Текст книги "Shredded"
Автор книги: Tracy Wolff
Соавторы: Tracy Wolff
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter 24
Ophelia
At first I don’t understand what’s going on. I mean, I saw him do the trick, saw him overrotate and come down wrong, slamming into the ground shoulder first. But there’s a part of me that still doesn’t get it. That still doesn’t understand what’s happening. It was an easy trick for him—a triple cab that I’ve seen him land literally a hundred times in the last ten days. He can do it in his sleep. So why is he rolling down a mountain right now, going head over heels as fast as all that momentum can carry him?
Beside me, Gemma gasps, has her hands over her mouth as she starts praying out loud. On my other side Cam is sitting still as a statue, just waiting for it to be over. Just waiting for his poor, abused body to finally come to a stop.
And me, I’m in the middle with no real understanding of what’s happening except to know that, whatever it is, it isn’t good. Please, not his head. Not his neck. Please, please, please. I’ll take any other injury, deal with anything else. But please, please, please, don’t let it be a head or neck injury.
I reach out for Cam, end up clawing her arm as Z finally comes to a stop. “Is he okay?”
She shakes her head grimly. “With the way he landed, I doubt it. He probably tore his rotator cuff again, maybe broke his wrist. It’s not going to be pretty, that’s for sure.”
That’s all I need to hear. I have no conscious memory of moving, but I must have because I’m on my feet and shoving my way through the crowd in an effort to get out of the stands. In an effort to get to Z. There’s a part of me that’s aware of Ash’s family and Cam following along behind me, but I’m not paying attention to them. I’m totally focused on Z’s body lying prone at the bottom of the mountain, and the paramedics who are even now rushing out to him.
“He’s not moving. Why isn’t he moving?”
“Because he broke his fucking shoulder,” Cam tells me tersely. “It hurts like a bitch.”
“His shoulder?” I hang on to the words like a lifeline as I push my way out of the stands and start trying to weave through the crowd of reporters and fans at the bottom of the hill. “You’re sure it’s just his shoulder?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” she snaps at me, as stressed by the situation as I am. “That’s just my guess from seeing falls like that before.”
“How do we get to him?”
“We don’t,” she says as we finally make it to the front of the barricade. “You wait here while I go check what’s going on.”
“But—”
“Wait here.” She points to a spot right at the front of the barricade. “I’m a competitor. You’re not. There’s no way you’re getting past the rope line.”
She’s right. I know she is, and yet it’s killing me to be standing here merely watching when Z has just had an accident.
No, not an accident, a voice deep inside my head says. He knows how to land that trick, can do it in his sleep. If he fell on it here, it’s because he wanted to.
I shove the voice back down, refusing to believe it. He’s been doing so well lately, trying so hard. Why would he have me come in for the competition if he was just going to fuck it all up on purpose? It makes no sense.
And yet even as I’m thinking that, I’m seeing all those competitions I watched. All those videos of him nailing a run and then fucking it up at the end, again and again and again. Almost like he doesn’t even know he’s going to do it until it’s already done.
Which is why it’s an accident, I tell myself viciously.
“It’s okay, Ophelia. He’s going to be all right.” Logan’s there now, taking Cam’s place beside me as Z’s friend flashes her credentials to the guards working the line.
“How do you know?”
He manages to grin at me, though his eyes are wide and nervous. “ ’Cuz he’s Z. He has to be okay.”
I’m close enough now that I can see Z is talking to the paramedics, which means he’s alive and hopefully lucid. But he’s still not moving and I’m terrified Cam is wrong. Terrified he’s hurt much worse than she thinks he is.
Gemma rubs my other arm soothingly. “He’ll be fine, darling. God’s been watching out for that boy for as long as I’ve known him.”
Neither are the answers I’m looking for, not by a long shot, but they’re all I’ve got right now, so I decide to take comfort where I can.
Seconds later, my cell phone rings. It’s Ash, so I pick it up as soon as his name flashes across the screen.
“What’s going on?” we both ask at the same time.
Shit. I thought maybe he’d heard something, since he’s at the top of the mountain with a bunch of officials around him.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Cam thinks he tore his rotator cuff—”
“So do I,” he says grimly, “Just based on what we saw before they blanked the TV screen. Is he moving around yet? Sitting up?”
The panic gets worse. “No! He’s just lying there.”
I must sound as unhinged as I’m feeling, because Ash suddenly switches to comfort mode. “He’s going to be fine, Ophelia. I promise.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that? How do you know?”
