For long seconds, I just stand there, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. Something did, obviously, and I’m wondering if maybe I should apologize, even though I don’t k
now what for. I mean, she thanked me for going down on her, so that can’t be what’s bothering her, right? So what—
My phone buzzes, interrupting my train of thought. I pull it out, check my texts to find that Logan’s awake and wondering where I am. Shit. I thought he’d be out for the night.
I fire back a quick response, then head down the corridor to the room we share. Figuring out what’s wrong with Tansy’s going to have to wait. Logan needs me.
We hit the half-pipe early the next morning, almost before the sun is up in the sky. Normally the resort doesn’t have a half-pipe—boarding Chile is all about the Andes—but Z hired someone to build one before we even got down here, and then made sure there was someone around who actually knew how to care for it and keep it in good condition. It seems crazy to think about him spending close to fifty grand on a half-pipe for a week, but then it’s no more crazy than what he’s spent on this whole trip.
I mean it’s awesome, and I’m glad to see him putting some of the money he inherited to use to help Timmy, but still, the half-pipe seems a bit excessive on top of everything else. Unless I take into account the rest of his agenda, which is much more about me than it is about Timmy. I know he did this for Timmy because he’s a good person and he helps where he can, but he also did this because he wants to get me back on a board permanently.
He wants to make me remember how much I love snowboarding. How much I love the thrill of riding backcountry and how I love barging the half-pipe even more.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m already there. Even after everything that happened yesterday—even after the avalanche and Logan’s panic and the fact that I was very nearly buried alive—I’d board backcountry again in a second. I’d do the Andes, the Alps, the Rockies. Hell, I’d even do the death traps of Patagonia again if it meant I got a chance to ride. I don’t really give a shit where I ride as long as I ride.
Which, of course, is exactly why I can’t do it.
I used to think I had goals, plans, ambitions for my boarding. Used to think I rode because I was good at it and because it would get me an X Games medal, an Olympic medal, give me a career I both enjoyed and was good at. But now that I’ve gone seven months without boarding, I know the truth.
I board because I’m a fucking junkie. A snowboarding junkie, an adrenaline junkie. It doesn’t fucking matter. I love everything about snowboarding, the good and the bad. The exhilarating and the terrifying. Even the insane.
Yesterday was no exception. Even in the middle of that fucking avalanche, when I thought for sure I was going to buy it, there was something amazing in the ride. Something that made me feel alive like nothing else ever has.
And that’s what Z doesn’t understand.
He’s an adrenaline junkie and the most fucking talented snowboarder I’ve ever met, but boarding isn’t in his blood. Not the way it’s in mine. He does it because it gives him a rush. I do it because I don’t feel alive if I’m not on a snowboard. I don’t feel much of anything.
For most of my life snowboarding was everything to me and I know—I know—how easy it would be to slip right back into that. How easy it would be to forget, just like I did yesterday.
To forget that my snowboarding killed my parents, paralyzed my brother.
To forget that I’m responsible for Logan.
To forget how much he needs me.
To forget … everything.
I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever again. Which is why I’m going to do this week for Timmy, but that’s it. Once I get back to Park City, I’m getting rid of my gear and hanging up my snowboard boots forever.
It’s the only way.
“Hey, Ash, you ready, man?” Luc nods to the half-pipe. “It’s your turn.”
“Yeah.” I pick up my board, start the short, steep hike to the deck of the pipe while trying to look like I don’t give a shit about anything. Like my fucking stomach isn’t sinking through the ground and the thought of giving up snowboarding forever makes it hard to breathe. Hard to think.
But Timmy didn’t come all the way down here for a front row seat to my identity crisis, so I paste a smile on my face as I pass him. I even pause to bump fists with him on the way up, to ruffle his hair a little. He grins at me and I grin back. I can’t help it. The kid’s happiness is fucking infectious. Not to mention it puts all my shit in perspective. I may never get to snowboard again, but this kid—this kid is never going to get to grow up. Hell, he’s not even going to see his next birthday.
“Good luck up there, Ash!”
“Thanks, man. Any special requests?”
Timmy’s eyes go wide at the question. “Can you do a YOLO flip? I mean, if you can’t, it’s fine but—”
“That’s more Z’s specialty,” I say, cutting him off before he gets too wound up. “But I’ll try. Fair enough?”
“Yeah. That’d be totally sick!”
I turn to my brother, who’s sitting next to him on the bench. Logan’s smiling, too, though not as widely as Timmy. “How about you? Anything you want me to throw down out there?”