Carry Your Heart (17 page)

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he nods and kicks the snow.

“Was your dad just…intense?”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” he mumbles. I frown. “I guess a lot of these parents are, though.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

It’s definitely more widespread than it should be—parents who ride their kids too hard. You’d think someone like Doug Cannon, who probably saw his competitors crack up and fall apart under the pressure, would know that it never worked out like the parent thought it would. That you ended up with a kid who hated you almost as much as he hated the sport. Or that your kid would end up drug-addicted and miserable, traumatized by never living up to impossible expectations.

Hunter gnaws his lip, watching Shane. He’s nervous for him.

Doug trudges over to us. “You guys are at the wrong race.”

“How is he?” Hunter asks, as we both turn to follow him over the slopes to a run further away.

Doug shrugs. “He gets inside his head too much.”

“He’s eleven.”

“And?” Doug asks.

Hunter turns back to glance at the new slope. It’s steeper and the flags are closer together. The banner reads ‘U14 Park City Boys.’

“Why
is he competing up an age division?” Hunter demands incredulously.

“There are twelve years olds competing in the U16 age division,” Doug says dismissively.

“Well, let’s just make Shane feel like shit about that,” Hunter mutters.

“Look, I don’t know why you come to his races if they stress you out so much.”

“They don’t stress me out,” Hunter replies. “I don’t know why you’re pushing him like this.”

“Well,” Doug shrugs. “This is racing. It’s competitive. I don’t know what to tell you. If he’s nervous, he’s nervous. Part of life is performing when you’re nervous.”

“I don’t know why you’d move him up an age division when he was having such a hard time against kids his own age.”

“He wasn’t having a hard time against kids his own age and he’ll have a head start a year from now.”

“Yeah, if he doesn’t have a nervous breakdown first,” Hunter says with a scowl.

“Not everyone looks at every challenge like a reason to have nervous breakdown,
Hunter
,” Doug says. “Just because you couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean he can’t.”

“Alright, let’s not do this.”

“Have a conversation?”

“Revisit the past.”

Doug slides his hands into his pockets and looks up the mountain. He’s handsome. I can see where Hunter gets his looks and his eyes. But, Doug has a fierce look behind his, like he’s in the middle of battle.

He can’t be over forty-five. He’d been competitive in the 90s. He must have had Hunter young, in his early 20s, maybe even his teens.

These kids are good, and they are
big
. They dwarf Shane. Some of them are six feet tall and built like men. We hear Shane’s name called and it takes a moment before we seem him zipping into view, bending into hard, fast turns.

He’s a good little skier, although with his size disadvantage, he probably doesn’t stand a chance.

Doug scowls. “Get aggressive on your turns,” he shouts out at Shane, in a drill sergeant’s bark. “Come on, don’t play it safe.”

I watch Shane struggle to speed up through the turns and Hunter cracks his knuckles, bouncing on the balls of his feet, uncomfortably aware of the time ticking away.

He slides across the finish line. 12th place with half of the field still to go.

“Shit,” Doug mutters.

“He’d have finished a hell of a lot higher in U12…

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Hunter.”

“Yeah, well—it certainly wasn’t his idea to move up an age division,” Hunter snaps back.

Shane walks up the hill to us, with his skis slung over his shoulders. It’s a kids’ division, so there won’t be finals. He lifts his shoulders as he reaches us, apologetically. “I started too slow.”

“You did great,” Hunter says. “I don’t think Pippa skis that fast.”

“You have to be more aggressive,” Doug says sharply.

“Yeah,” Shane kicks at the snow. “The first turn, I got caught on my heels and…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Doug snaps. “You have to be aggressive the whole way through or you’ll finish in the middle of the pack every time. If you feel totally in control of your speed, you’re not going fast enough. And you’re not loading your inside ski, which is so goddamn basic…”

“Get off his back,” Hunter interrupts.

“I’m giving him advice.”

“You’re giving him a hard time,” Hunter says.

“Shane,” Doug continues. “Listen to me, your inside…”

“No, get off his back,” Hunter says, stepping forward. “He’s just a kid.”

