Stoked (8 page)

Don’t women like surprises?

I can’t think how to fix it if I don’t know exactly what I did wrong. It’s like she wanted an excuse to stop talking to me, and maybe that’s all this is. She’s found a different life. I had a chance, back in Colorado, and I screwed it up.

As sleep starts to drag me under, a thought floats through, wavy like a banner being pulled by an airplane.

Is it possible she’s right? Have I been afraid to be real with her?

There’s nothing from Jess in the morning. I resist the urge to send a pleading email.

And maybe I don’t give a fuck anyway. All night, my dreams were filled with the taste of sky, with the sensation of flying. All I want to do,
all
I want to do, is get back out there.  And that’s what I put on my Facebook status: Forgot how it feels to kiss the sky.  backinthegame

Women have dumped me before, and I employ the same tactics now that have always worked. For three days, I train so hard there’s nothing left for thoughts of Jess, and spend the rest of the time sleeping.  The crowds coming in for the contests in two weeks are getting bigger and bigger, and I book our tickets to Queenstown with a slight ripple of trepidation. Should I tell Jess I’m coming? Is that in the realm of keeping secrets or should I respect her silence?

I don’t have a clue. 

The night before we leave, Alice and I are eating burgers, going over the day, when I’m tackled from behind and tumbled off the stool. “Ty-LER WILD-er, you asshole! I heard about it, but dint’ think it was true.”

It’s Pete Reed, one of my oldest buddies, a silver medalist in the Olympics ’10, and multiple x-games and world champion. “Dude!” I clap his back. “Just figured it out myself.  What’s up?”

Pete laughs his big-hearted laugh, clapping my back, yelling as he hugs me again. He’s tall and slim, with long black hair and scruffy voice. “I’ll kick your ass out there, man.”

“Are you here for the games?”

He gives a shrug, rounds the table to Alice. “Chickee, chickee, what’s up!” He slides in beside her and waves for another pitcher and glass. “Just hanging out really. I like this course, worth some training here. Just got in from Wanaka.”

“That’s where we’re going to tomorrow.”

“No way!” He spreads his hands. “We’ll have to party in Tahoe, then.”

“We’ll see.”

There’s a lot of back and forth catching up, trading stories of who is in, who looks good, who is new. “Some of those Canadian boys are shreddin’ sweet.”

At least Pete’s my age. Hell, Shaun’s nine years older, and he’s doing fine.  My sense of age is coming from the sense of wasted time, nothing more. I wasted a lot of time.

And in that second, I know what has to happen. I have to forget Jess for now. I’m not wasting one more second.  Nothing is going to get in my way this round. Not even Jess Donovan. If she wants time to sort out her feelings, I’ll give it to her, and if she gets pissed off that I didn’t tell her I am coming, so be it.

Maybe we won’t even see each other.

The thought gives me a rustling sensation in my gut, and I lean in and take another swig of ale. “What’s up with Bitter? Have you seen him ride lately?”

––––––––

I
n the morning, Alice and I head out of Santiago on a thirteen-hour-flight to Auckland, and another two hours into Queenstown. I try to sleep, but it’s impossible. On the smooth, quiet, long flight, I sketch with charcoal pencils in a notebook I had delivered to my room a couple of days ago.  When I was training before, I hadn’t picked up the habit of sketching, but it’s surprisingly centering, like a meditation.  My earphones block out the rest of the world and in the space of no-time, I let everything go. I sketch mountains, riders catching air.  On the page emerges Jess’s face, her hands, her eyes. Over and over. 

And I find myself sketching a tiger with up-tilted yellow eyes. There’s something about the drawing that catches me, something different in the way I’m seeing. I frown. What is it?

What animal would Jess be? I think of her waiting tables, and pulling her friend out of the rubble after the car crashed through the restaurant. A dove? Too chesty. A greyhound? Too skinny.

I put thoughts of her aside and turn the page, sketching Alice as a watchful wolf, with her round eyes and long hair.

The rest of the trip goes like that, me amusing myself turning people I know into animals. My dad is a clichéd bulldog, then I turn him into a great horned owl which feels more right. My mother is a skinny ferret with big teeth, which makes me snicker like a ten-year-old.  When we start the descent, I still haven’t decided what Jess would be.

