Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

“Well, then, get up there!” she tells me, giving me a little push toward the pipe. “I want to see a backside rodeo 1080 done the hard way. And maybe even a Lando-roll or two.”

My mouth literally falls open, as do Cam’s and Logan’s and even Timmy’s.

“What?” Tansy asks after a second of being stared at like she grew an extra head.

“I just—I didn’t know you followed snowboarding,” I tell her.

She smiles serenely. “I’m pretty sure there’s a lot about me you don’t know, Ash.”

“She’s got you there,” Cam says with a laugh, even as she links arms with me and starts dragging me up the edge of the pipe.

I can’t help looking back at Tansy as we climb. She’s settled herself between Timmy and Logan, an arm around each of their shoulders. And she must be telling a joke or making fun of me or doing something funny, because the boys are literally howling with laughter.

I can’t help smiling along with them, just because it’s good to see my brother so happy. Tansy, too, especially after the way last night ended.

She didn’t seem weird when she came up to me down there, which I have to admit I was expecting after that strange, awkward walk back to her room last night. I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what I want to do about her. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, don’t have time to be distracted from Logan and all the factors that go into his recovery.

At the same time, holding Tansy—kissing her, going down on her—was incredible last night. So much better than fucking random snowbunnies like I’ve been doing for the last seven months. And if this was a different time or Logan and I were at a different place in our lives, I would be all over Tansy. All over trying to make something work between us.

But it isn’t a different time and it isn’t a different place and the last thing I should be thinking about is a girl who smells like vanilla and tastes like the sweetest, smoothest sugar. The last thing I should be doing is wondering how to get her into bed.

And yet I am.

Now, she’s down there with my brother, teasing him, making him laugh, getting along with him better than I have since the accident.

I don’t know how I feel about that any more than I know how I feel about her.

By the time I get to the top of the pipe and strap my board on, I’m more confused than I’ve been in months. I glance back down at where Tansy sits with Logan and Timmy, watch as she leans into my brother and whispers something in his ear that makes him smile hugely.

She’s right. There’s a lot about her I don’t know. A lot about her I want to know.

Chapter 16

Tansy

I flop down on my bed, close my eyes and pray for the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole. Or for an avalanche to come and bury me. Or for one of the volcanoes this region is known for to erupt and burn me alive with lava. Any of that—all of it—would have to be easier than facing Ash again.

It’s ridiculous. I’ve spent my whole life fighting cancer and I’m going to end up dying of humiliation. Karma really is a bitch.

I mean, I’ve seen Ash all day, have faced him all day. I even managed to talk to him when he was making such a hash of things with Logan out on the half-pipe. But that was different—he was flailing around so pathetically that I had to do something to save him before the whole day went down in flames.

Besides, it was easier when Timmy and Logan were there. They’re both young enough that they really don’t pick up on things below the surface. For example, they didn’t notice the way Ash kept looking at me, kept trying to catch my eye. The way his eyes kept searching mine, like he was trying to figure out what was going on in my head.

Part of me wanted to reassure him that I was fine. That just because he gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life—and then rejected me (and can I just ask how bad was I at the whole hand job thing that he not only turned me down but he actually pried my hand off his dick)—doesn’t mean that I feel awkward around him. And it doesn’t mean that I’ve suddenly fallen in love with him. Sure, I’m already the pathetic girl who agreed to sleep with him when it turns out he wasn’t even offering—I probably should have learned my lesson then—but that doesn’t mean I’m painting pictures in my head of us living happily ever after. It doesn’t mean that I expect anything from him—he has more than enough on his plate right now. And sure, maybe I have a teeny, tiny, little crush on him, but come on. Who wouldn’t? The man has a seriously talented tongue.

Still, I better get a handle on this and fast, because while I’ve spent most of today avoiding him, I have a feeling that shit isn’t going to fly tomorrow. Not if the way he was looking at me at dinner tonight was any indication. Again, not that I’m surprised. Ash isn’t exactly the kind of guy to just let things go, happy to ignore whatever he doesn’t want to deal with. No, he’s the kind of guy who meets life head-on, who takes whatever life hands him and finds a way to face it or deal with it or accept it—whatever needs to be done—and then moves past it.

It’s one of the things I admire most about him. Well, that and the way he’s trying so hard with his brother. And the fact that, despite all his objections, despite all the reasons he had to cancel, he came on this trip because he couldn’t stand to disappoint Timmy.

Okay, maybe I have more than a teeny, tiny crush on him. Maybe I have a huge crush on him. But that’s okay. It’s still manageable. Still controllable. And as long as I don’t throw myself at him again—and make him literally rip my hand off his cock in an effort to get away from me—surely things will be okay. Surely I won’t have to toss myself into a volcano. Right?

Right?

Oh, God, what I wouldn’t give to have my bitch boots back. I could totally face Ash without flinching if I was wearing those. Then again, I’d give anything to be the kind of girl who actually wears clothes like that on a regular basis. Who feels comfortable in them. Who owns them, and the attitude that comes with them.

I loved that look, but to be honest, I didn’t feel any more comfortable in ripped jeans and leather than I do in hipster clothes and flower crowns. In fact, nothing I’ve tried so far feels right. Nothing feels like me, or like I think I should feel.

Rolling over, I bury my face in my pillow and scream my confusion and frustration straight into it. It’s a trick my mom taught me years ago when the pain of chemo got too bad, or when the unfairness of having to stay inside and rest got to me when all the other kids in the neighborhood were riding bikes and skateboards in the sunshine.