Wiping Out

by Carrie Quest

  I knew this was coming, but my planning skills have totally gone to shit because it’s been two days since Adam left to join Ben in Mammoth. And I haven’t managed to come up with a way to talk about what the two of us are doing or found a way for us to be together after the Olympics. I haven’t managed to do much, to be honest, except moon around the house having sex flashbacks.

  Not the worst way to spend two days.

  I want to talk about it with Nat, I really do, but I don’t want to answer her questions. Right now I’m high on hormones and denial, and she’s going to pull me back into the real world. She’ll do it because she loves me and blah blah blah, but I’m not ready to be there yet. Better to wait until I have a solid plan figured out and then share it with her.

  “I want to hear more about your writing stuff.” When in doubt, change the subject.

  She fidgets and her eyes dart to her bag. “Actually, I’ve got a ton of laundry to do and I’m beat. Catch up tomorrow?”

  I study her closely, noting the way her hands are twisting the tassels on the pillow she’s holding (my mom went through a bordello-chic phase and left Ben and Adam the soft furnishings). This is odd. Nat was secretive about her writing at the beginning, but since we all found out she’s been really open, and she was totally psyched for this conference.

  “Did something happen? Did your editor not like the second book?”

  Nat sighs. “She loved it.”

  “Were the other writers mean to you? Is there a dude with overdeveloped typing fingers and a flat ass somewhere out there that needs a little visit from me and Chuckles?”

  She shakes her head.

  Clearly something is wrong, and it doesn’t seem possible that the loved-up couple of the year could even be squabbling about pizza toppings, but I have to ask.

  “Did Ben act like an asshat? Because he’s under a lot of pressure right now, but you know he loves you, right?”

  She smiles. “Everything with Ben is good. I won’t tell you how good, because of the bonking rule, but it isn’t him.” She bites her lip and twists her tassel so hard that she rips it right off the cushion. “Shit, sorry.”

  “I highly doubt Ben and Adam will care. Tell me what’s going on, Nat. You’re freaking me out.”

  She pauses and my stomach clenches as a new thought pops into my head. She’s been with Adam and Ben for two days. What if Adam said something to her…about us? Something bad? Or what if he hooked up with someone else? We never said we were exclusive.

  Or what if Grandma had a turn for the worse? My parents called yesterday and said she was doing great and they’d make it to Korea to watch Ben after all, but strokes are unpredictable and people her age can go downhill fast.

  My panic must be showing on my face because Nat throws her pillow on the floor and pulls me into a hug.

  “It’s nothing bad,” she assures me. “It’s just…I decided not to finish school.”

  She says the last words so fast that I don’t catch them at first, and she has to repeat them twice before I catch on. Nat and I started college at the same time, we were roommates in the dorms freshman year and we’ve been together ever since. But she’s taken some time off to travel and I’ve done summer school and internships on top of my regular classes, so when I graduated last month she was still looking at another year of school. Maybe a year and a half.

  “Not go back at all? Not even after the Olympics?” She took spring semester off this year so she could go see Ben in Korea, but her original plan was to be back in Boulder for summer school in May.

  “I don’t think so. Not for a long time, if ever. My editor wants the third book a lot faster than I thought she would, and I pitched her an idea for another series that she loved, so I might be doing that one as well, and I don’t think I have time for school and writing and…other stuff.”

  “Another series? That is awesome, Natty!”

  “I know.” Her smile is weak.

  “Are you afraid about what your parents will say?”

  Nat’s parents are hardcore academic fanatics who stopped paying a good chunk of her tuition when she refused to major in a science and chose creative writing instead.

  She waves her hand. “They’ll be pissed and tell me I’m doomed to end up living in a shack somewhere surviving on instant noodles for the rest of my life. Whatever. They’ll get over it.”

  “Then what’s the problem? This is everything you’ve wanted, and it frees you up for more bonking trips with my brother when he travels. He’ll be psyched.”

  “He will, and that’s cool, but I kind of feel like I’m choosing him over school, and I swore I’d never do that. Remember that huge fight we had?”

  “Sure.” Before Nat finished her first book and became the rising star of the publishing world, Ben asked her to drop out of school and travel with him. She said no because she didn’t want to give up her dreams to follow him around and they broke up. Then Ben came to his senses and flew across the world in his snowboard gear to win her back.

  But that’s another story.

  “I feel like I’m back in that same place: choosing between him and school, and what if I look back and regret not putting myself first? I love your brother more than anything, but it still feels like a big compromise.”

  “This is a lot different than last time, though. You are kind of putting yourself first here, because you’re choosing to focus on your writing. I mean, do you think any of the classes you have left will help you with these next books?”

  “There’s always something more to learn, but at this point probably not.”

  “Do you think traveling more with Ben will be good for your relationship?”

  Her lips turn up in a soft little smile that hits me right in the gut. I love Nat like a sister, and I want her and Ben to be happy, but the jealous energy running through me right now could power New York for a year. It shocks me so much that I get up and head over to the kitchen, because I really do have a shit poker face and I don’t want Nat to think I’m mad at her.

  I’m really not angry. I just…want what she has. I want to have someone in my life that makes me smile like that. I want to be building a future with the man I love. Before Adam came back, I thought I was perfectly happy with my internship and grad school plans, and I still am psyched about all of that, but for the first time since I can remember, it’s not enough.