“So is everyone else he was racing against,” Doug says, taking an aggressive step towards Hunter and directing hi anger at him. “And they didn’t seem to have any probably loading
their
skis. That’s the problem with you and with everyone in your generation. You know that? You think we should tell everyone they did a good job, even when they
fucked
up.”

Shane flinches as his father’s voice grows louder. “Calm down,” Hunter says. “I mean it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Hunter.”

I stand there, uncomfortably and awkwardly, looking down at Shane who looks like he wants to disappear. “You want to grab hot chocolate?” I ask him softly.

Shane looks frightened so I offer him a big smile.

“I’m not…”

“Yes, Shane. Go get hot chocolate with, Pippa,” Hunter says brusquely.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

Doug reaches out to grab Shane by the arm, but Hunter’s stops him and, not wanting to make a scene, Doug lets us go. I glance over my shoulder, to see them continue to argue in low voices as I walk up the center and clatter up the stairs with Shane to the Rooster’s Roof.

I glance at the myriad versions of hot chocolate listed on the menu and raise my eyebrows. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s good, kid. I can’t tell them apart.”

He glances at the menu, an unusually serious look on his small face. I can imagine Hunter looking just like him at this age. And I can imagine Hunter dealing with an overbearing father, too, without a big brother to step in when Doug lost his temper. The thought of that makes me cringe.

“Just a regular hot chocolate,” he shrugs and smiles. “I dunno. Do they have that?”

“I think that would be the classic. Yeah, let’s not do anything fancy,” I say, stepping up to the window and ordering two.

Shane’s just wearing his racing suit and he shivers as we wait at the pickup window. I take off my parka and put it over his shoulders. “I think this is a men’s coat anyways,” I lie, when he looks at me apprehensively. He slides his arms into the sleeves.

“Thanks,” he says. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

“Nah, I’ve got my fleece.”

We get our hot chocolate and go sit at one of the picnic tables overlooking the mountain. Hunter and his father are arguing less discreetly now and I’m glad I’ve gotten Shane out of the way. But Shane’s watching too, a look of worry etched in his eyes. “Should we go back down?”

“Nah,” I say. “They’ll figure it out.”

Danny’s father had been overbearing too. Not like this, but demanding. Although, Danny just put up with it. He’d come to races and want to know why Danny hadn’t won and, instead of arguing, Danny would just apologize. He’d never talk about it with me. He didn’t think he had any right to complain. His father had spent a fortune on his skiing career. Danny thought that he deserved a better return on investment.

Ryan and I both secretly hated Danny’s father, and at the funeral, hearing his ragged sobs, I wanted to yell at him for all of the pain his disapproval caused Danny when he was still alive.

I look back at Shane, who is staring down at his brother and his father, furious and face-to-face, and I know he’s blaming himself for the fight. He’s probably planning a way to avoid this next time, just ski a little faster, be a little more aggressive, and then everyone will get along. He probably thinks it’s all because he didn’t win.

“It’s not your fault,” I say.

He sips his hot chocolate and averts his eyes from Hunter and Doug. “What’s not my fault?”

“That,” I indicate with my chin to argument.

He doesn’t say anything.

“People fight for all kinds of reasons,” I tell him. “I know it seems like that fight has everything to do with you, but it doesn’t. It probably has nothing to do with you at the end of the day.” I smile at him, wondering if he’s listening to me at all.

“Okay,” he says softly. He takes another sip of his hot chocolate. “So, how long have you been Hunter’s girlfriend for?”

“About a month.” I smile at him.

“I hope he keeps you.”

I laugh loudly. “Me too.” I hear his stomach rumble.

“You must be starving. You want food?” I glance down at Hunter and his father. They’re on the verge of getting physical, and two members of the ski patrol are circling them watchfully, making sure it doesn’t escalate.

He shakes his head and flinches. “Oh no!”

I turn quickly, to see Hunter shoving his father, ski patrol rushing over to restrain them and pull them apart.

Shane stands up. “Should we go back down?”

I wait, watching the two separate. Doug heads off to the parking lot in a huff and Hunter shrugs off medical attention and steps away. Most of the people on the mountain are staring at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He walks deliberately up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches us.

