Текст книги "Shredded"
Автор книги: Tracy Wolff
Соавторы: Tracy Wolff
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Chapter 10
Ophelia
I catch a glimpse of dark hair out of the corner of my eye, and even as I tell myself not to look, that it isn’t him, I can’t help turning my head just to check. Just to be sure.
It’s been three days since Z walked out of my room, and I haven’t seen him since. Not here in the café, not going into or exiting the dressing room on the other side of the lobby. Not even on the slopes when I’m walking to and from work. Not that I’ve been watching for him or anything. It’s just I’d seen him around a few times before Friday night and it seems strange that he’s simply disappeared.
I swear, if I didn’t hear people talking about him occasionally, speculating about his chances for making the Olympic team or winning this year’s X Games, I would think he didn’t exist. Or that I’d made that whole night up.
The movie. The snowball fight. The vulnerability I thought I saw in his face when he drove me home.
It’s that vulnerability that haunts me now, that I-won’t-let-it-hurt-me-even-though-it-obviously-does look of his that makes me feel like shit even though he was using me as much or more than I was using him. Because if it was true, if it wasn’t all an act just to get me into bed, then I can’t help feeling like a total bitch.
Yeah, he made a bet about screwing me—but that was before he even knew me. All he knew at that point was that I had a temper and wicked aim with an iced coffee. Is there any doubt he was pissed when he made that bet?
Not that I’m excusing him, because I’m not. I mean, no matter how you look at it, it’s … ick. Not to mention all I’m-God’s-gift-to-women-and-I-know-it.
But at the same time, Mr. I’m-So-Arrogant-I-Can-Get-Any-Woman-I-Want stopped me in the middle of giving him a blow job because he knew I wasn’t into it. He stopped me. How many guys do I know who would do that? Even Remi, who loved me, would have been hard-pressed to walk away once I was on my knees in front of him.
But Z had. And then he’d asked what was wrong, why I was upset. Even though I’m not stupid enough to think he cares about a girl he just met, I can’t help but remember the way his hand felt sliding down my face. The way his eyes were dark and cloudy as they looked into mine.
Shit. I rub a hand over my face and try to stop being the stupid crazy girl who falls for the bad boy and then wonders why her life is all messed up. I came here to get my life under control, and right now I feel more lost than I ever have except right after the accident. And I don’t understand why.
He’s just a guy. Not even a particularly nice guy. Just a guy, and yet I’ve spent entirely too much time thinking about him since he walked out of my room, face blank and body stiff. He was pissed, I know he was, but he didn’t even bother to slam the door behind him.
I think that’s what bothers me most. A guy with that kind of self-control … there’s got to be a lot more to him than what he lets people see.
“Hey, Ophelia. Can I get a large coffee?”
Shaking my head to clear it, I turn to smile at Harvey. He’s a dishwasher in the kitchen at the main lodge with a serious caffeine addiction. He’s down here at least twice a day ordering the biggest cup of coffee we’ve got. His room at the employee dorm also happens to be three doors down from mine.
“Sure,” I say, filling a cup up with his usual Rain Forest blend but making sure to leave room for the bucket of half-and-half he likes to add to it. “You want a cookie or anything to go with that?”
“I’m good, thanks.” He pays for the drink, then slides a couple of extra dollars into the tip jar even though I’ve told him repeatedly that he doesn’t have to do that.
“What are you reading today?” I ask as he drops the contents of a half dozen packets of sugar into his drink.
He pulls a battered copy of Anthem by Ayn Rand out of his pocket. “A friend recommended it.”
“It’s good. One of the original dystopians, back when they were popular the first time.”
“So you’ve read it?”
“Yeah.” I’ve read a lot of things. Sitting on your ass for weeks at a time while you recover from a drag racing accident will do that to a person.
“Cool. So when I’m done, maybe we can talk about it.”
“Sure. I’d like that. There aren’t that many people I can talk about books with.”
“I know, right?” he says with a grin. I think he’s about to say something else, but another customer comes up to the counter.
I smile at him in apology, then turn to take the order. Harvey smiles back and gives me a little wave before he takes his coffee and book over to a seat beneath the window. He spends the next fifteen minutes immersed in the book and doesn’t look up until his break is over. Then he stands up and catches my eye before giving me a little wave.
I wave back. He’s a nice guy, and I think maybe we’re on the way to being friends. I have to admit it feels pretty good, especially since I haven’t had a friend for a while.
