Ride
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Ride
Harper Dallas
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2017 Harper Dallas
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.harperdallas.com
Cover design by Vivian Monir Design
Editing by Drew
This is a work of fiction. Though the locations in this book are real, they have been altered to serve the story. The people who appear inside the book are also imaginary. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For G, always
1
That’s when it hits me: I’m being fired from a job I haven’t even started yet.
“I’m sorry, Brooke.” Catherine clearly isn’t enjoying this. That makes two of us. “I feel like the world’s biggest asshole, telling you so late. But with the sponsor drop out … Our budget has more holes in it than the Titanic.” She laughs darkly. “Let’s just hope we aren’t going down as fast.”
I should say something. I understand or no worries. Hell, even a yeah would be better than silence. But instead my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and all I can do is press my forehead to the steering wheel and try not to be sick.
I’m meant to be starting my dream job in a week, and instead I’m being fired.
Pre-fired.
Hundreds of miles away Catherine sighs.
“Sometime next year we’ll get you on the team, I promise. Just hold tight, okay? This isn’t a never. Just a … not now.”
I nudge an empty candy wrapper with my toe. It seems like the perfect example of everything that’s wrong with my life.
Other people have their shit together. I don’t mean millionaires or movie stars. I mean just regular, normal people with regular, normal jobs and nice boyfriends and 401ks they know they should probably pay more into.
I have a trash-filled car that looks like I slept in it, because sometimes I do.
“Ngh.” It’s not a word. But at least it proves I’m alive, because the only thing that could make this worse is Catherine calling a wellness check on me with the Rincon PD.
“Listen, I like you. Your work is good. Whoever you want me to talk you up to, I’ll do it.” I can hear the effort in Catherine’s humor. “Just so long as you promise to come back to us after.”
I don’t want her to talk me up to anyone else. I want to work for her at Wild, just like I was promised. My first full-time staff gig, at the best outdoor lifestyle magazine in the country. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since I met Catherine during undergrad, when I could hardly even talk to her because I was so starstruck in front of one of the best chief photographers in the business. I watched her presentation breathless because I wanted to be her so badly that not-being-her was an aching hole in my chest. For the last two years, everything in my life has been about making that hole go away.
I’ve worked every unpaid internship I could find. I’ve served about ten thousand tables for crappy tips. I’ve lived out of my car for weeks, chasing freelance opportunities up and down the West Coast. I’ve worked so hard …
Deep breaths, big girl. Who said life was fair?
“I understand.”
Catherine sighs with relief. “Thanks. I’m going to make some calls, see if anyone’s looking for freelance work. I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” I sound like a robot trying to be human. Badly.
“Take care, kid.”
The line clicks dead, and for once I’m glad that Catherine’s not chatty.
I let my cell fall into my lap, bringing up my arms to curl around the wheel over my head, and try out some of the slow breathing techniques Pop-pop always goes on about. In, out. In, out. Release the tension. Release the stress.
I can deal with this. Once the surf shoot is finished today I’ll get the photos ready for my client. Some of yesterday’s shots looked pretty good on my MacBook last night. It’s not like Wild is the only thing I can do. I’ll get my portfolio updated and stock up my Instagram.
… And then I’ll have to chase freelance jobs again.
A garbled monster-like groan rumbles in my chest.
I thought I had everything sorted out. I thought I had a proper job. I thought two years of stress were finally done. Not that I’d be rolling in it or anything—I’m a photographer, we mostly live on instant ramen—but I’d have a regular paycheck, and I’d have my own place again, and …
In, out. In, out. Positive thinking.
There’s no point in getting worked up. Losing it never helped anyone.
I’ll figure something out. I’ll keep freelancing. I can work harder. Snow season’s coming up, and there’s always work then. I love the snow.
… The snow I was meant to work this winter, on a steady wage, being an actual, proper photographer for Wild.
I make a horrible choke-laugh sound that isn’t intentional. God, I sound awful. What is this, a pity party? I’m not starving. I’m not homeless. I’m not sick.
I’m just a girl who got fired from her dream job without ever really being hired. I’m just a girl who’s back living with her mom because she can’t hold down a relationship any better than a career.
At least the whole fiasco with Peter means I don’t have to worry about this making me miss rent.
I make the horrible choke-laugh sound again.
