Ride Page 9

  It’s late when I pack up my backpack and head toward the youth hostel. I’ve spent hours in a little family-run restaurant, first eating and then nursing a string of sugary black coffees while I worked on the edit. There’s some great footage, but taking it is only half the battle—then there’s cutting it apart and stringing it together into something that’ll get millions of views on YouTube. My wrists and back ache from so much time hunched over my MacBook.

  I’m not in a rush to get back to the hostel. My room is full of recently-teenage guys who hardly seem to shower. Last night one of them brought a girl back and fucked her right there in his bunk, which would have been funny if I hadn’t just seen Chase walk off with someone else.

  Not that I cared. I guess I just thought Chase could at least have been polite to me if he was willing to be nice to some random girl to get under her skirt.

  Today, though … What was that? Just sitting in silence, and then an apology.

  There are so many things I expect of professional boarders. The parties, the women, the competition between athletes doused in testosterone. Chase embodies all the things a pro adrenaline junkie is meant to be. I’ve seen it on his Instagram, in interviews, in his film parts.

  But I’ve seen something else, too. Something I can’t quite fit with the rest of him. It was there in the silence and stillness today. It was there the first time we rode together, when he said that it cleared his head to be alone on the powder.

  Beyond the thrills and the fame, Chase looks at the mountains the way I do.

  There’s someone sitting on the little snow-covered wall beside the hostel’s entrance. I’m so deep in my own thoughts I don’t realize who it is until the man stands up, long legs unfolding to lift him to his true height.

  I look up, up, up into Chase’s eyes.

  “Twice in a day?”

  It’s meant to sound clever. It doesn’t really. My mouth is dry and my voice sounds unsure.

  The only hint of Chase’s emotion is a twitch of tension at the edge of his mouth. “Still no axe murder.” He tilts his head toward the hostel. “You’re really staying here?”

  “Yes?” I search his face for what he means. “Who told you?”

  “JJ,” Chase says, like it doesn’t really matter. I did speak about it with him earlier today—I had to share the fucking-neighbor story with someone.

  “Well, yeah.” I gather my voice stronger. “I am staying here. Is there a reason you’ve come to visit?”

  Chase just looks at me. The man has a stare like no one I’ve ever seen. Like he’s unaware that it’s rude.

  Or like he doesn’t care.

  “I’ve come to get you,” he says finally. “Hanne wants you to stay in her apartment.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Hanne’s told me about the apartment. She might love riding with the boys, and they might be her crew, but she said she’d heard too many horror stories to bunk with them. Apparently she’d rather eat her own foot than share a bathroom with Hunter. So she found her own place, a swanky apartment in the same building as Alex’s old suite.

  “I don’t need to move. I’m fine here.” But my pride isn’t speaking that much louder than how much I want to get out of the hostel. There’s only so much you can take when it comes to the smell of day-old booze seeping out of too many pores.

  “This is a shithole,” Chase says blandly. “You’d have more fun with Hanne.”

  It’s the last-ditch attempt by my pride to take control of this situation. Why am I embarrassed? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with staying in a hostel. I’m a photographer, not an investment banker.

  Or a pro snowboarder.

  “I’ve paid for the week.”

  Chase shrugs. “You don’t have to go. It’s all the same to me.” But. There’s a but. His carelessness isn’t quite convincing. “Hanne’s is free. It doesn’t change anything. Except,” he gives a disdainful eye to a few of the guys coming out, “who you’re staying with.”

  I want to argue with him. I want to stand on my own two feet.

  But a bed that doesn’t smell like the last guy who slept in it … That might be nice.

  Chase must be able to tell that I’m relenting. It’s mildly infuriating, the thoughtless confidence with which he reaches for me. His hand presses at my shoulder like it’s a thing he’s always been allowed to do.

  “Go on.” The light pressure of his broad palm seems to burn even through all of my winter-weight layers. “I’ll carry your bags.”

  For some stupid reason I can’t resist the push of his hand.

