Igniting the Wild Sparks (38 page)

Josie says, “Eden texted me about seeing you dance. She loved it!”

Rod snorts. “She acted like she’d rather have a root canal than watch us again.”

Josie shakes her head. “Not true. You know her. She loves to tease you.”

“I know. I’ll miss it.”

Lizette puts her arm around Rod’s waist. “Greg, she’s okay.”

He whispers, “One day she won’t be.” We all stand in silence contemplating that.

That evening, Rod takes me back to the creek where we sit in the middle of the waterfall again. This time, we stopped for milkshakes beforehand.

“Thanks again for the shake.”

“Well, you know what they say. Ice cream makes the whole fucking world a better place to be.”

I giggle
around my straw. “I’ve never heard of
that
before.”

He
says as he nods, “I think that’s the National Dairy Council’s campaign slogan.” We both giggle and slurp on our shakes, Rod doing it louder than the sound of the splashing water.

I ask him, “You know what the ironic thing is?”

“That cows eating ice cream is like women drinking their own breast milk?”

I never knew you could choke on melted ice cream before. I cough and snort,
which makes him snort. I gasp, “Where do you come up with this shit?”

“I don’t know.
It’s just there in my brain.” He shifts on his boulder and asks, “What’s ironic, Alanis?”

“This is Fayetteville.”

“Yep. Named for General Marquis de Lafayette. It’s funny how Lafayette was in Richmond at one point and then down here in Fayetteville, kind of like us. Fort Bragg and Pope Air Force Base are here, but we also have one of the highest property crime rates in the country. I still think of it as home. I just have to remember to fucking lock my damn truck, like that’ll really help.”

“Fayetteville,” I repeat. “That’s where Finn’s bridge is in West Virginia. Fayetteville.”

Rod’s eyes expand. “Oh. Well now,
that’s
disturbing.”

I nod
in agreement. “A little.”

He squints as he looks at me. “Have you called him?”

“Not last night. He didn’t call me, either. I’m going to leave in the morning.”

“I’ll follow you up since E is doing better. Our game is at 3:00.”

“That’ll be interesting,” I mutter.

“Very.”

Finn had better not fight with Rod. I don’t want to argue with him as soon as he sees me, but I know that’ll be unavoidable. I’ll definitely have to talk to him before the game.

As if he’s reading my mind, he says,
“Wilder won’t start a fight with you in front of people.”

“Just when he gets me alone.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“No. I need to get to him first.
I doubt he even lets me play. He’ll bench me to show how mad he is.”

“I’ll be right there with you
, probably.”

“
No. He won’t let us sit near each other. He threatened to kick me off the team if I keep bringing up shortstop. He can’t really kick me off the team, can he?”

“No.
I asked him to coach. If he wants to leave, he can.”

“
He gave me an ultimatum, Greg. Shortstop or him.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, but I can’t fault him too much. I told him it was the fucking bridge or me.”

“I doubt he’d really see that threat to the end, though. He wouldn’t give you up even if you punched out Brandon and took shortstop. He’d be pissed off and pout, but he’d eventually let it go. You really do have him whipped, so don’t worry about him leaving you.”

I apologetically shake my head. “I know you’re going through a rough time. I shouldn’t be bothering you with all of this shit.”

“
You’re going through a rough time, too. Go home and make up with Wilder. I’m sure he’ll be open to that…multiple times.”

“Finn can wait. I’m still pissed that he lied and then announced on TV that he’s flinging himself off that fucker. I dare him to miss me and sweat it out.”

Rod stupidly grins. “That’s my fake girlfriend.” I laugh and he asks, “Are you still gonna propose to him after Morgasm’s wedding?”

I shrug.
“Right now I want to put a noose around his neck and push him off his bridge.” I irritably sigh. “I still want to ask him. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“He made some mistakes, but he loves you. Talk it out.” He pulls his leg up from the water, props his wrist on his knee and peers over at me. “The wedding is a week away. Are you nervous about askin’ him?”

“Yeah, I am. If he can’t make it, I don’t know when and where I’ll do it. I guess I’ll have to plan something else.”

He snaps his fingers and bounces
excitedly on the rock. “I know! Take him to Fayetteville, West Virginia. I hear there’s a gigantic bridge there that he’ll like. Propose to him on it and if he hesitates even for a second, push the bastard off. He’d go out doin’ exactly what he loved to do.”

I grin at his wickedness. “You are so evil and twisted. I love how you think, Greg Rodwell.”

His brown eyes twinkling in the sun, he shrugs as his stupid grin returns. “I hang out with some real bitches. I’ve learned from the best.”

CHAPTE
R 18

FINN

I turn from Rory
Talbot to look into the camera.
Smile, Wilder.
People are watching.