A rap on the window jerks me out of my funk. One of the surfer guys from the shoot is out there, his face crumpling with confusion as I press the window button. The chill tang of December sea air hits me along with his words.
“Sor
ry, man. I didn’t realize you were …” He gestures at me not-crying. “You know. Crying.”
I rub my fingers over my eyes. “Allergies. Sorry I’m late. I’ll be down in a minute.”
The surfer doesn’t look convinced, but he heads back down toward the water anyway.
By the time I’ve sent some texts and gathered together all of my gear, my face looks all right in the rearview mirror. I will a professional smile onto my lips, smoothing down the rebellious dark curls which are already escaping from my ponytail.
You’ve got this, Brooke. You’ve got this.
I check my phone when I stop to get gas. Gas, and about ten thousand calories for my comfort-eating binge. So much for having a clean car like a real adult. That can wait, because now I need to cover it in burger wrappers and the salt from way too many fries. I already know who’s been bombarding me with messages for the last hundred miles between Santa Barbara and Mammoth Lakes.
i am so so so so so so SO sorry
wtf is wrong with them?!?!?!
call me!!!
if you don’t call me i will come and get you i swear
how am i supposed to plot revenge on all those assholes unless you CALL ME
That’s my Alex. I can imagine her hopping about whatever jet-setting destination she’s at now, bitching to everyone about how some assholes dicked over her best friend. Once I’ve dropped my fast food bags on the passenger seat I tap a quick message back.
Driving. You’re in Europe right? I’ll call tomorrow am my time so I don’t wake you up.
Alex’s response is instantaneous.
don’t you dare
call me asap when you get in
i’ll sleep holding my cell like a madwoman
remember i love you
Whatever else goes wrong, I’ve still got Alex.
It’s dark when I reach Mammoth. Before me my headlights illuminate the crystalline sparkle of snow. Palm trees to the mountains in one day—it’s a good life.
Even if I did lose that stupid, amazing dream job.
Even if just when I thought I had life sorted out, I’m suddenly down on my ass again.
Mom didn’t reply to my text, but she’s already opened the door by the time I lock my car. She’s trying to smile but it isn’t really working, and when she hugs me she grips way too tight.
“Is this about that boy again?” She clutches my shoulders and searches my face. “I swear to god …”
“I can get the rifle,” Pop-pop offers from behind her, sounding as if he relishes the idea. “I’ve been waiting.”
I know he has. He’s been ready with the trigger since the day Peter left for his new girlfriend and didn’t have the balls to tell me to my face. Yeah, it hurt, but the self-pitying bullshit Peter wrote in his letter made it easier to get over him. A boy like that isn’t worth a felony charge for the best man I’ve ever met.
I manage a smile. “Peter’s been gone for half a year.”
“I can still get the rifle,” Pop-pop insists. I know he’d never do that. He’s too gentle, my Pop-pop. But it feels good to hear him say it, and to feel the scratch of his beardy kiss on my cheek.
“What happened?” Mom pushes, but Pop-pop swats her gently with his oven mitt.
“Let the girl eat first. Any more time in the oven and the mac and cheese will be lava.”
“Any more time and I’m going to die of stress,” Mom replies, but she doesn’t push it.
They let me finish dinner before they make me tell them what’s wrong. Pop-pop feeds me until I feel sick, and Mom pours me too much wine. I get to hear about everything else first. They’ve got in some early-season skiing. Pop-pop’s decided that seventy-five years young is the perfect age to start ice fishing. The hippy lady next door has given in to winter and stopped doing naked yoga in her yard.
It feels good to not think for a while about the mess I’m in. I remind myself I’m lucky to have this here: my family living exactly the same life they always have, welcoming me with open arms even when I’ve really fucked stuff up. Especially then.
Yeah, I miss having my own life. But I don’t miss Peter. I don’t even share the homicidal rage my family feel for the guy who walked out on their little girl for a better offer. Why get worked up about it?
Men always go.
It’s better to just forget about them and focus on my work.
What the hell am I going to do?
“Come to Laax.”
I’m still reeling from the fact that Alex picked up on the first ring. “What?”
“Laax. It’s in Switzerland. Come.”
I know where Laax is. You can’t be interested in competitive snowboarding and not know about it. I watch the Laax Open every year, holding my breath as one pro after another takes on the massive halfpipe. But knowing that Laax is some of the best boarding in Europe is not the most important thing.
“Switzerland?”
