my man still fuck?”
She chokes. Damn it, Macken.
“Stop that.” I smack him in the shoulder. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Macken just looks at Skylar like, Well?
Eyes watering, Skylar nods. “Yep. Hard.”
My turn to choke.
“I’ll drink to that,” Macken says. “I was afraid he’d be stuck in a wheelchair forever.”
Skylar glances at me, cheeks pink, clearly expecting me to challenge him.
I should clarify that I’m not stuck in my wheelchair—it helps me get around—and that his assumptions about sex and disability are as tired as they are outdated.
Plus, my chair is now half-destroyed from the flight, and I spent most of the drive from Vancouver fighting with customer service.
Before I can reply, Jax orders shots. A couple fans approach us for pictures. Unfortunately, they recognize me.
Skylar’s smile tightens when a woman approaches Jax, Macken, and me for a photo and drapes herself across our laps. I’m sandwiched between the guys, so I make sure my hands are up in plain sight.
When the picture’s done, I shake my head. “Don’t drag me into that anymore. Things are different.”
“Yeah, things are different,” Macken scoffs. “You’re too good for us now. Barely even recognize you without your hair.”
I shift uncomfortably. “Where are Brick and Luce?”
“Why? You only ignore half our crew?”
“Macken’s just upset you didn’t come to Mammoth,” Jax says, massaging my shoulders. “Now that you’re out of rehab, you could visit more.”
I smile and nod, but why is it always on me to make the effort? None of them can come to Rochester for a weekend? But I already know why. My friends are like I used to be, seeking excitement wherever it is, not wasting time in boring towns with small hills.
My throat tightens, and I reach for my untouched beer.
Skylar takes it away. She leans across the table and pulls me to her by my shirt. Our lips lock, and then I’m catching air off a jump again, caught in a moment of weightless bliss. I told her to go with whatever PDA she’s comfortable with, and if this is what she wants? Fuck if I’m complaining.
Wolf whistles go up around us, and Macken slaps me on the back again.
I almost forgot what a dipshit he can be.
I grab his wrist even as I keep kissing Skylar, wishing I could block out the bar and just focus on her.
I know why she’s kissing me, and I’m grateful, but every caress of her tongue pulls me deeper into something I can no longer ignore.
It can’t all be in my head. It’s too damn good.
A soft sound of pleasure pulls from her throat. Fuck. The things I could do to make her give me more of them. I reach for her face, willing to keep her close as long as she desires.