Shattered: An Extreme Risk Novel (2 page)

As I straighten, I see Cam and Ophelia making their way through the throngs of spectators. Eyes wide, faces worried, they’re headed straight for me and I … I just can’t deal with any more concern right now. I feel like I can’t breathe, like their care is pressing down on me from every side. Smothering me. Drowning me.

“I gotta go,” I tell Luc.

He stiffens, eyes going wide in alarm. “Logan?”

Of course he’d think that. Of course he’d think something had happened to my little brother. Why else would I be walking away from this? From my dream?

I look around at the crowds, at the pipe that even now has another rider on it. At the snow that’s been as much a part of me as my blood for as long as I can remember. At my friends. At the Olympic coaches watching me from their booth at the top of the stands.

And I feel nothing.

“I gotta go,” I tell Luc again. This time, I toss my snowboard—my state-of-the-art Jones Aviator—at his feet.

He squawks in alarm, but I ignore it, ignore him—ignore everything—as I turn and walk
away. Behind me Cam is calling my name, trying to weave her way through the crowds, but I just walk faster. I’m done. More than done.

Snowboarding is my past. And my future … yeah, well, right now I don’t feel like I have one.

Nothing improves a shit day like fucking a snowbunny in the summertime. The fact that I never have to see her again makes it even better. At least that’s what I tell myself.

“Can I call you?”

I pause in the act of buttoning up my jeans to glance at the girl still pressed up against the wall. Her lips are swollen, her makeup smeared, her clothes disheveled. She’s got long blond hair and wide brown eyes. Big boobs and long legs sticking out from under her short, crumpled sundress. A pretty decent smile. And despite the fact that I just had my dick in her mouth, I can’t remember her name.

For a second, shame wells up. This isn’t me, a voice taunts from the back of my head. This whole careless, one-fuck stand thing isn’t who I am. I don’t treat women like this, never have. That was always more Z’s department.

Except—I watch as she puts her bra back into place, pulls the top up and the straps onto her shoulders—apparently I do now. Because I don’t know her name and I don’t want to. I don’t want her to call me and I sure as hell don’t want to call her.

I’ve got too much other shit to deal with right now. An anonymous fuck is about all I’ve got in me.

Still, I’m not such a douche that I say that to her. “Sure,” I tell her instead, running a careless hand through my hair as I rattle off my number. I glance around for my shoes before realizing that they’re still on my feet. I never even bothered to take them off.

“I gotta go, babe. Thanks for the—” I break off, gesturing to her red mouth and still shiny lips. “I’ll see you around.”

And then I’m gone, letting myself out of her hotel room and heading down the hallway. We’re on the top floor of the resort, but I don’t bother waiting for the elevator. It takes too long. Besides, these days, I’m not real good at inactivity. I like to keep going, keep moving. Makes it easy not to think. Kind of like anonymous fucking.

I take the five flights of stairs at close to a run, walking through the door of the employees’ lounge exactly two minutes and thirty seconds before my twenty-minute break is supposed to be up. That means I’ve got just enough time to—

“Hey, Ash. How’s it going?”

I turn at the sweet voice, see Ophelia standing next to me, her long, blond hair held back in a ponytail that’s already falling out. I smile cautiously. “Good, thanks. How are you?”

“Tired of smelling like coffee,” she says with an eye roll. “I swear, I need to get another job.”

I relax a little then, because she’s casual, normal. Not staring at me like her boyfriend, Z, does. She’s making conversation, not watching me like the rest of my friends. She’s not checking to see how I’m holding up. Not looking for cracks to exploit or signs that I’m falling apart.

“It could be worse. You could be stuck outfitting tourists with gear and teaching them how to climb.” That’s my job. It’s a far cry from shredding the pow with a dozen sponsors footing the bill, but these days, that’s exactly how I like it.

“Spoken like a man who hasn’t made one thousand, seven hundred and ninety-six lattes so far this week.”

“I’m a little terrified that you know the exact number.”

“Yeah, well, anal’s about a lot more than sex.”

I burst out laughing. I swear to God, I never know what’s going to come out of this girl’s mouth. No wonder Z’s so fucking crazy about her. “On the bright side, I’m sure I’ve fitted almost that many stinky feet for hiking boots this week.”