I’ve only got about an hour before my shift ends, and the time goes by pretty quickly since the snow has really started kicking up outside and a bunch of people have decided to hit the lodge early. In fact, I end up working about half an hour after I should have gone home just because we’re so slammed.
When reinforcements finally arrive, courtesy of a couple of the kitchen staff, I shed my apron gratefully. It’s been a long day and it’s not over yet. I’m supposed to have dinner with my aunt and uncle tonight, and the sooner I get there, the sooner it’ll be over.
It’s not that I don’t like them, because I do. They got me this job and have been pretty cool to me—especially since I messed up in the first two positions they put me in. When I got here I didn’t understand that letting the old geezers flirt with me was practically part of the job description, so when a couple of walking midlife crises with fake tans and bad hair tried to make a move on me, I made sure they understood I wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, I was a little too forceful in my rejection of them and complaints were filed.
After the second incident I thought I was going to get fired, but Aunt Penny put me in the café hoping that the third time would be the charm. And except for that little incident with Z the other night, things have been good. It turns out that as long as I keep a counter between me and the lecherous losers, things go pretty well.
And while I hate the cold, I’m still glad my aunt gave me the chance to settle in instead of sending me packing the first week—which she probably would have been justified in doing. After all, we’re not exactly close. She’s my dad’s sister, and since he walked out on my mom when I was six months old, it’s not like I’ve had much chance to get to know his family.
Penny, however, has always made a point of staying in touch with me—birthday cards, Christmas presents, a couple of letters or phone calls scattered through the year, just to make sure I’m doing okay. But that was always as far as it went. At least until the accident happened and my mom figured it’d be better for my “recovery” if I got out of town for a while.
Which I guess it has been, if you consider the fact that I almost had sex with Z three days ago. That’s something I could never have imagined happening back home, where memories of Remi lurk around every corner—on every street I drive down and every store I go into.
Though I’m trying not to think about him, an image of Z pops into my head. Once again, I shove it right back out. We said everything we needed to say to each other before he left my apartment. There’s no use regretting it now. No use feeling guilty because of how I handled things. God knows I carry enough guilt around on a daily basis. The last thing I need to do is add to it.
The elevator dings on the fifth floor, and I step out. My aunt and uncle have a small but luxurious apartment on this floor—one of the perks that come with managing this place—and they’ve decided we’re going to eat here tonight instead of in one of the resort’s restaurants. I think my aunt’s trying to do the whole home-cooked-meal thing in case I’m missing New Orleans, but my mom’s always been more of the frozen-food-in-the-microwave kind of cook. Either way, I appreciate the gesture.
Penny’s husband, Alex, answers the door when I knock. “Hey, kid,” he says, ruffling my hair like I’m five. “Come on in. You look beat.”
“I feel beat. The last hour and a half has been insane.”
“Yeah. Always is when the weather turns bad.” He gestures to an overstuffed sofa. “Have a seat and relax for a few minutes. Penny’s almost done with dinner.”
“Let me just go say hello to her, see if she needs any help.” In my house, the few times my mom actually tried to cook usually resulted in a visit from the fire department or a trip to the ER—just one of the reasons I learned to cook before I was ten. Total self-preservation.
But when I get into the kitchen, it looks like my aunt has everything under control. Chicken breasts are simmering on the stove while Penny whips up a quick pasta sauce in another pan.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Oh, hi, sweetie.” She leans over and gives me a warm, brown-sugar-scented hug. “How was your day?”
“Good. Busy, but good.”
“Mine, too. But at least they go by fast that way.” She nods to the salad on the small island in the center of the kitchen. “You can toss that if you’d like. The dressing is in the bowl right next to it.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken marsala. It’s one of Alex’s favorites.” She glances at me. “Have you ever tried it?”
“Nope.” My cooking repertoire lends itself more to jarred pasta sauces than chicken braised in wine. “But it smells fantastic.”
“Thank you. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
I pretty much run out of stuff to say then, and expect things to get awkward quickly. But my aunt is a born chatterer, and by the time we sit down to dinner, her nonstop talking has got me almost totally relaxed.
The first few minutes of dinner are spent going over the inner workings of the lodge—not the most exciting thing in the world—but it doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to the skiers and snowboarders that the lodge sponsors. Despite my best intentions, I find myself listening for the mention of one snowboarder in particular.
