Dropping In (Snow-Crossed Lovers Book 1)

by Carrie Quest

  “So you’re saying I have to start eating more vegetables?”

  He pulls me in close again and tickles my ribs, laughing when I squirm against him.

  “I’m saying you need to keep writing, even if it feels like shit. Even if you end up deleting everything you do today and starting over. You’re still making progress.”

  It sounds easy when he says it, but the thought of struggling all day to write a page or two, only to send it whizzing to the trash folder, makes me want to crawl under the covers and never come out. I could easily become a bed-bound hermit. Leaving the house is no longer a necessity. Such is the power of the internet.

  “You ever hear of Leif Axelsen?”

  I shake my head, still stuck in my hermit fantasy. Maybe I could do a study on how long a girl can survive on pizza alone.

  “He’s a legend. This crazy Norwegian dude who revolutionized the half-pipe. Anyway, he was one of my idols, and one day he was out riding with us, saw me take a huge fall. I seriously ate shit. Lost my board, my pants were packed with snow, my nose was bleeding. He came down to help me up and I expected him to say something like ‘good try’ or ‘you’ll get it next time’ but he didn’t.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He pulled me up and said, ‘if you’re not falling, you’re not doing it right.’ Then he took off. I was kind of pissed he didn’t grab my board for me, but it was good advice, you know? The only people who succeed are the ones who are willing to fail first, as many times as it takes.”

  We sit in silence for a minute. He keeps holding me, rubbing circles on the skin of my shoulder. I think about what he said.

  “You’re—” I start, but he interrupts me.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m the last person who should be giving advice to anyone and I shouldn’t tell you what to do.” He’s tense all of a sudden, his arms tight.

  I elbow him in the ribs. “Shut up and let me finish. I was about to say you’re right.”

  He swallows hard. “Really?”

  “Yes, you’re very wise, Ben Easton. Thank you.”

  He relaxes back onto the pillows. “You’re welcome.”

  “And you are totally qualified to give people advice. Didn’t you win pretty much everything you ever entered? You’re probably in the dictionary under Getting Shit Done.”

  His cheeks flush when I mention all his trophies, which are most likely thrown in boxes in the storage closet behind us. Ben is the humblest guy I’ve ever met. For someone who grew up in a family like mine, it’s hard to get my head around. Everyone my parents have ever met knows my sister got perfect scores on her MCATs. My parents don’t do humble. They don’t even do humble brags: just full-on carpet-boasting offensive maneuvers that leave everyone on the ground in no doubt about how awesome they are.

  Ben is different. He avoids talking about his accomplishments at all costs.

  “I did all right,” he says. “But it cost me. No hobbies, no going out, no real relationships. My life was really small.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “It was at the time,” he says. “It wouldn’t be now.”

  The way he’s looking at me, his eyes steady and sure, his perfect lips slightly curved up in a smile, makes it clear that I, Natalie Berenson, have a little something to do with his change of attitude. Warmth floods through me and I lean in to kiss him.

  “You’re very wise, Ben Easton,” I murmur, right before my lips gently brush over his.

  He pulls me closer. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re telling me how smart I am, you know that?”

  I huff out a laugh and pull away. “Flattering, but I have to get up to work. Those words aren’t going to write and erase themselves, you know.”

  He groans. “Ten minutes?”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Okay, twenty?”

  “Nope. If you wanted me to stay in bed, you shouldn’t have given such good advice.”

  “I’ll remember that next time.” He throws his legs over the side of the bed and scrubs his face with his palm. “I’ll run, and you’ll write, and we’ll meet back here the afternoon for a debrief.”

  “By which you mean getting you out of your briefs?”

  The dimple slays me every single time. He should have a license for that thing. It’s a weapon of mass seduction.

  “Exactly. You’re pretty wise yourself,” he says. He gives me one last kiss and then gets up and whistles for Thor. They’re both out the door before I’m even up, but what kind of idiot doesn’t stay in bed to watch her naked boyfriend strut around looking for his running gear? Come on. I’m smarter than that.