“I want to remind everyone planning on attending the Fayetteville Bridge Day Festival on the New River Gorge Bridge that registration for BASE jumps begins July 3
rd
. So, don’t forget to get registered prior to the festival.”

In my earpiece, Drake asks, “Hey,
Finn. You haven’t jumped in the past few years. Are we ever going to get to see you do it again?”

Breaking from my news-
mode consciousness, I remove my attention from the camera and freeze as I consider his question. Do I want to jump?
Hell, yes
. It’s only legal once a year, so I’ve missed out on my only opportunities—repeatedly, since you can jump all you want that one day. Instead, I’ve had to cover the event standing on the sidelines like an average, fucking spectator, watching everyone else BASE jump, while fielding nonstop questions about why Richmond’s Finn Wilder is abstaining yet
again
this year. It’s a good thing Hank is leery of me jumping off anything because he’d be suspicious, if he isn’t already, by chance. I’ve had to make up excuses to fans who asked why I couldn’t jump: back spasms and sinus cold. The first year Becks and I were together, I jumped and nearly ended our relationship.

However, there’s nothing
stopping me now because apparently, the previous rules have been thrown out the car window at 90 mph.

Feeling the sudden, hastening thrill
brewing like a storm in my gut from the thought of jumping from my bridge again, I purposefully look back at the camera and affirm, “Yeah. As a matter of fact, I
am
doing it this year.”

Not expecting that answer, Drake says,
“You are? That’s great!”

I smile
into the camera at his response, although I know that I’m in for an immense fight, and eagerly nodding as the weight of my declaration sets in more. “Yep. I am. I can’t wait. It’s been way too long.”

Drake asks, “Did someone dare you to
jump?”

I
vaguely answer, “You could say that.” Indirectly dared me, I suppose.

“Can you tell us who?”

Keep smiling. That person just might be watching
. “Uh, I’d rather not this time.” Drake says something else, but I don’t hear him. My mind is buzzing. When I’m cleared, I switch off my mic and exchange a few more trivial things about white water rafting with Rory. We then shake hands and I work on removing the mic attached to my clothes.

“Are you serious
, Finn?” Milo skeptically asks.

Not looking up as I work on the wire, I
reply with my own question, “Serious about what?”

“New River?”

I warily glance up at him and shrug as I unclip the pack. “Yeah. Why not?”

“
Because I practically had a coronary!” He then deliberately pats my chest, over my tattoo. “And because of that.”

I moodily arch my eyebrow.
“So?” As I hand the mic off to Kyle, I observe people milling around the park as the crew packs up around us. There are some curious onlookers, but nobody approaches us, which is good because I’m not in a sociable mood at the time being. I reach into my polo pocket and pull out my sunglasses, deciding to put them on just in case, not that I’m staying long anyway.

Milo says,
“You had told me that you won’t be jumping from it again because you were asked
not
to.”

I mumble,
“Things change.” He follows me as I walk to the cooler to grab a bottle of water. Something harder will have to wait until I get back to my apartment tonight.

“
Oh, no, Finn.” Milo gloomily deduces from my pleasant disposition. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Snapping open the bottle lid, I say, “No.
Not particularly.”  I take a swig and look around us to escape his incisive stare that even my sunglasses can’t thwart. Still feeling his sharp inspection, I curtly shrug to cast it off that way. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Milo puts his hand on my shoulder
, and I reflexively look at him. He says, “Why don’t we go grab some beers?” Beer won’t do. I need to get plastered hard and fast, just like last night.

I pivot
and dodge his concerned face again. “No, thanks. I have plans. I need to get going.”

“Okay.
Well, let me know if you change your mind or want to anytime.”

“Yeah, sure,” I evasively
agree, twisting the cap onto my water. “See you later.” I brush past a few people and stride to my car. Today was supposed to be my day off, spending it in Kentucky with Becks, but after that fucking letdown, I called Hank and asked him if there were any interviews pending that I could pick up this week, needing to keep my mind busy, and as tempting as it sounds, drinking the entire day away is counterproductive. I need to be sober long enough to get some shit done and not lose my job. Nevertheless, that hasn’t stopped me from sneaking a few sips before I go live on Air to loosen me up.

As I walk, I yank
my phone out of my jeans and call Ricky. When he answers I spout, “We still on?”

“Yeah, man.
You sure?”

“Yep. Pick me up in 20. My place.” I hang up and unlock my car.

There are 12 of us in line. Ahead of me, Ricky is next, but before he can go, I spontaneously cut in front of him and zealously leap out of the C90 Super King Air. The blast of air encompassing every molecule of my body cushions me like I’m floating on an inflatable raft in incredibly choppy water. This is the best cure for all my woes. The only thing I think about is the speed whooshing around and through me, while the air exploding in my ears submerges the incessant thoughts overrunning my brain. The adrenaline coursing through my blood gives me the ecstasy I’m frantically searching to find.