“That Ash is something else,” Alex says in between bites of chicken. “Mark my words, ladies. Come January, he’s going to be America’s lead contender for Olympic gold.”
“Really?” my aunt says. “I think Luc Bradford’s got a lot of flair.”
“He does,” my uncle agrees. “It’s why I wanted to sponsor him. He’s a crowd-pleaser. But that kid is all flash and not that much substance, if you know what I mean. Kind of like Kevin Byerle. Now there’s a kid who can get the crowd on its feet with his tricks. But when it comes to basic skiing talent, he just doesn’t have it. Not the way some of the other skiers do.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Luc’s snowboarding seems pretty solid to me,” my aunt disagrees.
“That’s because you can barely get down the baby run on a snowboard,” he tells her. “Despite thinking you’re a total badass.”
She glares at him, but I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. “You could let me have my illusions, you know.”
“I could.” He toasts her with his wineglass. “But where’s the fun in that?”
They laugh, and I can tell the conversation is about to take another turn, but I’m not ready to let it slip away yet. It seems like they’ve talked about everyone but the person I most want to hear about.
“What about Z Michaels?” I ask, doing my best to sound only vaguely interested.
“Z?” My uncle’s gaze sharpens immediately. “Why are you asking about Z?”
“Uh, just curious, I guess. I mean, I’ve heard people talk about him—”
“Why do you think she’s asking about him, Alex?” my aunt interjects. “Because he’s gorgeous and talented and just a little bit tortured. Is it any wonder the girls swoon whenever he’s in the vicinity?”
“I’m not swooning,” I protest. “I was just curious.”
“Yeah, aren’t they all?” my uncle mutters. “Look, Ophelia, Z’s a good enough guy. Smart, funny, very talented. But he’s not the kind of boy you should be messing with.”
“I’m not messing with him! I’ve barely met him. I was just wondering because I’ve seen him on the slopes and he seems really talented. But you didn’t say anything about him making the Olympics.” I feel my cheeks flush, even as there’s a part of me that’s standing back and wondering if we’re seriously having this conversation. I’ve gone my whole life without much parental supervision—my dad was gone and my mom was usually too busy trying to put a roof over our head to bother about which boy I was dating (otherwise there’s no way she would have let me date Remi)—so having my uncle so interested and protective feels strange.
“Good, keep it that way. That guy is trouble.”
“You’re just bitter because he wouldn’t let us sponsor him,” Aunt Penny tells him.
“You have to admit it’s weird. What kind of guy turns down sponsorship from one of the best resorts in Park City?”
“The kind who doesn’t want to be tied down? You know he likes riding the backcountry. And besides, he doesn’t need the money. He’s got a lot of other sponsors and the family stuff, so why should he ride here?”
“He does ride here. That’s what I’m saying. So why would he turn down being paid for it?”
I can tell this is an old argument. And while it’s kind of fun to watch the dynamics of my aunt and uncle’s relationship, this isn’t telling me anything about Z that I don’t already know. Which is why, when my uncle pauses to take another bite of chicken, I take the opportunity to jump back into the conversation.
“So, you think he’s good enough to sponsor, but you don’t think he’s good enough to make the Olympics.”
My uncle stops eating, even goes so far as to lay his fork and knife down. Then he looks me straight in the eye. “It’s not a matter of talent, Ophelia. Everyone knows that kid has more talent than is probably good for him. But he’s an absolute train wreck, and you should stay as far away from him as possible.”
“You need to cut the kid some slack,” my aunt tells him. “He’s had it rough with his mom and sister. What happened with them—”
“He has had it rough. I’m not denying that. And anyone who’s had things as bad as he has doesn’t come out of it without being damned warped. Everyone knows the kid’s got a death wish, and sooner or later it’s going to come to fruition. Do you really want her around him when it does? Hasn’t she been through enough already?”
My aunt doesn’t have anything to say to that, and neither do I, so after another stern warning for me to stay away from Z, my uncle turns the conversation to other things. Somehow I manage to keep up my end of it, even though my mind is about a million miles away. I’m thinking about Z, wondering what could have happened with his family that would “warp” him, as my uncle says. And, despite my best intentions, I’m also thinking about Remi. About his devil-may-care smile and balls-to-the-wall attitude about life.