  I wander upstairs and grab my phone to check emails while the coffee brews. I used to love email, but it’s kind of lost its luster ever since I started using it to invite random strangers to reject me and squash my hopes and dreams. Also, those penis-stretching ads are out of hand.

  A buzz of relief goes through me when there are no agent emails in my inbox. Only a message from my dad, which is probably another link to a business program he thinks I should apply to. I gulp down a cup of coffee for strength, then open it, ready to send back a simple and jaunty “Thanks, I’ll look into it!” reply.

  Then I read it, and I’m pretty sure the rush of caffeine in my system is the only thing keeping my heart beating. (Yeah, probably not medically likely, but I’m not the fucking doctor in the family so we’ll just go with it.)

  Natalie,

  I had a very interesting email from your school today. They say you’ve dropped your class and they have refunded your tuition money into my account as it is the primary account on your record. You have broken our agreement, and your mother and I are extremely disappointed in you. We had hoped you were sincere about writing, but it is clear that you were using the class as an excuse to goof off this summer.

  As we stated in our meeting, we will no longer fund your education unless you agree to a sensible major and start taking your future seriously. I have looked up the business classes on offer this fall and will be in touch with your schedule. If you cannot agree to these terms, then you will be on your own.

  Your mother and I are going out of town again tonight. We’ll be gone a week. Please do not try and contact us unless you have an emergency. We’re both too angry to have a productive conversation with you right now.

  Dad

  Shit. Fuck. Shitfuckshitfuckshit! I flash back to the bored admin woman who was watching a video on her phone when I brought in the drop sheet I got Monique to sign. I specifically told her to refund the money into my account, because I’m the one who paid for it.

  She’d nodded and told me she’d take care of it and that it might take a while to process. Fuck. Of course she wasn’t paying attention to my request! How can one college girl compete with the cuteness of all the cat videos on the entire internet?

  Saliva pools in my mouth and my cheeks prickle, a sure sign I’m about to lose the coffee I just drank along with most of my stomach lining.

  I’ve got one week to figure out a way to save my future, and the odds aren’t looking good.

  24

  Ben

  I almost don’t look at the text when my phone dings. I’m halfway up the canyon, the asshole in the tie-dyed shorts breathing down my neck, and it’s tempting to ignore it and keep going. Then again, it could be Nat texting me that she’s changed her mind about writing and wants me back in bed, which trumps my desire to smoke this guy. Especially if she’s using photos to sweeten the deal.

  Thor whines when I move to the side of the trail and stop. I swear he hates Tie-Dye more than I do.

  “We’ll get him next time, Killer.” The phone dings again as I’m fumbling in my pocket. My hands are sweaty, and my shorts are stuck to my legs, so it takes forever to get to the fucking phone. It keeps dinging. Very promising if Nat’s sending me pictures. Not so much if it’s anything else.

  I finally pull the stupid thing free, wipe my fingers off on my shirt, and swipe to ope
n the messages. They’re all from Adam. At first, I think he’s probably fucking with me, bored and sending me ridiculously specific food requests for when I bring him lunch later.

  But then I read the first text and my heart, already racing from my race with Tie-Dye, doubles its pace.

  Adam: I saw it. Get over here as soon as you can.

  Adam: Autumn sent it.

  Adam: You are such an asshole.

  Adam: Answer your phone, dammit.

  Adam: Where are you? I’m waiting.

  Adam: Fine. Just get here. Now.

  Adam: Dick.

  I stumble over to the nearest tree and lean against it, the rough bark biting at me through my thin running shirt. My legs give out and I slide down, scraping my back, and land on my ass with a thud. Thor whimpers and comes over to sniff me, then lies down at my feet.

  It’s over. If he’s seen that video, then he knows what I did. He knows I’m the reason he’s in that hospital bed. He’ll never ride again and it’s all my fault.

