by Tracy Wolff
I’ve done it before—a long time ago, with both Z and Cam. We were younger then, lighter, but we also weren’t as strong. If I’d been able to propel them then, I sure as hell can do the same with Timmy now.
“Hey, man, I’ll be right back,” I tell him, heading toward where his parents are watching from a little ways away.
His mom is a little hesitant when I explain what I want to do and I don’t blame her—she’s been watching us throw down for the last three days now, pulling out crazy stunts and going balls to the wall just because we can. She’d be nuts if she wasn’t a little nervous about what I’m proposing.
His dad seems more on board, though, and after explaining to them exactly what I’m going to do, he somehow manages to convince Timmy’s mom that it’ll be fine. Good for him, even. I can’t help smiling when I get their permission—especially when I think of how excited Timmy’s going to be when I tell him.
Wanting it to be as big a surprise as I can make it, I don’t say anything to anyone else. Just call to the others that I’m going to make a coffee run. Tansy comes up to me as they are calling out their orders, and offers to head down to the resort with me.
Like I’m going to turn down a chance to spend a few minutes with her? Maybe cop a feel or two?
Her hand slips into mine as we walk, and I can’t help marveling at how good it feels just to be this close to her. It’s only been a couple days since we slept together, yet things feel totally natural with her, like we’ve been together for years.
The thought has alarm bells going off in my head, but I pretend I can’t hear them. It’s not a huge stretch, either. Not when Tansy is looking at me like she’s as dazzled as I am, her eyes that crazy in-between-brown-and-green color that gets to me every time I see it.
The thought has me wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her against me. It’s only been a few hours since I climbed out of her bed after an early-morning wake-up call that had turned into something else pretty quickly, but I miss the feel of her against me. The taste of her lips on mine. The way she wraps her arms around my waist and holds me like we’ve got all the time in the world even though we both know it’s not true. It still blows me away how okay she is about the fact that most of my time, most of my attention, is devoted to my brother.
“I like your new hair color,” I tell her, reaching up to brush the fire-engine red and blond strands peeking out from beneath her beanie.
“You told me that last night, after I got it done.”
“Well, repeating it just goes to show I mean it.”
She laughs, then stretches up to kiss me. I bend my head to make it easier but still she has to stand on her tiptoes to reach. It’s strange, but her personality is so bold, so bright, that I forget how small she is unless she’s pressed against me. It’s only then that I remember just how fragile she is, how delicately made.
I lift my head and she growls a little, her hands tugging at my neck to pull my mouth down to hers again. I laugh, then cup her ass in my hands and boost her up, so that we’re level. She squeals a little, wrapping her arms and legs around me before bringing her mouth back to mine.
She tastes like sunshine mixed with vanilla today and as I smile against her lips, I can’t help thinking that this is what happiness tastes like. It’s been so long since I’ve felt it that I almost don’t recognize it.
Tansy squirms, like she’s afraid of falling, so I tighten my grip on her ass, pull her even more closely against me. It bothers me a little, how light she is. How easy she is to carry. She’s almost as skinny as Timmy, I realize, and for a moment the thought scares the hell out of me.
But she’s not like Timmy, I remind myself as I draw the kiss out. She’s strong and healthy and full of joy. Of life. Thank God.
Still, the moment of fear makes me hold her even more tightly, has me deepening our kiss until all I can taste or smell or feel is her. She laughs a little at my desperation but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she lets me hold her, kiss her, until our lips are numb and our jaws ache. Even then, I might have kept at it, except a couple of the resort employees walk by whistling and catcalling to us in Spanish.
I glare at them, but Tansy just laughs.
“We kind of deserve it,” she tells me as I reluctantly slide her down my body until her feet touch the ground. “That was a bit much.”
“Really?” I grab her hand, press it to the hard-on currently pressing against the front of my snowboarding pants. “Because it doesn’t feel like it was enough to me.”
