The Risk (Xtreme Heroes 1)
“Stop!”
Drake’s shout cut into Noah’s thoughts. He couldn’t remember ever hearing the man yell—and Noah had given him plenty of cause.
“Dude,” Noah said, “did you hear me? She stole my car. My new car.”
“She said you locked her out of the house. I just got off the phone with her. Said her keys are on your kitchen counter and you wouldn’t let her in to get them. It’s nine degrees outside, Noah. Did you seriously lock her out of your house?” he yelled again. “You have crossed the line, bro. She’s the best goddamned therapist in the state. Hell, maybe the country. She rehabbed Woods and Yzerman, Favre and Simms. That crazy bitch is your ticket back into the Games.”
“No, man,” he shouted in return, shaking with fury and confusion and, yeah, fear—that woman had just put the fear of God into him. “She’s the bitch who stole my car.”
“Damn you,” Drake yelled, followed by a string of curses even Noah had never heard. “I’ve pushed and pushed and pushed until you hit the top. Now I’m doing everything in my power to keep you there. I can’t make you stay. I can’t make you want to get back on that board. But let me tell you this: If you don’t make it to Aspen in February, you’re going to lose Epic’s sponsorship.”
Noah was breathing hard. He raised one knee and pressed his throbbing forehead there. “They won’t drop me.”
“They’re paying Julia to rehab you. What part of ‘They want you in Aspen, blowing the competition out of the powder’ didn’t you understand? They don’t like the progress you’ve been making on your own, and, dammit, neither do I.”
“Fuck Epic. I don’t need them. I’ve got other sponsors—”
“Reality check. If you lose Epic, you’ll lose Red Bull. If you lose Red Bull, you’ll lose Volcom. If you lose those three, you can kiss Monster and Vans and Life Force good-bye too. In case I’m not hitting the one brain cell you’ve got left, let me clearly explain that’s ninety percent of your income.”
“I’m going to be totally fine by February. I never had any fancy specialists before, and I’ve always bounced back.”
“You were younger before. You’re not twenty years old anymore. And you’ve never been hurt this bad before. Now you have a company willing to spend big bucks to repair you with a quality therapist. I strongly suggest you accept their generosity and soak up Julia’s experience and knowledge, because the alternative isn’t pretty.”
“This is so fucked—”
“Think long and hard about your next move, bro, because if you call the cops on a woman who was sent there to help you, a woman you agreed to work with, a woman you basically stranded in nine-degree weather by locking her out of your house because you’re too messed up to think straight, you will have all but trashed your career.”
Before Noah could respond, the line disconnected.
“Wait…Drake? Fuck!” Noah turned, dropped to his ass, and pitched the phone across the room. It hit the plaster and shattered, spewing plastic all over the carpet.
He raised both knees, rested his elbows there, and fisted his hands in his hair. His entire lower leg exploded in fire, and his head spun with everything Julia and Drake had just threatened—the loss of his career and, quite possibly, his leg.
Julia took another long drink of her hot tea and picked at the muffin on her plate while she stared at her phone. She’d checked all the job boards she normally scanned every day, but every new listing was no better than the job she’d had at Sunrise Manor.
She glanced through the window of Kelly’s Bakery at the snow swirling through the air. What the hell was she doing here?
“So damned stupid,” she muttered, letting her eyes close for a moment.
She knew better than to trust the people in this business. She never should have quit her job until she’d been one hundred and fifty percent sure she could work with this guy.
With a disgusted shake of her head, she opened her eyes to her phone and her boss’s number at Sunrise Manor already typed in. She just had to tap Send, and she could proceed to beg for her job back. But, man, the idea had wedged itself into her gut like a jagged rock.
The bell on the door tinkled, and Julia watched an older couple wander to the counter, offering hellos to friends sitting at other tables in the small space.
Her mind flitted through her options again, but after only a few minutes, the attempt to find another road out of this mess came back to the number on her phone. The sudden loss of her job at Performance Therapy had put a big strain on her bank account. The cost of living in San Francisco was ridiculously high, and she’d been digging into her savings just to make rent and gas and food—the savings she’d earmarked to fund her dream company. If she didn’t beg for her job back—and fast—her remaining savings would become dust in the wind.
And she’d be right back where she’d been the day Duncan walked away.
“Fucking Duncan,” she whispered to herself. “Fucking Phillips. Fucking Hunt. Fucking Drake.”
Fucking men.
Julia picked off another tiny corner of the muffin and muttered, “Just get it over with.”
She popped the muffin into her mouth and sighed as she stared at the green button on her phone with a sick twist in her gut. Her mind wandered back to the morning, back to Noah, and she shook her head. That guy was in serious denial. On one hand, she felt for him. She knew from personal experience how difficult accepting a life-changing injury c
ould be. On the other, that didn’t give him the right to act like an asshole.