“Because he’s Z.” He tells me the same thing his brother did.
“What the hell does that even mean?” I demand, so close to hysterical that I no longer care about being polite. “And what the hell happened? I saw him this morning. He seemed totally ready for this competition.”
“It’s a long story,” Ash mutters. “Some reporter got in his head and …” His voice trails off, and that’s when I know, I know, that those ugly suspicions I had were correct. Z did this on purpose. He fucking nearly killed himself deliberately.
He could be lying there paralyzed right now because something set him off. Because he couldn’t deal.
Rage explodes through me, exacerbated by the terror that is still coursing through me. “He did this on purpose. He fucking did this on purpose.”
“It’s not that easy,” Ash tells me. “Calm down and we’ll talk once we know he’s okay.”
“Right. Sure. We’ll talk then.” My head’s so messed up right now that I barely know what I’m saying. “You might call Cam. She got through the barricade and was going to see if she could find out anything more.”
A sudden roar from the crowd has me turning around in time to see Z sitting up with the help of the paramedics. Even from here his shoulder looks messed up, like it’s out of whack, but he’s smiling. Even manages a wave for the crowd with his other arm.
The bastard. The fucking bastard. He promised me he wouldn’t do this again. I told him about Remi, told him about what I saw on those snowboarding videos of him, and he swore to me he wouldn’t deliberately do this again. And yet here we are, the last major competition before the Olympic trials and he goes and makes sure that the whole thing is over for him before it even begins.
The bastard. He could have died. He could have died. It’s all I can think of, all I can wrap my head around right now. That he’s relatively okay, but that he could have died. The fucking, fucking, fucking bastard.
They’re taking him off on a stretcher now, and I see Cam waiting for him on the sidelines. She grabs his hand, holds it tight, but even from this distance I can see tears sparkling in her eyes. The son of a bitch. He’s torturing all of us, holding us all hostage to his mood swings and crazy-ass death wish.
My phone rings again, and I pick it up because I know it’s Cam. “How bad?” I demand.
“Don’t know yet. Paramedics think he dislocated his shoulder, which is actually good. Better than a torn rotator cuff. They think he might have either bruised or cracked a couple of ribs as well, plus his wrist is swelling pretty badly. They’re taking him to Aspen Valley Hospital, and what happens there will determine whether he has to be sent somewhere else.”
“Why would they send him somewhere else?” I ask, alarmed all over again.
“Aspen Valley’s a small hospital. Twenty-five beds. They can deal with a dislocated shoulder and stuff, but if he needs surgery, it’ll have to be done at a bigger hospital.” She pauses. “Do you want me to come get you? You can ride in the ambulance with him.”
I should say yes. I know I should. But all I can see is Z tumbling down the fucking snowboarding course. Z, and Remi in those moments when we plunged over the railing and freefell into the Mississippi. Remi, when they pulled his lifeless body from the car. Somehow it all gets mixed up in my head, and I know I’m going to lose it if I don’t shut all that shit down quick.
“You go ahead,” I tell her. “I’ll catch a ride. Aspen Valley Hospital.”
“It’s the only one in town.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there.”
I hang up from her, dial Ash. He answers on the first ring and I tell him everything Cam has said. I hear Luc in the background, asking questions, but I don’t have the answers. I didn’t think to ask them. I hang up so they can call Cam.
Todd puts his arm around my shoulders and says, “Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
I nod, start to walk with him. But then I remember. “Ash. It’s almost his turn.”
Gemma smiles. “We’ve seen him ride before and we’ll see him again. He’ll be riding later today in the half-pipe and then tomorrow in the finals. We can catch him then.”
“No,” I tell her, moving away. “You stay and watch Ash. I’ll catch a cab to the hospital.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Todd says. “We’re happy to take you. We want to see Z, too.”
Yes, but they shouldn’t have to miss out on seeing their son just because my boyfriend is a selfish prick who doesn’t think of anyone but himself. “He’ll still be there after Ash competes. Stay, watch him, and then I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
“Are you sure?” Gemma seems reluctant, but Todd wraps an arm around her shoulder and whispers something to her. She smiles at me. “Of course, Ophelia. We understand if you want to spend a little time alone with Z before the horde descends.”
“No, that’s not—”
But Todd’s patting my shoulder before moving away. “Do you need cab fare?”
“No! No, of course not. I’ve got it.”
“Okay, then.” Gemma gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll see you at the hospital in a little while.”
I nod, because really, what else can I do at this point?