  While I’m packing I decide that there’s no way Chase is carrying my stuff, but somehow there’s no argument once I’m outside again. His hand brushes mine as he reaches for the strap of my backpack, heavy with the weight of my cameras.

  When my grip tightens about it he looks up to me, his eyes ticking between mine with a slow deliberation.

  “I’ll be careful,” he says, steady and calm. “Trust me.”

  Trust him.

  Do I?

  Very slowly I loosen my grip on the bag.

  He insists on taking my suitcase, too. He swings it over his other shoulder as if it doesn’t weigh anything. All that hard-earned muscle takes fluid possession of my things with an animal grace.

  It leaves me with only my board bag. I grip its handle tight in one hand, dragging it along behind us over the salt-sprinkled slush. It makes an uncanny sound in the empty alpine air, a rumbling whir broken only by the crunching pad of our feet.

  It’s an uphill walk to the apartment block, but Chase seems to take it in his stride. He also seems to be happy not talking. He moves beside me in total silence, and when I peek sideways he’s simply staring ahead, his face that same placid blank as ever. Not quite friendly. Not quite angry. Just … there.

  The familiar building is nestled in the center of the village, right beside the ski lift. Chase is silent as he nods to the concierge. He doesn’t even talk to me as we stand awkwardly silent in the elevator, watching the indicator lights rising from lobby to eight.

  “Brooke! Finally.”

  I’m so swept up in Hanne’s bear hug that I forget to look after Chase for a few moments. When I turn to thank him I see that he’s already heading down the corridor, raising one hand in a lazy wave.

  “Catch you tomorrow, Hanne. Brooke.”

  Hanne barely waves back before she’s yanking me inside. It takes me a moment to remember my manners.

  “Thank you so much.”

  Hanne waves a hand. “Who cares. That room is just empty, anyway.”

  “But it’s so nice of you to invite me.”

  Hanne shrugs as if it’s all the same to her. “Thank Chase. He was the one who got his panties in a twist about you staying in that dump.”

  11

  I don’t get much time to think about Chase’s lie. Hanne’s busy showing me about the apartment, forcing a mug of hot chocolate into my hand.

  “This is your room—don’t worry about the traffic cones, it’s a long story …”

  It’s only when I lie in bed, listening to Hanne’s awful singing as she puts away the dishes, that I allow myself to think of him.

  Why would he do that for me? Why would he go out of his way to check that I’m okay?

  I’m stupid to think it was for me at all. Probably he just doesn’t want his crew’s photographer to be seen staying in the cheapest accommodation going. Maybe that would be a blow to his pride.

  It’s easier to imagine Chase’s pride being hurt than anything else.

  I fall asleep remembering his mouth, roughened with want, over my neck. All that distance melted away by the heat of his desire.

  The next morning filming is set for late: Hanne and JJ are going to the boarding school again. Laax’s Snow School is a permanent, freestanding building at the bottom of the slopes. I’ve seen it before from the outside, but only when Hanne googles it for me over breakfast do I see what it’s really like. It’s absolutely huge, desig
ned for making more pro snowboarders. Everything inside is intended to help the kids with their tricks. There’s a skateboard park, since so many of the principles are the same—most snowboarders tried skateboards first. One jump goes into a foam pool that’s a kiddie version of the huge inflated crash bags the pros put at the end of halfpipes to try out new, dangerous tricks.

  I’m coming along to get photos for the center’s social media, as well as Hanne and JJ. I’m not surprised that Hunter isn’t here—he probably took the chance to go out last night. I’m a bit more surprised not to see Chase as the other “old” one. He didn’t come yesterday, either—he was chasing me.

  I can understand if he doesn’t like kids. Plenty of people don’t. But this is priceless PR, and their sponsorship companies have sent over kit for them to give out to the students. It’s a big deal.

  And yet Chase isn’t here.

  As Hanne and JJ are swarmed by a crowd of kids, I’m left with the snow school’s manager.