He spent his whole life going faster, burning brighter, being crazier than anyone else around. And when we were together, I loved every second of it. He was so mercurial, so brilliant, so wild, that every minute I was with him was an upside-down roller-coaster ride. One I happily strapped in for.
It’s only now that I’m on the other side that I realize just how messed up the ride really was.
And if Z’s like that … if he’s as messed up and crazy as my uncle says he is, then I really should stay as far away from him as I can get.
Which is fine. I barely know the guy, and it’s not like our first few meetings went all that smoothly. I’ll probably never have the chance to talk to him again.
Still, as I help my uncle clean the dishes before heading across the property to my room, I can’t help thinking about the look in Z’s eyes right before he walked out the other night. And hating myself for putting it there.
Chapter 11
Z
“Hey, man,” Ash says, clapping me on the shoulder as I climb off the snowmobile. “Good to have you back.”
“Good to be back,” I tell him, even though I’m not sure I mean it. But what the hell else am I supposed to do now that Luc’s given me an ass kicking I won’t soon forget? After my three-day bender, booze and weed hold no appeal at the moment, and every time I think about going out and getting laid, something holds me back.
Maybe it’s Luc’s words about how fucking empty my life is.
Maybe it’s waking up and finding Stacy in my bed with absolutely no recollection of how she got there.
Or maybe it’s everything that went down with Ophel—
Oh, hell no. I cut that thought off before it can even form. I’ve got enough crazy in my life. The last thing I need is to waste my time thinking about some girl who definitely isn’t thinking about me. And who obviously has a shit-ton of her own issues to deal with.
“So we’re taping today?” I ask, nodding at the GoPro Hero3+ Ash is currently attaching to the front of his snowboard. He’s got it mounted to an old ski pole so he gets a better view than from the bottom of the board, but that means he has to put a shitload of adhesive on it if he doesn’t want the thing to fly off during the run. We’ve already lost two cameras between us this season, and powder’s only been on the ground a few weeks.
“Yeah. Gotta update the website. The fans keep asking for new film.” He holds a chest harness already outfitted with a camera out to me. “Here. Put this on, will you? I’m sure no one will want to miss any of your epic stupidity.”
I roll my eyes at him even as I take the camera. “You know you don’t have to give them everything they ask for, right?”
“Yeah, I know. But the footage usually turns out sick, so why not? Besides, it’s been a few days since you’ve been out. I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ll catch you doing some crazy-ass shit.”
“I don’t know about that. I think I might be taking it slow today.”
Cam speaks up for the first time since I got here. “Yeah, right. We’ll believe that when we see it.”
“I guess you will.” I start to tease her about her new jacket—the thing is neon orange and makes her look like a traffic cone—but there’s something about the way she’s looking at me that makes me shut my mouth and take a few steps back.
Most days I get the feeling that Cam can see through my bullshit, but right now the look in her eyes says that she can see a lot more. That she can actually see me, and that’s something I’m totally not okay with. I’ve spent most of my life working hard not to look at what’s inside me, and after Luc’s onslaught yesterday, I sure as shit don’t need anyone else poking around in there trying to see what’s up. I already feel like I’m on the verge of imploding. If anything else happens, I don’t even want to think about how bad shit’s going to get.
With that happy thought in mind, I take a few more steps back. Walk over to the edge of the mountain we’re on, and look out at the view. It’s fucking gorgeous up here. Completely breathtaking. Blue sky, white clouds, snow-covered peaks as far as the eye can see, pine trees dripping with snow.
I think about moving sometimes, about walking away from all of this and just starting over somewhere else. Somewhere fresh where the past doesn’t haunt me at every twist and turn. But I don’t think I could ever leave these mountains, not for any length of time anyway. If it would actually bring me some modicum of peace, I could probably give up snowboarding and the adrenaline rush that comes with it. Maybe even give up my friends, if I had to, though just the thought stings like hell. But these mountains? They’re in my blood, in my soul, as surely as my memories of April are.
Besides, there’s no peace for me. There hasn’t been in over a decade and there won’t be any in the next decade, either. It’s probably time to stop pretending otherwise. After all, it’s not like I’ve done anything to deserve it anyway.
Behind me, Luc and Ash are still working on getting Ash’s cam properly situated. Luc has one, too, though he’s doing a helmet mount with it instead of a board or chest mount. My guess is he’s planning on going down right behind Ash to catch as much of his run for the website as he possibly can. Having the tricks from two angles and then editing the footage together usually makes for wicked videos.