I swear I can hear Alex rolling her eyes. “Yeah. You know. Clocks. Political neutrality. Cows with bells.”
“I know what Switzerland is. I just don’t know why you’re telling me to come halfway across the world.”
“Because I love you and want to spend time with you, idiot.” But it’s not all the answer. Alex speaks very slowly as if she’s leading a child. “Laax is full of snow. Laax is full of snowboarders. You point expensive cameras at snowboarders for a living. Someone once told me you’re not all that bad at it.”
I look across my childhood room from where I’m snuggled in bed. The walls are covered with photos. Photos of me. Photos I took. There are a lot of snowboarders. But there are surfers, too, and motocross riders, and Polaroids from the summer Alex and I decided we’d be skater girls until I broke my wrist on our homemade death trap of a ramp.
“It’s not only snowboarders,” I object. My mind seems to have been so overwhelmed by what Alex is suggesting that I can only focus on the most insignificant detail. “I’m an adventure sport—”
“It should only be snowboarders,” Alex retorts. “They’re cute. And anyway, that film you helped out on did well, didn’t it?”
“The edit?” The proper snowboarding term sounds better for it. Film is a grand way to describe the five-minute YouTube video I made for a crew over the course of a week. “That was last season. I need to work.”
“Snowboarders,” Alex groans. “Snowboarders! You can work here. You need to get shots for that competition, don’t you?”
My heart plummets down into my stomach. Somehow in all of the stuff with Wild I never thought of Illuminations. The biggest action sports photography competition in the world, and I was counting on getting my winning photo through the work at Wild. I only have until March to submit. Just over three months to take the most important shot of my career so far.
No pressure, then.
Alex knows she’s getting to me. “You can also hang out with me,” she adds slyly, “and we can forget about all this stupid shit with cocktails and hot tubs. And snowboarders.”
Trust Alex to make it sound absolutely filthy. Not that it sounds like a bad idea. Or it wouldn’t have, all those years we had fun together. But after Peter …
“I’m not actually that interested in men at the moment.”
Alex makes a pssssh sound of exasperation. “Just because some asshole did you a favor and got out of your life doesn’t mean you have to let your vagina grow cobwebs. Like they say, the best way to get over one man …”
She always makes it sound so simple. Like it’s all fun and games. Like nothing could go wrong.
Anyway, it’s irrelevant.
“I don’t think you understand. I have no job. I don’t have any cash flow. I need to work out what the hell I’m going to do with my life. I’m lost.” I push on through the crack in my voice. “I can’t come to Switzerland, no matter how much I want to ride with you.”
“Ride.” Alex cackles like a witch. Luckily she’s too focused on her war of attrition to follow the tease further. Her voice
drops to a more serious note. “Hon, I know you have this weird thing about the money from your dad—”
“I don’t need Trent’s money.” The words snap out of me.
“So you’re going to let it grow mold in an account? Brooke, fuck him. Who cares if it’s his cash? The court gave it to you. It’s waiting to be used.”
The court gave it to Mom, actually, but I don’t correct Alex. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick. Anyway, I promised myself that if I touched it again it would only be for two things: work equipment, and a massive bottle of champagne to celebrate Wild hiring me.
So much for that.
“I’m not using it. Period. And I can’t use my savings, either. Not on a European holiday. What am I celebrating? Being fired?”
Alex sighs. I can hear her rustling about. It’s weird imagining her half a world away, tucked up under her own comforter. Missing her aches in my chest and twists in my tummy.
“You’ve had the shittiest few months, and I just want to take care of you.” Alex must be able to sense that I’m already opening my mouth. “No, hear me out. All you need to do is book flights and bring your board. You can stay in our apartment here. Jo won’t mind. She’s always off canoodling with her hubby, anyway. I’ll wine you and dine you. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
I begin to complain, but Alex clucks over me. “I’m serious. You know I can afford it, hon. Don’t make it weird.”
She’s right. Alex and Jo’s dad did something big in Hollywood before retiring to Mammoth, and they’ve always been able to afford anything. When we were kids it was games consoles and horses. Now it’s luxury trips all over the world, seeing elephants in Uganda and the northern lights in Finland.
And drinking thousand-dollar bottles of champagne.
For a moment I let myself imagine what their apartment must be like. What Europe must be like. I’ve always considered myself lucky, but never holidays to Europe lucky.