Myself, though—I’m an eagle, kissing the sky, wind ruffling my feathers as I soar. 

77

By the time we check into a room in Queenstown, it’s nearly dark, and the Saturday night crowds are spilling through the streets. A thin, glittery snow is falling, and the light is unbelievable, pink and gray and purple hanging over the lake and reflecting off the water. The beauty quells my anxiety a little—I couldn’t get my internet to work, but a check of my email via phone shows nothing from Jess.

As Alice and I wander out to find some dinner, she says, “What’s up? You’re as twitchy as a Mexican jumping bean.”

I tuck my hands into my pockets, looking right and left, scanning the crowds. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Is it the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The one you drew all night? And by the way, I had no idea you were an artist.”

I shrug. “Yeah. She’s supposed to be here, but she also sort of broke up with me.”

Alice stops in the middle of the street. Her face is hard. “She’s here? Is that why we’re here?”

“No, dude.” I frown at her. “You’re the one who said we should come here.”

She narrows her eyes, looking up at me with a tough expression. “I’m not going to pour all my time and energy into getting you into fighting trim if you aren’t 100% in. Women fuck things up.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Was it serious?”

I close my eyes. “It shouldn’t have been, but it is from my side. I seem to keep wrecking it.”

“Don’t we all.” She twists her mouth, and links her arm through mine. “Come on, let’s have a couple of shots.”

“Now there’s the Alice I know.”

It’s still early enough the Bardeaux isn’t crowded. We duck in and stomp our cold feet. Comfortable familiarity blooms through me and I lean on the bar, looking around.

In the corner is a noisy group, six or seven people around a table, toasting something. A trio of burly guys are belly-up to the bar. A tidy pair of elderly men sit by a window.

And standing against the wall beneath a small light, is a young couple, not touching, but standing within that intimate zone with each other, chests and faces only inches apart. The conversation is deep, and he smiles at her. She raises her head and smiles.

Her hair flows like pale sunlight over her shoulders, a cape around her shoulders, too long, really. Too much. So beautiful. He looks like a young tiger, healthy and fierce and completely focused on her.

And as I stand there, frozen, she leans forward and presses her forehead into his chest. His hand touches her shoulder.

It isn’t sexual at all.

It’s so much more. So very, very much more.

I’m frozen, staring, all my blood turning to ice. Can Jess feel his heartbeat through the walls of his ribs? Is she inhaling his scent, the way she does with me? His hand curves around her shoulder, moves up to her neck, back down.

“This’ll help” Alice says, handing me a shot of white tequila. 

I knock it down, pure fire, and then, just as I had daydreamed, Jess looks up and sees me standing there. For the longest time, our eyes lock, and a thousand things pass between us, one after another and another. Bright and dark, sharp and sweet. I see the love she has for me, shining there. I know it. I believe in it.

And yet, even as she stares at me, she doesn’t step away from Kaleb. There is no shame in her body language, no apology.

This is bad.

“I can’t stay here, Alice. I’ll meet you outside.”

She meets me in the street. Jess doesn’t come running after me. Maybe I thought she would.

Snow falls on my face, hiding the shattering of my heart. I think of the first moment I saw her, swinging that coffee pot around Billy’s. I think of the sweetness of her lips the first time we kissed, with lightning in the air all around us. I think of her coming to me, silky and naked, wary and hungry, and my lungs tear wide open.

I love her. There’s no way around that. I also know I’ve lost her, for now.

For weeks I’ve known what I needed to do—I have to let her fly, find herself, and in the meantime, I have to find myself, become the man I’ve got it in me to be. Actions speak louder than words. I’ll show her that I’m worthy of her. I’ll win her back to me and there’s only one way to do it.

By doing the one thing I was born to do. Becoming, finally, fully Tyler Smith.

I look at Alice. “Let’s have a fat cat dinner.”

“I’m in.” Her eyes scan my face. “That was her?”

I nod, eying the door.
Actions speak louder than words
. “Wait here for one second.”

She takes my arm. “No fighting.”

I shake my head.“Not even close.”

I might have lost for now, but right now, I have a chance to remind her of what we have been to each other. My body is humming as I walk back into the bar and weave through the people to where Jess and Kaleb are still standing. He gestures toward me and she looks up just as I reach them. “Tyler,” she says in a warning voice, “Don’t—“

“No worries,” I say and give Kaleb a nod.