Surprised Cam isn’t helping them—she’s definitely the electronics guru of our little ragtag band of brothers—I’m about to go offer my services before Luc ends up pitching the camera off the side of the mountain on purpose. But Cam moves into my path before I can do much more than take a step in their direction.
For long seconds she doesn’t say anything. Just stands there and stares at me with a look I don’t want to try to interpret. I smile at her, then start to walk around her, but she steps closer and puts a hand on my chest to hold me in place.
I stiffen despite myself, then glance at Luc to see if he’s now plotting to throw me off the mountain. But he’s too absorbed in the camera debacle at the moment to pay much attention to where Cam is or what she’s doing.
“What’s up?” I ask her after the silence between us gets uncomfortably long.
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too.” I shoot her a baffled look. “I thought we were talking right now.”
“You know what I mean. I’m worried about you. We all are.”
Damn. Now it’s a tag-team intervention? What the hell does a guy have to do to self-destruct in peace around here? “I’m fine, Cam.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.” My heart’s pounding like I just barged a run, and it’s all I can do to stand still. I wait another few seconds, expecting her to step back, hoping she’ll take the hint and stop touching me. But she doesn’t. Instead, she moves closer, wraps her arm around my waist, rests her head on my shoulder. I can feel it—the pressure building up inside me until I’m like the cork in a champagne bottle that’s been shaken way too much.
When I can’t take it any longer, I step away.
Make a show of zipping up my jacket.
And ignore the look of hurt that flashes across her face.
Immediately the cold seeps back in, but I refuse to react. Cam’s watching me closely, looking for any chink in my armor, and I refuse to give it to her. Refuse to let her in any closer than she already is. She might be my friend along with Ash and Luc, but there are some things even best friends shouldn’t see. Shouldn’t know.
Except … “I know this is a bad week for you, Z. You can run from it all you want, but it’s not going to go away.”
This time when she places a hand on my shoulder, it’s pure instinct to knock it off. Pure self-preservation. “Jesus, Cam, will you please just leave it the fuck alone? If I wanted to go all hippie commune and talk about my shit, believe me, I would.”
“It’s not healthy—”
“Really?” I cut her off. “What about my life makes you think I give a fuck about being healthy?”
“Come on, Z.”
“You come on.” I drop my board on the ground, strap my right foot in.
Cam knows what’s going to happen, and she narrows her eyes at me even as she steps back to give me room. “You can’t run away from this conversation forever, you know.”
The adrenaline rush is already starting, drowning out her voice and all the other shit I don’t want to deal with right now. I look back at Luc and Ash, who’ve finally got their cameras mounted and working, and think about joining them on the run they’re about to take. It’s what they’re expecting, and I almost do it. Almost push off and glide over there so we can board the trail together. We’re backcountry, so the run is pretty raw and unstructured, but the truth is it’s just not what I’m in the mood for right now. I want something hard, something that’ll take every ounce of concentration I’ve got. Maybe then I can stop thinking about all the different ways I’ve fucked up.
With that in mind, I strap my left foot in, and without giving the others any warning about what I’m planning, I push off from the little plateau I’m on.
And then I’m fucking flying.
Cam screams as I go over the edge, but the sound is drowned out in the rush as I board straight down the side of this fucking mountain. There’s no real trail, no path to follow, nothing but a narrow crevice with steep walls on either side.
One wrong move and I’m toast—I can slam into one of the jagged walls, plow into one of the huge rocks that spring up every few feet, or just lose control and go tumbling head over heels. But I’m not planning on doing any of the above. At least not right now. This is virgin backcountry chute, and I’m riding this bitch all the way down.
There’s a dip up ahead of me and I know if I hit it at just the right speed and angle, it’ll launch me about twenty feet into the air, so I brace myself, get ready—
Hot fucking damn. I really am flying. I pull a trick, a sick 1080 inverted cab, then bend my knees and brace myself for the first landing. I hit hard but keep control as I rocket down what is now an almost completely vertical chute.
I have one brief holy-shit moment, one quick second to think that maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. But it’s too fucking late to worry about dying. All I can do now is ride.
So I do, twisting and turning to accommodate the rock formations and trees and fucking boulders that seem to pop up out of nowhere. I hit a couple more lips, catch some sick air off them, and manage to bust out a couple more tricks. I pull off another 1440 and a wicked double backside rodeo 1080, but most of the time I’m just enjoying the most kick-ass ride of my life.