In a daze, I head back to the hotel and grab one of the waiting taxis to take me to the hospital.
The whole ride I’m thinking about Z and Remi, Remi and Z. I’m thinking about Remi dying and how close Z keeps coming to it, too. It all gets mixed up in my head until I can barely see, barely think. Remi. Z. And me, caught in the middle. Again.
By the time I get to the hospital, my emotions are a volatile mixture of fear and anger and sorrow and pain and a bunch more that I’m not even sure about. My head is all confused and I want to cry. I just want to throw myself down on the pavement in front of the hospital and sob at how wrong this has all gone.
I don’t do that, though. Instead, I calmly pay the cabdriver. Walk inside the hospital. Check on Z at the front desk of the emergency room. And then, after they assure me that he’s being taken care of and give me directions to his cubicle, I turn around. And walk right back out the front door of the hospital.
I’m done.
I’m so fucking done.
Chapter 25
Z
She’s not coming.
I tell myself I didn’t expect her to, that I didn’t want her to, but deep down inside, I know the truth. I’ve been waiting for her to walk through that door ever since I got here. Waiting for her to walk in and tell me that she loves me, even though I’m a total and complete fuck-up.
Except she never comes.
Cam comes. So do Luc and Ash and Ash’s parents. Logan. Mitch. A bunch of guys from the competition come by once it’s done. Even a few members of the press camp out outside, waiting to hear what my prognosis is. But Ophelia never shows.
Not that I blame her. I did exactly what I promised her I wouldn’t do, and she walked, just like she promised me she would do.
No harm, no foul. I just didn’t expect it to hurt this badly. Hell, I didn’t know I could hurt this badly. For years I’ve been certain I was completely dead inside.
When I fell for Ophelia, I learned otherwise, but still. I thought, after everything that happened with April, that I was inoculated against feeling this kind of pain. It kind of sucks to find out that I’m not.
On the plus side, despite my complete and utter stupidity, it turns out I’m not nearly as damaged as I should be. As I wanted to be in those few, crazy moments when I lost my shit completely.
I dislocated my shoulder—not the first time that’s happened—so they popped it back in and gave me some pain pills and strict instructions to get some PT when I get back home. I also cracked a couple of ribs and sprained my wrist, so I’m wrapped up pretty tight while the painkillers take care of all that, too. They’re keeping me for observation, just to make sure they didn’t miss anything, but other than that, I’m in pretty good shape. In good enough shape that, if I take care of myself, I should be able to still make the Olympic trials in a couple of weeks.
It’s more than I deserve, more than I have any right to expect. I fucked up. I know I fucked up. I let that reporter and all the shit from my past get in my head and mess me up. And now I’ve lost Ophelia before I ever really had a chance to have her. The Olympic trials seem like a really fucking poor substitute. Still, more than I deserve, though.
“Z? You okay?”
I turn to see Ash and Luc looking at me with concern, which means I’ve once again missed whatever they were saying to me. “Sorry, guys. The Vicodin makes me fuzzy.” I blame it on the pain pills instead of my own utter stupidity.
“No problem.” Ash pats me on the shoulder. “I think we’re going to take off, then. Let you get some sleep. My mom and dad will be here in the morning to pick you up.”
“They don’t need to bother. I can take a cab.”
“Yeah, ’cuz that’s so going to happen,” he tells me with a roll of his eyes. “As soon as I’m done competing, they’ll be by to get you.”
“Thanks, man. And good luck tomorrow. To all three of you. You’re going to shred it.”
He reaches a fist out, bumps it with mine. Seconds later, Luc does the same. Cam leans down and gives me a hug. Then they file out and I’m alone again.
As usual.
The TV is tuned to some old comedy, and though it looks funny, I’m not overly interested in it. Then again, I’m not overly interested in anything else, either.
Except Ophelia, and she didn’t come.
She didn’t come.
I close my eyes, start to drift. And try to think of one goddamn reason to keep breathing. The fact that I can’t think of one isn’t exactly encouraging.
There’s a knock on the door, and I jolt upright at the sound, jarring my shoulder in the process. Ophelia, is all I can think. She came. She—
“Hey, man. Sorry to wake you up.” Mitch is standing in the doorway, a bag of food in his hand. “Let me drop this off and I’ll come back later.”
“Nah, it’s cool. I’m not really sleeping. It’s just the drugs.”
He nods, walks inside. “I brought you some tacos. Figured it’s better than the shit they serve you in here.”
“Thanks.”
