Carry Your Heart (10 page)

Hunter, Lottie, and I stay on at Snowbird with a handful of other competitors for training. Miserably, Laurel has decided to ski at Alta, the neighboring mountain, until Jackson, too.

Not that Laurel and Hunter should matter. But it does.

I don’t see much of Laurel, except for nights when she’s slept over at Hunter’s, and she wears his clothing to breakfast. And I don’t see much of Hunter either. Whatever he has with Laurel might not be a traditional relationship, but it’s definitely more than drunken sex. There’s one place to eat dinner on Snowbird and he’s never around for it anymore. I try changing my schedule a few times, pathetically, to see if I will run into him.

The one morning I see him alone, he nods at me casually, grabbing a granola bar and a Gatorade and heading out to train without sitting down to eat.

I’m slowly getting my skills and my speed back. I start catching Lottie in a few drills and I force myself to ignore her scowls on the very rare occasions when I do something better than her.

Lottie seems more focused than ever before, to the point where we’ve virtually stopped talking like we had been during my first few days back.

After ten days, it feels like I never stopped skiing at all. My legs harden into lean, strong lines again. I begin to sense the subtle shifts of the terrain beneath my skis. I look further downhill.

I feel and understand o the small movements controlling my trajectory. And I know, once more, that my speed belongs to me. It’s mine. It’s what I create and what I live for. It’s not the other way around.

***

“Great run, girls,” Mike shouts. Lottie comes to a stop, scowling. It’s the third run in a row that I’ve beaten her down the hill and I can tell she’s pissed and trying to hide it.

“That’s it for the day.”

“Great,” Lottie mutters. She clears her throat. “I’m going to take off.” She drops her shoulders and heads down to the lodge.

I watch her go, remembering Hunter’s warning.
Did you feel everything change?
I wish I could talk to him—or someone other than Lottie, who is obsessed with winning and not nearly as much fun as she used to be.

“You did great,” Mike says again.

“Thanks,” I say, appreciatively.

“I want you to try to win a few events in Jackson.”

“Me too,” I say gamely.

He grins. “I know. You’ll be ready.”

I nod.

“Well, get some rest.”

“Think I’m going to have a little fun,” I say. I smile and nod up at the mountain enticing me with its deep powder and deserted trails.

“Ah…alright, go for it. Stay in bounds.”

I nod. Going out of bounds still freaks me out. Even inbounds, on the trails that the mountain’s management maintains, where avalanches are incredibly rare, I sometimes start to think about the snow tumbling down. I’ll look up to the staggering top of the peak before and wonder.
Is it really safe?

I coast over to the tram that takes you to the tippy-top of the mountain—the most challenging double-blacks, where you can find 40 degree inclines and tree-dotted paths that make your head spin. I still live for this shit—even more than the racing.

I’m not surprised there’s no one else waiting for the tram. It’s cold and late in the day. You have to be addicted to the sport to want to squeeze in an extra round.

I hear someone approaching from behind and see Hunter, casually gliding on his snowboard, with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand.

“Philly,” Hunter says. He wears a big grin, coming to a stop.

“Done for the day?” he asks.

“Yep. Just going to fuck around. Have some fun.”

“Looks like we have something in common. Weird.”

I laugh, in spite of myself.

He gives me a quizzical look. “You sure you can
handle
the top runs?”

“Please.”

He grins. “Where’s your Siamese twin?”

“Huh?”

“Lottie.”

“Oh, she—kind of stormed off, actually.”

“Laurel asked me to spy on you,” Hunter announces. “I thought about it. After all, you spied on me. Should I tell her you’re struggling?”

“Tell her whatever you want,” I say. I don’t take it nearly as lightly as I should, and he smiles at that, sort of pleased with himself to have gotten so deep under my skin.

“Mm…okay.”

We both fall quiet, without anything to say and eventually the tram comes. I don’t know why my mind has gone so stupidly blank. I bite my lip, thinking of anything to say to him.

“Is Laurel going to Jackson?” I ask at the same time as he announces: “We broke up.”

“What?”

“Me and Laurel. We broke up. I think, anyways. It’s like the fifth time she’s broken up with me but this time she says she means it.”