“It never feels like it’s enough to you. You’re insatiable, Ash.” Still, she strokes me once, twice, a third time—just enough to have my dick leaking and my breath hitching in my chest—before pulling her hand away and skipping ahead through the snow.
I groan, spend a couple minutes trying to get my body under control before giving up and then breaking into a jog to catch up with her. Maybe no one will notice if it takes a few extra minutes for us to arrive with the coffee. We can always claim there was a long line at the coffee bar.
Forty-five minutes later, we finally make it back to the others—carrying twelve cups of coffee and hot chocolate between us. Not to mention a helmet for Timmy.
“Did you run up to Colombia to pick the beans?” Z smirks as he snatches his black coffee off my tray.
“There was a long line at the coffee bar,” Tansy tells him, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Oh, I’m sure there was. I just hope you two weren’t too bored with the long wait.”
“Thanks for your concern, Z, but the time went by pretty fast, actually.” This time, she smiles angelically as she lobs the ball back into Z’s court.
He snorts, casts a quick look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Not too quickly, I hope.”
Tansy turns red at that and I shoot him a glare that says he’s going to end up wearing about four cups of steaming hot coffee if he doesn’t shut his damn mouth soon.
But he’s Z, so he has to make a couple more cracks before letting the subject drop, even gets Luc in on the action. Some days I wonder how the hell I’ve put up with the two of them for sixteen years.
After we’ve all drained our cups, and Z’s headed back up for another run, I cross to Timmy and ask, “Hey, man, how’d you like to watch the show from the top of the pipe?”
His face lights up, only to fall a second later. “I’d love to, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to hike to the top of the half-pipe, Ash. I can’t breathe that well anymore and—”
“Hey, I’ve got you covered, man,” I tell him. “How ’bout a piggyback ride?”
“Really?” he asks, eyes wide.
“Absolutely.” I turn to Luc, who’s been watching the whole exchange while Z barges the half-pipe with a truly front run. “Can you help get him on my back?” The last thing I want to do is jostle the kid around and cause him more pain.
“You bet.” Luc lifts Timmy onto my back, and for the second time today I can’t help being startled at how little the person I’m carrying weighs. The kid is twelve, lanky as hell, and yet he weighs almost nothing. Logan is skinny, but Timmy probably weighs forty or fifty pounds less than my brother. It’s terrifying, and just more proof that he really isn’t going to live much longer.
The hike to the top of the pipe is nothing, Timmy weighing only a little more than the backpack I carry when we’re boarding backcountry. But once at the top, instead of settling him down on the deck to watch me do a run, I set him on his feet and ask, “Hey, what do you say to doing a run with me?”
His eyes go wide as silver dollars. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I say, plopping the helmet Tansy and I had just retrieved from the resort down on his head, “what do you say to riding this board with me? I won’t be able to do any sick tricks, but we should be able to get ourselves around the half-pipe pretty well.”
“Yeah!” he shouts, and the smile on his face is everything I’d hoped it would be, and then some. At least until he looks
at my board in confusion. “But how is that going to work?”
“Well, Z and I used to do this a lot when we were kids. Craziest thing you’ve ever seen, but it’s a lot of fun, too. I’ll strap into the board first, then I want you to sit on the end and wrap your arms and legs around my back leg. I’m going to ride switch, so that my strongest leg is in the back to work against your weight and to help keep us balanced and moving forward.”
“Is that going to work?”
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “I told you, Z and I did it a million times. Cam and Luc, too. All you’ve got to do is hang on as tightly as you can. I’ll go slow, so even if you fall off, you won’t get hurt.”
He eyes the half-pipe for a second, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. “I don’t want to go slow. I want to go really fast.”
“Dude, let’s just see how it goes first time out, okay? It’s been a while since I did this.”
“I want to go fast,” he says again, eyes bright as fucking stars. “As fast as we can.”