He grabs a seat in the chair closest to the bed, then spends a few minutes laying out dinner for the two of us. He bought me a Coke, but he’s drinking Dr Pepper. The sight of that damn maroon can sends a fresh wave of pain through me. Which makes me feel like an even bigger pussy, which in turn pisses me off all over again. Ophelia’s fucking ruined me. Even worse, I let her.
I shove thoughts of her deep inside, lock that shit up tight. I’m not going to think about her right now. I can’t. Not with all the other crap running around in my head. Maybe later, when I’ve got my shit together again, but not now. Not yet.
I reach for a street taco that I’ve got no desire to eat, polish it off in three bites. Mitch pretty much does the same, eating without saying a word to me about the damn elephant in the room.
Eventually I can’t take the crushing weight of the silence, though, and I say, “So what happened?”
“They’re not running the story.”
I eye him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When he doesn’t say anything else, I demand, “Why not?”
“Because I told them I’d fucking crush anyone who touches the story. Not to mention sue them for every penny their fucking magazines and newspapers are worth. Most didn’t even need the threat. It’s a fucking bullshit story, one only the tabloids would touch to begin with. And by the time my lawyer was done threatening them, even they wouldn’t go near it. It’s dead, Z. It’s going nowhere.”
I close my eyes, wait for the overwhelming sense of relief to flood me, but it never comes. I’m sick of hiding, sick of running, sick of burying my fucking head and pretending the past never happened. April died. She fucking died in a way no one should ever have to die. And I’ve spent the last eleven years being too big of a fucking pussy to fucking acknowledge that. To fucking deal with it.
A tear leaks out from beneath my lashes, and Mitch clears his throat uncomfortably. “You okay?”
I dash it away with the back of my hand. Clear my throat. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”
“No problem.” I hear the rustling of foil, open my eyes to see him clearing up the food mess. “I should probably let you get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow, when you’re feeling a little better.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”
He tosses the trash, then nearly runs from the room after telling me to call him if I need anything. Nice. It takes real skill to drive your girlfriend and your agent away within hours of each other, if I do say so myself.
The thought of Ophelia shreds me all over again, and I reach for my phone. I can’t help it. I check my messages, my voicemail. Nothing. She hasn’t texted, hasn’t called.
Because you’re a prick, the little voice inside me says. You’re a piece of shit who deserves to have her walk. You’ve never deserved her. Never really had her.
I start to put the phone down. Hell, I start to throw the stupid piece of shit against the nearest wall again. But in the end, I can’t. Because I still want her. Fucked up as I am, worthless as I am, I still need her. I don’t even want to talk about how pathetic that makes me.
In the end, I can’t help myself. I pull up her contact information and type in a quick text. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I hit send.
I spend the rest of the night with the phone clutched in my hand, waiting for her to text back.
She never does.
Chapter 26
Ophelia
There’s a knock on the door—the fourth of the night—but I just ignore it the same way I have the others. I’m in Z’s hotel room, not sure where else to go, and I figure anyone knocking on his door doesn’t want to talk to me anyway.
The knock comes again, harder this time, like an open palm slamming against the door. Then Cam’s voice calling, “I know you’re in there, Ophelia. Open the fucking door.”
Afraid something has happened to Z—something worse than what he’s already suffered, I mean—I rush to the door. Throw it open. And get a fist to my face for my trouble.
“You bitch,” Cam spits out as I stumble backward under the strength of her punch. “I should kick your ass right now.”
I touch my eye gingerly. It hurts, and I think I can feel it swelling already. Awesome. “I’m pretty sure you already have.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” But she doesn’t hit me again. Instead she slams the door behind her and just looks at me, arms crossed over her chest and an ugly sneer on her normally too-cute face.
“If that’s all you wanted to do, you should probably go.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she snarls. But she doesn’t make another move toward me. Instead she walks over to the minibar, pulls out a small bottle of vodka, and pours it into a glass. “You know, I just don’t get you,” she says after taking a long sip.
“That’s okay. I don’t get you, either.” She’s in love with Z, probably has been forever. I figured it out a few days ago and then everything made sense. Why she told me about the bet, her sudden animosity toward me, everything. Which is why she should be throwing a party right about now. I’m out of the picture and the path is wide open for her to try to start something with Z. “I thought you’d be sitting by his bedside, holding his hand and pretending everything is going to be all right.”
Even as I say them, the words have my heart dropping to my stomach and my hands clenching into fists. Not that I’ve got any right to be upset. I’m the one who didn’t bother to show up at the hospital. I’m the one who dumped him a second time.