“Sorry,” I say, wincing, shifting my glove.

“Nah,” he says. “I really don’t give a fuck. And I say this as a person who really doesn’t give a fuck about anything—the way that I don’t give a fuck about Laurel breaking up with me for the fifth, sixth whatever time is exceptional.”

I laugh.

“I mean, frankly, I didn’t even know we had something to breakup.”

“You told me she was your girlfriend.”

“Yeah. To
annoy
you.”

“Why would I find that annoying?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I was kind of drunk.” He grins—it’s not his arrogant,
do-you-want-to-come-home-with-me
grin. It’s sheepish. It’s endearing. So charming. He should smile like that all the time.

“You said you weren’t that drunk.”

“You know, I think you’re headed down the wrong career path, Pipsqueak, maybe you should be a lawyer. Do you remember every word everyone ever says to you?”

“When I give a fuck, I do.”

“Well, I’m flattered to learn that you give a fuck that I said I wasn’t that drunk.” He looks out the window. “
And
that I had a girlfriend.

I roll my eyes.

“I’m surprised, from what I’ve heard about you, but flattered.”

“What have you heard?”

He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it messy and standing up in places. “Well, from Laurel, so I should probably have taken it with a grain of salt.”

“Yeah, what does she say?”

“About you? A lot of shit I’d never repeat and don’t believe.”

“You had something specific in mind.”

“Christ. I really have to stop talking to you. I
always
end up saying something incredibly dumb.”

The tram reaches the base of the mountain. It’s the last ride up for the day, before the mountain closes, and Hunter and I are the only people headed up. He jumps off his board and I take off my skis. We both get aboard. The doors close and I lean my skis against the rack and sit down. Hunter closes his eyes.

“What?” he asks when he opens them and catches me staring.
You’re gorgeous, and I want to look at you.

“What did Laurel say about me?”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Just that I wasn’t your type.”

“You talked about that?”

“Not in as many words.”

“What did she say my type was?”

“Danny. I mean, she said, you’d never get over that.”

I lift my shoulders. “Yeah. It’s…well.” I bite my lip. “He wasn’t my type when I met him either.”

“Oh, really? What was your type then?”

“Ryan,” I smile.

“Really?” he laughs. “His best friend?”

“Not really, just for a while. Before I really got to know Danny. You knew Ryan, right? Everyone I know was kind of love with him,” I grin. “But Danny—that was the real deal. Ryan was like a schoolgirl crush.”

“Must be nice.”

“What?”

“Being sure that it’s real,” he says. “I was thinking about that when I woke up this morning. Laurel is what—my ninth girlfriend. If we’re going to call her a girlfriend, which is really up for debate, because we weren’t even exclusive. And the number of girls who were something in between one-night stand and girlfriend…I don’t know…” He shakes his head. “I’m not trying to impress you, but I kind of have gotten around.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

He laughs at that. “Well, none of them seemed any different from each other. Like, they were all perfectly nice…”

“Laurel is nice?”

He shrugs. “She can be. Can’t everyone?”

I shrug. “I don’t know her well enough. I guess…”

“Anyways—they were all perfectly nice, but I never—I don’t know. Maybe I need to do what you did and date someone who isn’t my type.”

“Lottie’s single.”

He smiles. “Lottie, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What about you?”

I flush brightly. “I’m not your type.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“I’m all wrong.”

“Why, because you aren’t blonde?”

“I could be blonde.”

He grins. “I kind of like the not-blonde thing.”

“I can see there’s a lot of depth that goes into your thinking of who you’re going to fuck.”

“Who said I wanted to sleep with you?”

“You did. At the bar.”

“No, I asked you if you want to go home with me.” His eyes crinkle in a wicked grin. “Maybe I just wanted to play checkers and talk.”

I can’t hold back the laugh. “Maybe you should try to go on a date with someone before you decide to fuck them.”

He grins. “Come on. Like anyone has time for that shit. You met Danny because you two skied together. Right?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Well,” he shrugs. “I never met anyone easily. It’s almost always the same kind of girls at parties for my sponsor. All that shit. Laurel. Mackenzie. Kim before that.”