He has a split lip—so I missed something, Doug striking first.

“Hey,” Hunter says cheerfully.

Shane sounds like he’s about to burst into tears. “Where did Dad go?”

“Home.”

Shane looks pleadingly at Hunter, but doesn’t speak.

“Come on,” Hunter says. “You want to get lunch here?”

“Not here.”

“Alright, we’ll go somewhere in town. No worries.” He wraps an arm around Shane and we walk to the car. “Thanks,” he mouths silently to me over Shane’s head.

I let Shane take the front and handle the music. Hunter looks at Shane so protectively. I’ve never seen him so careful before. I’ve never seen him pay such close attention.

He’d be a great dad.

The thought jars me. We’ve been dating a month. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I’m 21. I shouldn’t be thinking about kids at all.

We grab hamburgers at a small restaurant near town. Shane seems subdued, and he’s a shy kid to begin with. “Are you still liking school?”

Shane shrugs. “Mostly. Yeah.”

“Classes are good, kids are being nice to you?”

He nods unconvincingly. Hunter leans his head down when he talks to him, gets closer so that he can hear Shane’s soft voice.

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“I don’t know. Not science.”

“Why not science?”

He shrugs. “I just don’t like it.” He glances at me and then back at Hunter. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, why would you be in trouble?” Hunter asks. “You don’t have to like science.”

“I mean with dad,” he puts his hamburger down and reaches for his water glass. “Is he mad at me?”

Hunter clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on his fork. He sounds so calm when he speaks: “No. No, he’s—look, dad’s. He’s got a lot going on.”

“Yeah,” Shane whispers. He doesn’t believe him at all.

“He gets upset sometimes, but it’s not—it’s not you, alright? It’s more him than anything else.”

Shane bites his lip.

“He was exactly like that with me when I was your age,” Hunter says. “You just got to realize it’s not about you.”

Shane looks at Hunter tentatively. “He just gets so mad…”

Hunter bites his lip.

“Well, your mom knows how he gets about it, right?”

“Yeah, but—she’s not there. And you’re usually not there and…” his voice jerks and breaks and he fights back a half-sob.

Hunter put a hand on the back of his neck and crushes him from his chair against his chest. “Hey, hey,” he whispers softly. “Don’t cry, Shane. It’s going to be okay. Alright?”

“Sorry,” Shane mumbles, wiping his eyes, catching his breath, and hiccupping.

I discreetly disappear to the ladies’ room so they can be alone. Staring in the mirror, at myself, I take a deep breath.

Here you are. On a date with Hunter Dawson. Your boyfriend. Getting to know his adorable little brother. And you’re just beginning to understand the shit that Hunter deals with. And it doesn’t scare you. Not even a little. You want to be there for him now.

I wonder if there are some people who can feel how it is when things start getting serious. Or if everyone is like me. And it isn’t until they’re washing their hands and killing time in a bathroom that they catch their own eye in the mirror and understand that things have already gotten serious.

That they are already half in love with the person they were supposed to go on one fake date with.

I smile softly at myself. It’s not so bad, being blindsided by the goodness of a man I thought was just for fun. It’s the kind of thing I could get used to.

***

Hunter’s quiet after we drop Shane off. I can tell Hunter doesn’t want to leave him at the big brick house, where he lives with his mother, Deirdre, and goes to a school that he doesn’t want to talk about. He squeezes him so tight, like he wants Shane to remember the hug.

Five minutes from the house, he swears under his breath. “
Fuck
.”

“What?” I say.

“Just,
Shane
.” He shakes his head. “I thought my dad…” He shakes his head again. Never mind.”

“You can tell me about it.”

He glances over at me, one arm on the steering wheel, and sighs. “I know, but…” he exhales. “Do you want to stop for a beer?”

I nod. “Yeah. I do.”

He circles a familiar block and parks in a deserted lot outside a bar called Wild n’ Out. It’s the kind of place that might be crawling with rednecks on a Saturday night, but at four o’clock on a Sunday, it’s empty except for the staff.

Hunter snags a booth and orders us both beers on tap. He folds his right hand into a fist and cracks each knuckle with his thumb, staring at me. “You were good with him.”