Because I had to, I remind myself viciously. Losing Remi nearly killed me. Losing Z … watching him slowly kill himself … I’d never survive. Already I feel like I’ve been ripped in half, every part of me shredded into pieces so small I’m terrified I’ll never be able to put them back together again.
“Wow, look at you. Who knew you were so good at playing the victim?”
“I’m not playing at anything.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She takes another swallow of the vodka, grimaces a little with the taste of it. “You know, Z doesn’t let anybody in. He doesn’t let himself need anyone. But he needs you, and you just fucking walk away like he’s nothing.”
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that. You’re a shallow bitch just like everybody else he’s ever cared about. You like him when shit’s going good, but the second it gets real, you’re out the door.”
I want to argue with her, to tell her that isn’t true, but how can I when he’s in the hospital and I’m here choking on eleven-month-old memories? “Is he doing okay?”
“Like that’s any of your business? You gave up the right to know the answer to that question the second you didn’t bother to go to the hospital.”
“I went.”
“No, you didn’t. I was there the whole time and I never saw you.”
“I left after making sure he was okay. I couldn’t—”
“Deal. Right? You couldn’t deal with the fact that your superhot, supertalented boyfriend is a real person. That he’s not easy. That’s he’s got issues that run deeper than anything you want to deal with.” She shakes her head, drains the drink. “I just don’t get why he fell for you.”
“Instead of you, you mean?” I strike out before I know what I’m going to say. But I’m hurt and angry and sad, so fucking sad. The last thing I need is for Cam to heap even more guilt on my head.
“Fuck you.”
“I don’t think so.” I walk to the door, open it. “Why don’t you get the hell out?”
“I’m not getting out until you tell me why you fucked with Z like that. Was it to get back at him for the bet? Does it make you feel good to hurt him like this when he’s already had the shit kicked out of him today?”
“He did it to himself.”
“God.” She lets out a sarcastic little laugh. “You’re pathetic.”
“How about you? You’ve been wearing blinders about Z forever. You don’t want to know the truth because then you’ll have to admit that you can’t fix him.”
“Oh, I’m the first one to admit I can’t fix him. That he’s broken, probably beyond repair. You’re the one who won’t accept that. Who only wants him if he’s whole.”
The words hit like blows. “You don’t understand. I saw what happened today. I know he did it on purpose.”
She shrugs. “Who knows if he did or he didn’t? Nothing is ever that cut-and-dried with Z. Besides, that’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point. You know he’s too good to go down like that—”
“What I know is that he was doing fine, holding his shit together. He was excited as hell about boarding that competition. And then a fucking reporter got in his head right before his run.”
“So he threw everything away?”
“Jesus, Ophelia. Open your eyes. You see everything in black and white, but it’s not that simple. You’ve never snowboarded. You don’t know how easy it is to lose focus for one second and screw everything up.”
My hands are shaking, so I shove them into the front pocket of my hoodie. “You think it was just an accident? You think he just fell?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. But he didn’t plan to go down like that. That I am sure of.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little naive? You said yourself how messed up he is.”
“He is messed up and believe me, I know that better than anyone. I sure as hell know better than you. I’ve spent the last ten years watching him self-destruct, and trying—with Luc and Ash—to hold him together. I was there when they found April. I was there when he found his mom. And I’ve been there every day since, picking him up when the world gets too fucking hard for him.
“Except today, when he was counting on you to be there. You to pick him up. And what the hell did that get him? Absolutely nothing. You’re no better than his father.” She dumps the glass on the counter, heads for the door. But she stops a couple of feet from it, turns to face me. “You stay away from him, you hear me? You’ve hurt him enough. So you stay far, far away from him.”
“Or what?” I don’t know why I’m challenging her on this, why I even care when she’s telling me to do exactly what I’ve been planning on—staying as far away from Z as I possibly can.
“Or that black eye you’re sporting will be the least of your problems. Ash and Luc won’t touch you because you’re a girl. But I will fucking rip you to shreds.”
She slams out without another word, and I’m left standing there in the middle of a suite that feels empty and lifeless without Z in it. And wondering if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, bigger even than getting into that car with Remi.
When I can’t stand it anymore, when my head—and my heart—feel like they’re going to explode from the pressure of not knowing, I go to my backpack. Pull out the tablet Z bought me when he realized I didn’t have one. And start researching.
Everyone else knows what’s up with Z. I’m beginning to think that it’s past damn time that I did, too.