Yes. I’ve been
secretly skydiving again. And yes, as I was accused of doing, it’s been awhile, not two years yet. I tried giving it up and I did for seven months; however, with the building guilt constantly taking ahold of my life and the stress from recent events, I’ve done what many other recovering addicts have done: I relapsed. I needed a hit. It’s six to eight minutes of pure bliss.

D
amn it.
Bliss.

I started diving again in the spr
ing of last year. When I told Ricky I wanted to start going up again, he was excited, yet skeptical. He asked 20 fucking questions about my motives behind it. I told him I need that shot of adrenaline to make me forget my problems since other distractions weren’t working for me. Alcohol, but I’d rather be on a high than a low. Sex. Even that has become too complicated, thought provoking, and even more hazardous than BASE jumping. I also need a partner for that, but she’s the reason for my guilt, and plays a role in the complications I’m trying to escape.

We started
small, maybe once a month, but then it kept increasing. I had to be careful because too many absences on the weekend draw too much attention. This week alone, I’m working on four since we have two more scheduled.

This is one of my favorite feelings in the world, to jump out of a plane at 13,500 feet
, watching the world beneath me as I free fall at120 mph, which is the terminal velocity of a human being. I sense God up here.

Still, the New River Gorge Bridge further ups the ante. Although it’s only a 876-foot plunge, BASE
jumping is
far
riskier than skydiving. You have to be lightning quick with the chute since the fall is shorter. There is
zero
margin for error or you’re dead. Goodbye, cruel world. And since the descent is so much shorter, many jumpers, including myself, don’t usually pack a reserve parachute. There’s no use for one. By the time I’d notice there’s a problem with the main canopy, it’d be too late. The adrenaline is an in your face, hard punch. There are also not a lot of places where you can jump legally because it’s so dangerous. That’s why when I gave up New River, it was a definite blow. I used to look forward to that third Saturday in October like it was Christmas morning. I missed two years of BASE jumping.

Well, now I’m back.

After about 60 seconds of free fall and at 2500 feet, I pull the pilot chute, which drags out the main canopy and I’m jolted up as the powerful updrafts catch, filling the rectangular chute. I look up to check to see it inflated right and pull on the toggles connected to the lines to steer myself to the open field below, knowing Ricky is close behind. If my chute ever failed to open, my automatic activation device, or AAD, which is a little computer attached to me, would automatically deploy my reserve chute at 750 feet, if I fail to before then.

I land with low impact, as if I had been walking and stepped over a hole in the ground.
Listening to Ricky whooping behind me, I grin and release the canopy from the container on my back, savoring my high that will last for a little while, yet not long enough.

Amongst other
fellow divers landing, I hear Ricky yelling, “Real smooth, Wilder! You’re going to pay for that!”

Taking my pack off, I
taunt, “Yeah. I’m so scared, officer!”

“Rematch
, you dick!”

My grin is unwavering
. “You’re on, slowpoke!”

I grab the bottle of Jack to fill our glasses, sloshing some on the coffee table.

Ricky doesn’t move to grab his glass, but instead gawks at me. He says, “You know, we could’ve gone to a bar.”

“Nope. I’m good here. I’d rather not be bothered.”

He argues, “Yeah, but you don’t usually get totally wasted in public. Well, except for last month—” I glower at Ricky, slashing him with a hard glare, hoping he’ll just shut his damn mouth for once in his life. Succeeding, he takes a deep, breath and changes topics. “So, when are you going to talk about what’s going on with you? What happened?” Unfortunately, it’s another topic I don’t want to talk about.

“I already told you.” I look up at the living room clock for a distraction, but it only reminds me of where I would be right now had things gone differently yesterday.

“No, you didn’t. You showed up at my door 10:30 Tuesday night after you came home from your trip. I asked you what was wrong and you told me about your trip to Kentucky being screwed. That’s all you said before you raided my bar and got too trashed to care. I had to pry you up off the floor at 1:30.” His disapproval irks me and I look back to my drink. He says, “You wouldn’t talk to me about it on the car ride to the airstrip earlier, either. It’s obvious you need to talk, man.”

I raise my drink to my mouth, and over the lip of the glass,
I say, “No, I don’t. I’m good.”

He whacks my arm, which jostles
me, splashing JD down my chin. Holding the glass away, I angrily swipe at the dribbling drops of whiskey. “What the fuck, Ricky?”

“You’re really going to fucking blow me off? I
know
you. Better than almost anyone, or so I think. Talk!”