“I promised your mom we’d be safe—”
“I’m dying, Ash. I’ve got a few weeks, maybe a month to live, at the most. What’s the point of playing it safe at this point? I want to have fun! I want to do everything I can before I go.”
Jesus. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I glance down at Timmy’s parents, who are watching us from their spot at the end of the half-pipe. His dad is grinning hugely while his mom looks anxious. If I do what Timmy asks, I’m sure they’ll both skin me alive—especially when I promised them I’d be careful. But if I ignore Timmy’s wishes, then I’m not that great of a Make-A-Wish choice, am I?
I wave at them, let them know everything’s okay. Then turn to look at Tansy, hoping for some kind of sign from her. We talked about my plan on the way back and she thought it was a great idea, but she’s the one who told me when I got up here to remember whose wish I’m supposed to be granting. There’s a part of me that wonders how she knew I’d end up in this position.
She doesn’t notice me looking at her, trying to catch her eye. She’s too busy talking with Logan, whose whole face is lit in a huge smile. He says something in response to her and then they both crack up. It makes me smile.
Still undecided, I strap into my board, then wait for Timmy to scoot forward and wrap himself around me like I instructed. I have to admit, I was a little worried about him being strong enough to hold on, but despite his illness, the kid has a hell of a grip. Good.
Z looks up from where he’s talking to Victor at the end of the half-pipe, and lets out a huge war whoop when he realizes what I’m doing. Timmy lets go of my leg just long enough to wave at him and the others, all of whom have stopped to look now that they see what we’re doing.
“You ready, man?” I ask Timmy as I sideslip us to the edge of the ramp that leads into the pipe.
“Hell, yeah!” he shouts.
I can’t help grinning at the enthusiasm. He sounds just like Logan the first time I ever took him into the half-pipe. “All right, then. Here goes nothing.”
I bend my legs, line up my shoulders, then use my knees, hips and the heel of my left foot to get us moving.
We drop into the pipe pretty smoothly, considering it’s been years since I’ve done this with another rider on my board. Not to mention the fact that I’m riding switch. But boarding is boarding and I can do a simple half-pipe run in my sleep.
I carve across the flat bottom of the pipe, then angle up the transition and the vert. I don’t jump like I normally would here, more concerned about keeping things smooth for Timmy than I am with building up speed at this point. But as we pivot and carve our way back down the pipe, I can feel Timmy all but trembling in anticipation.
“Go faster, Ash! Go faster.”
With a silent apology to his parents, I press down hard on the heel of my front foot to increase speed, then carve my way up the backside wall of the pipe. When we’re almost at the coping, I hop—it’s not a full jump, but it’s enough to gain momentum and this time when we carve down the pipe, we go twice as fast as we did at first.
Timmy yells again, and this time I can hear the excitement and the joy in his voice. It makes me laugh, reminds me again how much I love this sport—and why. I carve a couple more lines, then when we’re about halfway through the pipe and I’ve got a good feel for the weight of the board with Timmy on it, I pop an air-to-fakie. I don’t catch huge air, but I’m not trying to. I just want to give the kid a little thrill.
It must work because he grabs on tighter to my leg, even as he laughs his head off. On my next line, I add a fakie ollie, then carve swiftly into another line where I pull an alley-oop. We’re three quarters of the way down the pipe and booking it now and I’ve got good control, so I figure what the fuck. I carve up the transition at a forty-five degree angle and when we hit the top of the vert, I jump us into what I think is going to be a 360 but ends up being a 720.
It’s not inverted, not corked, it’s just a plain spin, but from the way Timmy whoops you’d think I’d just pulled a YOLO flip or something. We carve the last line while everyone cheers, and I’m not sure who’s grinning wider when I sideslip through the end of the pipe, Timmy or me.
“That was amazing!” Tansy yells as she comes running up to us. I open my arms for a hug, but she flings herself onto Timmy, who returns her hug enthusiastically. Then he’s laughing and talking about a million miles a minute as he climbs to his feet, telling her and his parents everything that happened—like they didn’t see it for themselves.