  I suck in breaths, but I can’t get any air. My lungs are tight, like someone has them in their fists and is slowly squeezing. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I’m helpless, my body completely out of my control, and it’s fucking terrifying.

  “Are you okay, man?” Tie-Dye is standing in front of me, a look of concern on his face. Fuck. That means I’ve been sitting here long enough for him to get to the end of the trail and double back. The dude is fast, but that’s still a long time. I need to get up.

  I try to tell him I’m fine, but all that comes out is a strangled wheeze. If I don’t calm the fuck down, I’m going to pass out right here.

  “Slowly.” He crouches down in front of me and takes long, deep breaths, urging me to match them. For a second I want to punch him, but I can barely move, so instead, I stare down at the bursts of color on his shorts and listen to his breaths, trying to follow his instructions.

  A few minutes later my chest loosens up and I manage a real breath. Relief floods through me, swift and elemental. I can breathe. My body/brain connection is back online. I can get up.

  I can go to Adam.

  He pulls me up and puts his hand on my shoulder, keeping me steady as I take my first wobbly step. “Better?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Thanks.” My voice is hoarse and unfamiliar, a twisted and injured version of itself. Mine but not mine.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Tie-Dye offers.

  I shake my head. “No need. I’m okay.”

  He watches me steadily for a minute and then tips his chin and takes off. I reach down for Thor’s leash and follow him, walking slowly at first and then breaking into a weak jog. I know it’s fucking stupid to push myself after what just happened, but I need to get home. Now that the nightmare is here, I want to get it over with.

  Nat’s curled up on the sofa when I stumble into the house, but I don’t stop to greet her, just nod and rush toward the kitchen for some water. My throat is raw, and I still feel dizzy. I don’t know what happened on the trail, whether I hyperventilated or had a panic attack or what, but the aftereffects are still rocking through my body.

  It isn’t until I’ve downed a full glass of water and am reaching for more that I hear the sobs coming from the sofa. Nat’s crying. Panic rushes through me: I left her an hour ago. What could have happened?

  I turn off the faucet and stand completely still, feeling the blood rushing through me, trying to get my head together. I know I need to check on Nat, but the erratic beat of my heart is telling me to FUCKING GO, to run down the stairs, get dressed, and leave. To get to Adam as fast as I can.

  Instead, I force myself to walk back toward the front door and drop down next to her on the sofa.

  “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  She sobs harder and burrows into me, which has got to be pretty disgusting considering the state of my clothes. I rub her back in slow circles, angling my legs away from her so she doesn’t notice they’re both bouncing up and down impatiently.

  I stay another minute, literally counting the seconds out in my head as I stare at the ceiling. I feel like a complete asshole as I do it, because I want to be there for Nat, I really do, but if she doesn’t speak soon, I’m going to tear out of here like one of those cartoon characters that disappear in a puff of dust.

  “My parents know,” she finally chokes out. “About dropping the class. They know everything.”

  I let out a deep breath, expelling the last niggle of fear that Piper was hurt.

  “That sucks,” I say. “Are they really pissed?”

  She draws in a long, watery breath and I hate myself, because making her feel better should be my first priority right now, but I can’t stop my fucking legs from bouncing or my mind from screaming at me to get my keys and leave her here. Alone.

  “Yeah,” she says. “They’re cutting me off unless I agree to the business major, and they told me not to even call them. My dad’s email was pretty harsh.” She snuggles in closer to me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Fuck. I pull her in for a sweaty hug and try to ignore the sweet sigh she lets out and the way she relaxes into my arms, like I have the power to make things better for once instead of fucking up every single thing I touch.

  “I’m really sorry, baby, but I have to go.”

  She stiffens in my arms and pulls back to look at me. “What?”

  “Adam needs me.” I smooth her hair away from her face. “I’m so sorry, Natalie. I’ll make it up to you when I get back tonight. I promise.”