She pretends to gag. “Okay, you win.”

“Always do.”

Ophelia rolls her eyes again, starts out of the lounge. But then she turns, comes back, dives into me for a quick, hard hug. “You’re doing great,” she tells me. “Screw anybody who tells you differently.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me with stinging eyes and a hollow feeling in my chest. Fuck. The blow job upstairs was supposed to take care of this shit. If I’m not careful I’m going to turn into a total fucking pussy. One who can’t handle his shit. At all.

I grab a bottled water from the vending machine, then head down the hall to the rental shop. In the winter, it’s all about helping tourists get their snow gear—boots, skis, snowboards, helmets. I’m definitely not planning on being here for that. But in the summer, it’s not so bad. I rent out hiking boots, oars for the canoes, outdoor games and a bunch of other sun stuff. I also teach mountain climbing and run day hikes sometimes.

It’s not a great job, but it’s good enough. It keeps me outside a lot of the time, keeps me moving and busy. And most importantly, Alex, my manager, is pretty flexible about my schedule. Between all of Logan’s doctors’ appointments and his daily physical therapy, it’d be impossible to stick to something rigid.

My phone rings just as I duck behind the counter of the shop. Employee rules are we
can’t take calls while on the floor, but when I glance down, I realize the call is from Logan’s home health care aide. I don’t have a choice. I glance at Mandy, the girl who’s been working the counter with me all morning. She’s finishing off her shift—as soon as I get back from break, she gets to go home. But I have to take this.

She can see it in my face, and though she rolls her eyes a little, she motions for me to take the call. I mouth a quick
thank-you
, then dart back out to the hallway to answer.

“Yeah? Is everything okay, Sarah?” Even as I ask the question, my blood is turning to ice in my veins. She never calls me unless there’s a problem, so even as I ask, I know something’s not right.

“Everything’s fine,” she tells me in her soothing voice. Of course, that’s another clue that it isn’t—she only uses that tone when she’s getting ready to break the bad news.

“Where’s Logan?”

“He’s in the car, with me. He’s fine, but we had a little accident and I’m taking him in to Urgent Care to have him looked at.”

My palms start to sweat. “What’s wrong? His back?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have left him this morning, knew I should have stayed home. He wasn’t happy, wasn’t feeling right and—

“No, no, his back is fine. He was outside, shooting baskets, and he ended up losing his balance. He fell out of his wheelchair and hit his head pretty hard. The doctor and I agree he should have an X-ray.”

“Shooting—” I cut myself off before I spew obscenities all over her. What the fuck was my paralyzed brother doing outside, shooting baskets? “Where are you taking him? I’ll meet you—”

“No, you won’t.” Logan’s voice comes through the speakerphone. “I’m fine, man. Just finish work and I’ll see you at home later.”

“You’ll see me at the Urgent Care clinic in fifteen minutes—”

“Jesus, Ash. Stop fucking mother-henning me, okay? I’m good. Just a little bump. I wouldn’t even be going except Sarah wrestled me into the car.”

“I’m not arguing with you about this. Put Sarah back on the phone.”

“I’m here. And he really is fine, Ash. We’re just being cautious.”

“Are you taking him to the clinic on Maple? Or the one on—”

“If you take off work for this, I swear, I’ll put itching powder in every pair of underwear you’ve got. You know Luc and Cam will help me.”

“Logan—”

“Say good-bye, Ash.”

The phone goes dead, and though I call back—twice—nobody picks up. Goddamnit.
Stupid fourteen-year-old punk thinks he knows what’s best for everyone, even me. Especially me.

I take a deep breath, run my hand over my eyes as I try to get my shit back together. I need to go in there and try to charm Mandy into staying late so I can get to the doctor’s. She’s done it for me before—three times this month alone—and I hate to ask it of her. But Logan’s been my responsibility ever since my parents died. I have to be there for him. I have to.

Except Mandy takes one look at my face when I walk in the shop and starts shaking her head. “I can’t today, Ash. I can’t. I have to take my grandma to the doctor.”