Then Z’s there and Cam and Luc and they’re all talking about the alley-oop and the 720 like they’re the most amazing tricks they’ve ever seen and I can’t help grinning along with them—right up until I glance down to the other end of the pipe and see Logan sitting there, watching all of us. He’s not alone, Victor’s with him, but I can tell he’s upset by the dejected slope of his shoulders.
Fuck.
I unstrap from my board, then start toward my brother as quickly as I can—without making it look obvious. He has more pride than three people.
“Ash!” Timmy calls after me. “Thank you!”
I give him a thumbs-up. “No problem, man.”
The last thing I hear as I walk away is Z asking Timmy if he wants to go again—this time with him.
When I get closer to Logan, I can tell he’s trying to smile when he talks to Victor, but even a few yards away I can see that there are tears in his eyes. The knowledge guts me and I feel like a total ass. I’m not sure what I did—Logan’s not the kind of kid to be upset because I tried to make another kid happy—but something’s not right. And since I’m the biggest asshole out here in Logan’s opinion, it’s no stretch to think that I’m the one responsible.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” I ask when I get closer, pretending not to see his tears though doing it rips me apart. But again, the last thing I want to do is hurt his pride and start a fight.
Victor raises his brows at me, gestures with his head. I nod to indicate that I’ve got Logan, so, after a quick word to my brother, he turns away and starts the snowy hike back to the hotel.
“Hey! Victor!” Logan calls after him, once he realizes the aide is leaving. “Wait up! I want to go back, too.”
“I’ll take you back,” I tell him.
“I can take myself back, thanks.” He turns his chair, deliberately turning his back on me, and starts to glide away. Months ago—when he first came home from the hospital—Cam found him a couple sets of Wheelblades online; they’re like mini-skis that attach to the front wheels of his chair and make it about a million times easier for him to move in snow. He didn’t have much of a chance to use them this winter, because he didn’t get out of the hospital until the major snowfalls were done. But we’ve used them every day since landing in Chile, and up until now, I’ve considered them a total blessing.
At the moment, though, they’re pretty much the bane of my existence. I want Logan to sit still and talk to me a
nd it couldn’t be more obvious that that’s the last thing he wants—and the last thing he plans to do.
After waving Victor on, I walk beside Logan the whole way back to the resort. More than once he gets stuck on a block of ice or a particularly big rock just barely covered by the snow, and it takes every ounce of willpower that I’ve got not to offer to help him. Experience has taught me that doing so will only piss him off more.
I try to talk to him a few times, but he just shuts me down. So rudely and completely that I’m a little pissed off myself by the time we make it back to the hotel. Which is, of course, exactly what Logan is going for, the little shit.
Once we’re in our room, I strip off my boarding gear, then watch silently as Logan does the same. I want him to say something, even if it’s to yell at me for whatever I’ve done that’s hurt him. If he does that, then I can apologize and maybe we can move on. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt this kid. All I really want to do is make everything as easy for him as possible.
I feel so guilty and I love him so much.
Long, silent minutes pass as I wait for him to get his thoughts together and talk to me. Logan has a temper—there’s no denying that—but he’s also pretty reasonable and articulate. Once he gets over his mad enough to think, he’ll talk. He always does.
Except the creeping minutes turn into half an hour and then an hour and he still hasn’t so much as acknowledged my existence. The tension in the room—and in my body—is stretched to the breaking point and even though I know it’s the wrong move, I crack first. I can’t take it any longer.
“Logan, I’m sorry—”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes,” I tell him, getting off my bed and walking over to sit next to him on his. “I really am.”
“Oh, yeah?” He lifts his chin, stares at me challengingly out of gray eyes that look so much like my mother’s that it nearly guts me all over again. “What are you sorry for then?”