  “Can I get you anything? You can set up here.” She has the same flawless English that all of Laax’s European residents seem to have, only the faintest edge of a crisp Swiss accent in her voice.

  “A coffee would be amazing. Do you know if this is everyone who’s coming?” I hope that I make it sound casual.

  The woman smiles back. “Yes, both Hanne and JJ. They’re very generous to us.”

  They are. I can’t help but smile as I watch them. Hanne mimes a terrible crash for some enthralled preteens. JJ picks up a little girl for a photo, perching her in the crook of his arm and tweaking her nose to break her shyness to giggles.

  The two facts swirl in my mind uneasily as I get set up for my photos. That Chase apparently did a kind thing for me yesterday—maybe—and that he isn’t here, when this is such an easy kindness.

  I quickly forget about it. I’m busy getting shots of Hanne skateboarding with the kids, and JJ posing for photos with children whose helmet stickers now match his.

  Later, when we’re packing up, Hanne seems to be in an advanced state of bliss. Even the job of collecting and repacking the surplus sponsor stickers can’t wipe the grin from her face.

  “Wasn’t that awesome?” She waves a roll of packing tape around to indicate the event at large. “And they organize this. When the three of us were kids we had to go after the pros ourselves. This one time when I was like, sixteen, we saw Trent Hadley go into a bar back in Breckenridge. We camped out in JJ’s car for five hours to get his autograph when he came out.”

  My Trent defenses are so good that Hanne doesn’t seem to notice the stutter in my smile. Nostalgia softens her face. “We got in so much shit when we all got back home. It was worse than when Chase got his first tattoo. I thought his mom was going to explode.” After a sigh her grin turns wry. “But perhaps it’s for the best the kids don’t have to get grounded anymore, huh.”

  This time my smile is genuine. “Probably. And JJ’s great with them.” I nod to where he’s dangling a little boy upside down from his ankles as the kid squeals with joy and the cooler preteens watch enviously.

  Hanne hums to herself, looking over with something suddenly sad on her face. I can’t quite catch what it is before she fixes her smile back on me. “JJ’s always wanted kids. But since his ex left him …”

  I’m surprised—in my experience pro snowboarders only have babies by mistake—but more than that, I’m interested. Here’s an explanation for all that bitterness JJ let slip on the slope the other day.

  Hanne shakes her head as if to clear the thought. “Maybe best not to mention that to him. He’ll go as weird as Chase.” She raises one hand to twirl a finger beside her ear. “Raquel really screwed with his head.”

  Chase. This is my chance to ask about yesterday. About today. I clear my throat as I look back down to my sorting of my photography gear.

  “He doesn’t usually come to stuff like this? Chase.”

  I expect Hanne to snort, or to laugh. Yeah, he’s a dick like that. But instead she hides her face with her coffee mug, holding it there for so many swallows that it’s surely deliberate.

  Her face is carefully blank once she puts the mug down again. “Nope. Are you ready, then?”

  Chase is there for the filming later in the morning. The others leap up in a gaggle of good-natured teasing and laughter, but he’s slower to get to his feet. As he brushes snow from his ass he scrapes slowly over the slope toward us, tiny movements of all those expert muscles taking perfect control of his slide. He comes to a stop close to me, tilting his jaw upward in the faintest acknowledgement.

  I feel so many complex things as I look at him. I want to say: Why were you there yesterday? and, Why weren’t you there today?

  But instead I give him my own cool smile back.

  So many days into filming it’s routine. This time we go off-piste high up the mountains. It’s more challenging work for me, and I relish it. It’s one thing to do the static shots, where I stay in one place and film the crew coming off ledges or twisting past me through the trees. It’s another to do dynamics, when I’m boarding along beside them.

  I feel so confident doing this. I’m in my element. I’m good enough. I’m great.

  I’m seizing all of my dreams.

  We meet at the bottom of the slope once the gathering clouds kill the light. The others peek at the previews of some of the photos before bit by bit they begin to peel off. JJ’s booked himself a sports massage down in town. Hanne wants to have a bath before dinner. Hunter’s got a hot date with blonde #863.