Shit. “Yeah, of course. Go. I’ve got this.” I look at the short line of guests in front of me and want to hit something. I feel like I’m being drawn and quartered, pulled in so many different directions at the same time that I’m beginning to rip straight down the middle.

“You want me to call Alex?” she asks as she ducks out from behind the counter. “See if he can take over?”

“Nah. He’s not here right now, anyway.”

She hesitates. “Is Logan okay? I mean, maybe I can—”

I force a smile that I don’t feel. But she’s a good friend and I don’t want her to feel guilty for something that totally isn’t her fault. “He’s fine. Fell out of his wheelchair, but he’s fine. He’s with Sarah and I’m just overreacting.”

She relaxes. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

She leaves and I turn to help the next people in line. It’s an easy rental—they want some sports equipment and a stroller—but I’m so busy worrying about Logan that I fuck it up anyway. And the next order and the next one and the one after that.

By the time the line dwindles to nothing, I’m about to jump out of my skin. I call Sarah again, who answers this time and tells me they’re waiting their turn at the Maple Street clinic. She assures me one more time that things are under control, but I can’t help worrying.

My brother, my responsibility. If anything else happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s already my fault that he’s in that wheelchair, my fault that he’s got to finish growing up without his parents. Anything else would be serious overkill.

But if I’ve learned anything these last six months, it’s that the universe doesn’t give a fuck about overkill. Sometimes it just keeps heaping on the shit until you can barely stand up under the weight. Then it heaps on some more, just for the pleasure of watching your knees slam into the ground.

I hang up from Sarah, glance behind me at the rental counter. There’s only one person in line right now, a young girl with short, bright pink hair and I hold a finger up to her in an I’ll-be-right-there gesture. Then I do the only thing I can do—call Cam and beg her to go check on
Logan at Urgent Care.

“Sure, of course,” she tells me without any hesitation at all. “Is he at that one on Maple?”

“Yeah. Sarah says he’s fine, but—”

“But you just want to be sure. I get that.” I can hear her turning off the TV, then the rattle of her keys as she scoops them out of the old trophy she keeps them in. “I’ll call you once I’m there and I know something. Okay?”

“Yeah, that’s great.” I close my eyes as relief sweeps through me. I really do have the best fucking friends in the world. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

She hangs up before I can say anything else.

I’m still jumpy, still freaking out about the whole thing, but at least I can breathe a little now. At least I can focus. Maybe.

I turn back to the counter with a smile I don’t even try to make look real. And come face-to-face with the little girl with the pink hair. Except, one good look tells me she’s not so little, despite her small, short frame. A second look tells me she’s fucking beautiful—all big, hazel eyes, pale, smooth skin and pink, puffy lips that would look great wrapped around my cock, or any other part of my anatomy.

Maybe the afternoon isn’t a total loss, after all. Especially not if I can get laid in the supply closet by the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long, long time. If nothing else, it’ll take my mind off my brother for ten minutes.

Maybe longer if this girl is as athletic as I’m hoping she is …

“How can I help you?” Ash asks, leaning against the counter with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I swallow a little, try to talk, but my throat suddenly feels like a desert. But who can blame me? I’ve seen pictures of Ash Lewis—of course I have. He’s one of the most talented, and popular, snowboarders in the world and he’s been on a million magazine covers. Or at least he was, before he walked away from last year’s X Games, the 2014 Winter Olympics and everything in between. Since then, nobody seems to know what Ash is doing, or who he’s doing it with.

After the assignment came in, I spent an hour Googling him during the snowtrain ride up here. I’d wanted to read about him, to figure out what makes him tick so I could prepare myself for this meeting. Instead I found myself staring at picture after picture of him—some in full snowboarding gear, some in regular clothes, some with his shirt off. I even saw a few of him in the half-pipe wearing nothing but his underwear and snowboarding boots.

I might have spent a little too long staring at those pictures. But again, who can blame me? I’ve never seen anyone rock a pair of red boxers the way Ash Lewis can. Even when it’s twenty degrees out.

And still, all that research—all those pictures—haven’t prepared me for my first face-to-face meeting with the guy. How could they when they didn’t capture the deep, crazy blue of his eyes, a blue that reminds me of the water off Maui, where my parents took me for my sixteenth birthday.