He blinks, completely composed, alert but not afraid.  His body is angled, ready to defend her if he needs to, and I like him for that.

“‘Scuse me,” I say, reach between them, gently taking Jess by the back of the neck and pulling her into me. Her hands fly up and fall on my chest. Our eyes meet for the split second length of a flash of lightning, and then I’m kissing her.  Maybe for the last time.  I smell her shampoo and the heat of her skin and our lips mesh as they always have, and even as her hands are pushing against me, her lips are responding to mine.

I let her go and pull on my hat. Striding out  into the cold twilight, I say to Alice. “Ready,” and I mean so much more than dinner.

She grins. “Let’s do this thing.”

Read the next book in the Going the Distance series, EPIC, coming in May.

EPIC (sample)

CHAPTER ONE 

The day Jess leaves for New Zealand

The day is gray and threatening rain as Electra pulls up to the curb at the Denver airport.  It’s crazy busy, with cars and vans and little buses everywhere. My stomach lurches.

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you, child?” she asks. “I really don’t mind.”

I stare at the madness, the people pulling their suitcases, businessmen with soft briefcases flung over their shoulders. My stomach is filled with a million and a half fluttering butterflies, banging into each other, whirling around, rising to tickle my throat. “Yes,” I say in a weak voice. “I mean, no.” Panic squeezes my heart and I whisper, “What am I doing? It’s so far away! I don’t even know my dad.”

She smiles. “I’ll come in with you.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay.” This is the first step of a long journey. I am flying halfway around the world to see the dad I was taken from when I was six. I found him on the Internet, and we’ve talked a bunch of times since. “I have to do it myself.”

“You’ll be fine.” She secures a place at the curb and puts her car into gear. “If you get confused or worried, don’t panic, just ask someone.” She points to the guys taking bags at an outdoor counter. “Sky caps are always helpful. They know the airports.”

“Right,” I say, putting the word ‘sky caps’ together with the men in their sensible UPS-ish uniforms. “And I should tip them a dollar.”

“Yes. That’s how they make their living.” She opens her car door and gets out.

After one tiny second longer, I gulp down the flutterings and open my door, too. My pack is on the back seat, and I haul it out, settle it on my shoulder as Electra takes my suitcase out of the trunk.  Everything I own is in that suitcase. I gave the plants away, most of them to Electra who promised to take special care of the Rex begonia and the African violets I grew from slips. My step-dad took a couple of boxes of curtains and house stuff I didn’t want to lose.

Electra puts the suitcase down beside me. She’s a tall, lean woman in her sixties, with dark eyes and smooth dark skin. She’s been my neighbor for nearly two years, feeding me often, teaching me how to cook and garden, and chasing off bad boyfriends. My throat is full of tears as I realize, “I’m really going to
miss
you!” and although we’ve never been all touchy-feely, I move forward and she meets me half way and we’re hugging hard. She’s smells of Dove soap and mint and her arms are powerful.

“I’ll miss you, too, child. I really will. You have no idea how much joy you’ve brought into my life.”

I laugh slightly. “Yeah, like calling the cops when my ex broke into my house?”

“Other things.” She pulls back, holding on to my arms, and looks into my face seriously. “I’m right here, whenever you want. Call me day or night, all right? Anytime.”

I nod.

She touches my cheek. “You can be anything you want, Jess Donovan. Hear me? Anything. Don’t let where you were born keep you back from the biggest dreams you can come up with.”

Up till now, I’ve managed to keep my emotions under control, but that makes tears sting my eyes. I nod earnestly.

“And don’t let men knock you off track. Enjoy their company, but don’t make their dreams your dreams.”

“Okay.”

An airport cop meanders by, waving his hand. “Move along, ladies.”

Electra steps back. “Do the check.”

I swing the backpack off my shoulder, put my hand in the secret inside pocket and touch each thing in turn. “Passport. Wallet with credit card. Itinerary, which is also on my phone.” I pull the phone out of my back pocket of my jeans. “Check, check, check, check.”

She grins. “You’re all set then. I’m going to stand here until you go inside.”