We’re high over the mountain now and I cast a look out the window to the ground below.

He sighs. “I like it out here.”

“Yeah?”

“I thought I’d hate this mountain but…it’s nice. Quiet,” he shrugs. “Not a lot of people I know.”

“Why’d you leave Whistler?” I ask again.

“My little brother lives here.” He looks at me, probably wondering how much of his conversation I overheard. “Is your family close?”

“Yeah, my dad’s near Boulder in Colorado,” I say.

“Where’s your mom?”

I shrug. “She died when I was two.”

He’s quiet. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I don’t remember her,” I shrug. “Meningitis. It happened pretty quick.”

He winces and shakes his head.

“Only child?”

“Yup,” I say.

He nods. “How’s that?”

“Fine. Good. My dad and I get along really well. We never really needed a buffer.”

“My father and I would murder each other if we were left alone for a few hours,” he says with a bitter grin.

I nod. That sucks. “How old is your brother?”

“Eleven.”

“Nice.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Tough age, actually.”

“Why? Is he getting into trouble?”

“No, he’s a sweet kid,” Hunter smiles. “Hard to believe we’re from the same gene pool, honestly. I was a terrorist at that age. But—you know, kids at school, bullying, all that…he’s pretty sensitive.”

I nod, shaking my head. “Yeah, that can really suck.”

“Did you go to middle school?”

“Half of sixth grade, then mountain school.”

“Yeah, I only went through fifth grade,” he said. “Seems like we missed a real horror show.”

“Does he snowboard?”

“Some.” He hesitates. “My dad’s got him skiing—had him skiing for a while. He doesn’t have a super-competitive personality, so… I don’t know. He seems to like it for now.”

The tram comes to a grinding halt atop the mountain and he gives me a devilish grin. “Think you can keep up with me?” he asks.

“Freestyle snowboarder?” I give him a look. “Yeah. I like my chances.”

We jump off the tram and jog a few yards to the top of the steep slope.

“Race ya to the bottom?” he challenges me.

“Sure.” He sits down and straps on his board, tightening the toes and the ankles and jumping up. I click into my skis and give him a look. “Do I have to wait for you to get your heels on?”

He laughs, jumping to his feet and turning his board.

“Fuck you,” he says playfully, shoving me lightly. Still, I slip off balance and he plunges down the mountain.

I rush after him—skiers are faster than snowboarders—but he’s not joking around and he can get big air. He flies up a steep snow bank and launches himself ten feet forward, landing with soft smooth, bended knees and one hand trailing in the snow.

I’m not going to catch him on the first trail so I breathe deep, watching him swoop and leap. There’s something beautiful about the way he moves on a board. No poles, just one simple line. All you need is air, snow, and your feet strapped to a board.

He takes another big leap and flips twice, spinning like a gymnast. He lands so casually; you’d think it was impossible for him to fall.

Something about the way he moves, catlike and effortlessly, like the rules of gravity never quite applied to him, makes me want him to stop long enough for me to get down there and kiss him.

He stops and sits down, waiting for me at the top of the next, westward facing slope.

He’s hardly out of breath and I sit down next to him, crossing my skis at the toes.

“See. Awkward as fuck.”

“What?”

“You can’t sit down in skis.”

I roll my eyes.

“You look like an idiot.”

“Well. At least nobody is prejudiced against me,” I say recalling his diatribe about racism against snowboarders.

Hunter laughs.

“Except for you.”

“Hey. I like your skis. You look cute in them.”

“I thought I looked like an idiot.”

“An adorable idiot.”

I make a face. “You get some big air, huh?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s fun. You jump at all?”

“A little. Mike discourages it—too easy to get hurt.”

He nods. “I always liked the freestyle stuff better than the racing.”

“I never tried it.”

“You should. It’s pretty awesome, once you get over being scared.”

I nod. Getting over being scared. Maybe that’s the whole trick to life.

He nods and leans back on his hands, lying flat on his back and looking up at the sky. “I love it up here.”

I stare at the descending sun. It’s difficult to disagree. I lay back too, next to him, feeling the cold snow underneath my coat.”