Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

If I kicked him now, I’m not sure either one of us would ever recover.

But goddamnit, I need to do something. Every fucking breath I take is like a knife in my windpipe, like shards of shattered glass working their way through my veins.

Only there’s nothing to do. Nothing to say. Nothing to stop the fucking nightmare Logan and I are locked inside. The knowledge is there, inside me, battering at my consciousness with every breath I take. Which is why, in the end, all I do is bend over and start picking up the cans that litter the coffee table. “You should probably go. I’ve got to work in the morning.”

“Ash—”

“I can’t—” My voice breaks under the strain of everything I don’t say. “Look, just go, okay?”

“Logan would understand, Ash. I know you don’t want to hurt him, but, fuck, man. You’re the best goddamn snowboarder I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, right. That’s why you’ve got two gold medals and I’ve got dick.” Shit. That came out sounding a lot more bitter than I intended it to.

“Yeah, well, if you want them, you need to stop acting like a pussy.” Z glares at me, arms spread wide in obvious challenge. “You need to get your ass back on that fucking snowboard and come and get them.”

Nice. No sympathy from my best friend. Which, actually, is really nice. I’ve been drowning in sympathy—from Ophelia, from Cam, from Luc, from Sarah, from everyone—for what feels like forever. “It’s not about the fucking medals, Z.”

“You think I don’t know that? If it was, I would have fucking given them to you a long time ago. But what this is about—which is you punishing yourself—doesn’t work, either. You’ve already changed your whole life for Logan. Has the kid gotten a raw deal? Absolutely. But you’ve been there for him through everything. From the moment he woke up in that hospital room, you’ve given up everything to be there for him. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up snowboarding, too. It doesn’t mean you have to give up who you are just so you can take care of him.”

His words ring through the room, seem to bounce off walls and echo all around me. Or maybe it’s just my own head they’re echoing in. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Either way, “Even if I wanted to snowboard again, it’s too dangerous. I can’t take that kind of risk, not now. Logan’s already lost Mom and Dad. What the hell would happen to him if I got hurt or died, too? Who would take care of him?”

Z doesn’t have an answer for that. I can tell by the way his eyes dart around the room, like he’s searching for inspiration. But he’s got nothing, because there is nothing. Nothing to say. Nothing to do. Oh, I know if something happened, my friends would do what they could, but the fact is all of them are boarders. They all do dangerous shit on a daily basis. He’d be no better off with them than he is with me.

“You should go,” I tell him, glancing at the clock in an effort to break the silence stretching between us. “Ophelia will be getting out of class soon.”

“I can stay. If you”—he clears his throat—“want to talk or something.”

“I think we’ve talked enough, don’t you?”

“Maybe. For now.” He looks a little relieved, and I don’t blame him. This talking about feelings and shit isn’t how either one of us normally operates.

“Shoot me that woman’s contact info and I’ll give her a call,” he tells me as he walks toward the door. “See if I can set something up with that kid. What’s his name?”

“Timmy.”

“Yeah, Timmy. I may not be the great Ash Lewis, but maybe he’ll take sloppy seconds.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Don’t be a douche.”

He grins before ducking out the door. “Hey, I’m just saying it how it is. Everybody looooves Ash. You’re sooooo dreamy.”

I flip him off before closing the door in his face. God, it’s fucking ridiculous how much I want a drink. And not a beer, either. A shot of whiskey—or three—would be nice right about now. Or a couple hits. Something, anything, to take the edge off.

“You lied to me.”

Fuck. I turn at the sound of my brother’s voice, to find him sitting in his chair at the edge of the foyer. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t you sleep?” I ignore the accusation he hurled at me, even as I desperately try to find an excuse that he’ll buy.

“Kind of hard to sleep with you and Z yelling at each other.”

Shit. I hadn’t realized we’d gotten that loud. “Sorry. Can I, uh, take you back to bed?”

“I can get myself back to bed,” he tells me, all fourteen-year-old attitude. “I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

“Of course I know that.”

He glares at me. “Besides, I don’t need help from a liar anyway.”

Goddamnit. “It’s not like that, Logan.”