  She stares at me, her face a mask of disbelief. “Adam needs you?”

  I nod, just as my phone dings again. I ignore it the first time, but when the fifth message in ten seconds comes through, I have to look. They’re all from Adam, telling me to get my ass in the car.

  “Is he waiting for his lunch?” Nat’s tone is cold, and she pulls away from me and wraps her arms around her middle. Keeping herself safe. From me. I reach out for her hand, but she shakes her head and keeps it clamped in place.

  “No. Autumn sent him the video. He’s seen the accident and he needs to talk to me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Autumn again.”

  “Autumn isn’t there. She’s probably in fucking New Zealand by now. It’s Adam, and he’s by himself, waiting. I need to go.”

  Her eyes well up again, and she grabs a tissue from the coffee table. “I get it, but can’t it wait for at least an hour or two?” She looks away and I can tell she hates what she’s about to say, but she keeps going anyway. “Can’t you put me first?”

  Her voice is so little, and sad, and she’s hugging herself again, rubbing her own arms to warm up, and I want to be there for her so badly it hurts. My lungs start to squeeze again, and I have to look away because she’s killing me.

  “You are my first,” I say. My voice is gravel. I haven’t been this close to crying in years. “You’re my everything, but this is important.”

  “And my life isn’t?”

  Nat’s not the type to get hysterical, so I know she’s worked up. This is her nightmare, the one that’s been haunting her all summer, but I’m in the middle of fighting my own monsters.

  “Of course you’re important,” I say, keeping my voice soft and slow. “I get why you’re so upset, but let’s be honest. You told a lie and your parents found out. Yeah, they’re gonna be pissed off, but nobody is dying in this scenario. Nobody’s life is going to change forever. We can wait and talk about it tonight.”

  The phone dings again and I want to throw it across the room. Nat’s staring at me with red eyes and a look of revulsion that’s gutting me, but there’s nothing I can do. I have to go.

  “You’re supposed to be on my side,” she says. “You said you were right there with me. If you leave me now to go bring Adam a fucking burrito, then everything you said all summer has been a lie.”

  “You think I’d leave you here, like this, to make a fucking food delivery?” My voice is low and tight now, angry and cold and sp
iraling out of control. I press my fists against my knees, forcing my legs to be still. Forcing myself to keep a lid on the wild energy coursing through me.

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  She’s glaring at me now, hurt and furious, and my phone is still going off like a fucking rocket, vibrating a hole in my shorts. I drop my head into my hands, covering my ears like a little kid, trying to shut out the world.

  “It’s my fault!” I know I’m screaming the words out loud, but my hands are still over my ears, so it sounds like someone else is saying them. I jump off the sofa and start pacing, trying not to look at Natalie, because even her previous expression of wounded anger is better than the disappointment and disgust I’m going to see the next time I look at her beautiful face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I stop pacing and look up, straight into her eyes. “It’s all my fault. I was fucking around, and I caused the accident. I pushed him too far. I am the reason Adam is in that hospital bed. I am the reason he’ll never ride again. Go ahead and hate me if you want to, but I don’t have time for this girlfriend shit right now. I have to go.”

  She gapes at me, but before she can say a word, I’ve grabbed my keys and I’m out the door. Gone.

  I’m numb all the way to the hospital, totally on autopilot. I’m actually surprised when I pull into the parking lot, because I have absolutely no memory of the journey. I feel like I’m floating above my body as I make my way toward Adam’s room; like I’m stuck in a nightmare, not really here and unable to wake up.

  When I get to his door, I stop, and it takes all the self-discipline and control I’ve ever had to force myself to take those last steps. I watch my hand reach out for the handle, hear the squeak it makes as if from a distance, and push the door open.

  The curtains are pulled, the room completely dark except for the glow of Adam’s phone. It lights up his face, but I’m too far away to be able to see his expression.