In the middle of it all, my sat phone starts to ring. I know it’s Ash or Cam or Luc calling to bitch me out, but it’s not like I can exactly answer right now. I’m too busy trying not to die.
I hit another lip, this one so huge I’d swear it was a man-made ramp if I didn’t know better. Bracing myself, I do everything I can to gather speed going into it, ’cuz the only thing worse than coming off one of these things fast is coming off it slow.
I make it up the ramp, launch out into the air, and have my second—and biggest—oh-shit moment of the ride. Because there’s nothing fucking there. I’m free-falling … fifty, a hundred, two hundred feet, maybe more. I can’t tell at this point. It’s fucking ridiculous. The biggest air of my life and I’m too focused on trying to find the ground to even pull a trick.
Finally—finally—it’s rushing at me. I twist around, try to get a decent look at what I’m going to be dealing with when I come down. The slant is good and the pow looks like it’s packed pretty tight in this area, so I deliberately relax, loosening my limbs so I won’t hyperextend anything when I land.
I land better than I have any right to, on a slope that’s much milder than the one I just came off. I think I’m getting pretty low, figure the ride has to be almost over, so I put everything I’ve got into it, building up my speed for what I figure has to be the last jump. This whole ride has been fucking front, so what the hell. I pull out the trick I’ve been working on in secret, the one nobody knows about and that I’ve never seen anybody land before.
The triple McTwist 1440.
Shaun White invented the double McTwist 1260, made it famous all over the world. But with the right air, I know I can get an extra twist and an extra half rotation, and I can’t think of a better time to try it. I hit the slope just right, gain some sick air, and just go for it.
I nail it.
I fucking nail it, right before I land in the middle of the fucking worst grouping of trees I’ve ever seen. Then I’m speeding down the last section of the mountain, weaving between trees and praying that I don’t slam into one at fifty miles an hour.
Somehow, somehow, I manage to avoid them all and come to an abrupt—and somewhat anticlimactic—stop at the bottom of the mountain.
I turn and look as far up the mountain as I can see and decide two hundred feet was a really conservative estimate for that drop in the middle of the run. From here it looks more like two-fifty.
I lean down to unbuckle my board, but my phone’s ringing for the third or fourth time and I figure I should put my friends out of their misery before one of them has a fucking stroke. I rip open the Velcro on my pants pocket and pull the phone out, answering right before it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Cam.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Omigod. Omigooooooood!” She’s shrieking by the end, then her voice gets muffled for a second as she yells, “He answered! He answered!
“How could you?” She’s talking to me again. “We thought you were dead. We thought you’d fucking killed yourself. We thought—” She starts sobbing.
Shit. Guilt slams into me, killing the endorphins from the ride. I knew they’d be worried, but I never thought—
“Give me the phone,” I hear Ash say in the background. Then he’s on the line. “Z? Are you hurt? Where are you?”
“No, I’m fine. Totally safe. I’m at the bottom of the mountain.”
Long pause. “You’re at … you’re at the bottom of the mountain?”
“Pretty much.”
“You rode down the whole fucking mountain? The. Whole. Fucking. Mountain?”
“As much of it as I could. I mean, I’m not all the way at the base, but I’m pretty far down. In my defense, it’s a pretty small mountain.” I hear Luc swear in the background, and Cam finally seems to have the sobs under control. “I’m fine,” I say again. “No problem.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that, right? A total fucking moron.”
“I never claimed differently.”
Another long pause. Then, “So, was it front?”
I relax at the question, knowing I’m out of the woods. “So fucking front, man. You wouldn’t even believe it.”
“Was the camera on?”
“What? No. I never turned it on.”
“I did, right before I gave it to you.”
“Seriously?” I glance down at the camera still strapped to my chest. Sure enough, the little green power light is lit.
I stare at it for a second, trying to decide how I feel about that. Sure, part of me thinks it’d be wicked to have the ride recorded, but another part wants to keep it for myself. In some ways, what happened on the way down feels too intensely private to share with anyone.
Except Luc, Ash, and Cam deserve to see what happened. After what they’ve spent the last few minutes imagining, I figure I owe them that much. Showing them doesn’t mean it has to be posted on the website or YouTube. It could just be for us.