  And Chase …

  Chase is just standing there. Waiting.

  I finish putting my camera away carefully, assuming he’ll leave. He doesn’t. When I straighten again he’s still there, looking out over the mountains.

  I lick my lips. “Hanne told me. That it was you, who wanted me there.”

  I can see Chase stiffen. It’s subtle, given how wrapped up he is, but it’s there. Beneath his snow jacket the lines of his body turn rigid.

  Finally he shrugs, though it doesn’t do much to remove the tension over him. His head tilts back toward me, eyelids lazily dipping as he looks over my face. “Hanne invited you. I just suggested it.”

  Even though I knew that, it still makes my stomach flip. Primarily because I’m an idiot, apparently.

  What can I say? There’s only, “Thank you.” It sounds too quiet. An embarrassing prickle tingles at my cheeks.

  I’m not used to guys doing things like that. My ex wasn’t big on gestures. Peter wasn’t an asshole, not until the end. But he wasn’t exactly Mr. Considerate either.

  Chase tilts his head toward the peak. “You looked good up there. You can really ride.”

  The prickle is only getting worse. Oh, god, I don’t want Chase to know he can make me blush. I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. “Been doing it for a while. I grew up in Mammoth.”

  “Mammoth,” Chase repeats. “I like it there.”

  For a moment the ground wobbles beneath me. The distance between my past and my present opens up beneath my feet, the vertigo making my head spin. When I was a teenager I went to watch Chase in every Mammoth competition he rode in. I stood at the bottom of the pipe and felt my heart flip-flop as I watched him fly through the air. Even hearing his name announced made me shiver. Chase Austin, USA. I can still feel what it was like to be so close to an icon.

  And now I ride with him.

  We’re so alone up here. There are people coming off the chairlift a hundred-odd feet away. There are others continuing to board and ski down the piste. But here, in this flat open space, there’s only us.

  I still have one question. But Chase beats me to it.

  “You wanna run down from here together?” He sounds so casual when he says it. The word together makes my stomach twist.

  Chase Austin thinks I board well. He wants to board with me. Me, only me.

  I must be misreading this. I want to be misreading this. I can’t let anything happen. No matter how he’s lookin
g at me with that steady, endless blue gaze.

  It’s just a run, isn’t it? That’s fine. That’s not a thing.

  “Yeah,” I say, and hope the crack in my voice isn’t audible. “Why not.”

  We board until it gets dark. Last night’s powder might already have been ridden by other people, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it. We don’t discuss it. It’s better when we don’t talk. We just follow one route and then another before getting into the chairlift, one polite space left between us for the silence we carry.

  It should be awkward, but it isn’t at all. In a weird way it’s kind of perfect.

  How come when we don’t open our mouths we have such a good time together, and as soon as we speak something goes wrong?

  I realize quickly that Chase went easy on me last time. On some level I knew that, of course. But it’s clearer now. And it’s a thrill, to realize that now Chase thinks I’m good enough to keep up. He races ahead before slowing to twist about me. He takes jumps he really doesn’t need to, and when I get my own air he pauses below to watch me, his expression hidden by his goggles.

  The feeling of flying is all mixed up with the feeling of being watched, and my heart is racing even faster than it needs to be.

  I don’t want the day to end. I only realize it when we’re on the final run, all of the challenging stuff behind us. Together we swoop down the slope in perfect synchrony, and I can’t keep from looking at him. Chase. He’s magical when he shreds.

  But it’s not that, not really.

  I’m the fucking idiot who’s falling for a colleague.

  I reach the bottom first, swooping down to a graceful slide turn. Chase is hunting after a few final little jumps, the ones that the kids dig for themselves which barely get you two feet off the ground. He looks like he’s having fun.

  I’m on my ass when he arrives, just unpicking the final bindings of my board. Chase pulls to a tight stop just in front of me, and I try not to let my gaze linger at his crotch before I tilt my head upward.