  For a fleeting second, I let my mind drift and imagine what it would be like to be in her shoes right now. I’d be getting ready to meet Adam in Korea knowing that the Games were only the start. We’d be making travel plans, probably to someplace with white sand beaches and warm blue water, and I’d be digging out sandals and bikinis. There wouldn’t be any urgency or panic, only the sweet knowledge that I’d be waking up with Adam next to me forever.

  God, do I want that.

  But my situation is totally different to Nat’s: I don’t already have a career I can do wherever I happen to be, and Adam and I are not even in a real relationship. Hell, three minutes ago I thought she was going to tell me he had hooked up with someone else. I have absolutely no business even considering giving up my plans to be with him, but the ecstatic look on Nat’s face is making me want to do it.

  This is dangerous. I need a drink. Or seven.

  Nat follows me to the kitchen and gives a “hell yes” when I pull the bottle of vodka out of the freezer and hold it up.

  “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” she asks.

  “How do you feel when you picture the future?”

  She grins. “Like I can’t wait to get started.”

  I hold up my glass in a toast. “There’s your answer, my friend. It’s a compromise, but I hear that’s what adulting is all about, at least after you saddle yourself with a permanent hook-up. It’s only going to get worse. Wait until you have kids and he tries to tell them that Rosco is the best hobbit.”

  “Tolkien does not have a character named Rosco, you crazy hobbit-hater, and anyway, we’re
totally going to be a Samwise family. I’ll put it in the prenup.”

  Then I have to hug her, because she’s telling the truth. If they have a prenup, hobbits will be involved.

  “Thanks for listening, Piper,” she murmurs into my hair. “I feel better.”

  “Good.” I start to pull away, but she clamps her arms around me and won’t let go.

  “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. That was an admirable attempt at distraction, but you’re not getting away that easily. What is going on with you and Adam?”

  She releases me but leaves her hand on my arm, like she’s afraid I’m going to bolt down the stairs and lock myself in my room. Damn, she’s good.

  “What makes you think something is going on?”

  “One: I can tell from your face that you’ve spent the past week having a sexfest of epic proportions.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  She narrows her eyes and points at my face. “You’re rocking the kind of glow that only comes from orgasms or facials that cost thousands of dollars and use scrubs made of unicorn semen.”

  “I’m using a new foundation.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Please. You don’t even know how to apply foundation. Anyway, as I was saying, you are glowing, and Adam walked off the plane with the dopiest grin I have ever seen on his face. He spent the last two days mooning around and mentioning you in every single conversation we had.”

  I blush so hard that I hold my icy drink to my cheeks to try and cool them down. “He did not.”

  “He did. It was all, ‘Let’s get Mexican food. Piper loves Mexican food.’” She makes her voice all deep and goofy when imitating Adam.

  “‘I stubbed my toe. It’s too bad Piper isn’t here, she’s really good with injuries.’”

  “He didn’t say that stuff,” I say.

  She ignores me and keeps going. “‘I’m going to sleep. Piper looks so cute when she’s sleeping, especially after I’ve made her come four or five times and she’s all sexed out.’”

  I throw an ice cube at her. “He definitely did not say that.”

  She dodges the ice easily and smirks. “Maybe not, but I bet he was thinking it.”

  “Okay, weirdo. We slept together. It was amazing, and I may never regain full use of my legs because I’m pretty sure he melted several of my bones.” I suck back another gulp of vodka for courage. “But it’s only until the end of the Olympics. After that I’m going to Europe and coming back here, and he’s going to be a beach bum somewhere and we’ll be over.”

  Except that isn’t going to happen, because I will find a way around it.

  Her face falls. “Shit, Piper. Did he tell you that?”

  “We decided together.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  Not even a little.

  “I have to be okay with it, because that’s the way it is.”

  She opens her mouth to answer, but I hold up my hand. “I’m really not up for talking about it right now, okay? Can we watch a movie or something?”

  It will take Nat about two minutes to figure out that I’m not really lying down and accepting the Adam expiration date, and then she’ll get a sad, gentle look on her face and do what she did when he first came back: try to protect me by making me face the truth. She’s wrong of course, but I don’t want to spend tonight fighting about it.

  She studies my face for a long minute, then nods and tweaks my nose. “What should we watch?”

  “Something with lots of blood and no kissing. And bring the vodka.”

  “Done.”

  18

  Adam

  Two Weeks Later

  The Olympics are a mind fuck. The crowds, the excitement, the strange languages swirling around me, the flags and pins and team jackets from all the different countries—if I close my eyes, I’m back in Sochi. Back to that life where everything I ever wanted was spread out in front of me.

  And fuck but it’s tempting to let myself drift there.

  “Ready, Adam?”

  I force myself to open my eyes. The riders are about to start their second runs of the day in the slopestyle qualifying round, and I can’t exactly do my job if I’m sitting up here with my eyes screwed shut, torturing myself with a little stroll down memory lane.

  The buzz in my veins as I strapped my board on at the top of the pipe.

  The crowd roaring as the announcer yelled out my name.

  “Adam?”

  Shit. I shake my head, like my brain is one of those kid toys that can be cleared and reset with a few quick flicks of the wrist. If only it were that easy.

  “I’m good to go,” I say.

  Gabe and the camerawoman, Alex, share a long look. “You sure?” he asks me quietly.

  “Totally.” I look down at the neatly typed list in my hand: descriptions of all the riders’ first runs. Gabe’s been as good as his word so far with all the stuff we talked about. All I need to do is shoot him or Alex a quick thumbs-down if I need a break, and if one of them makes the biking sign for stop, I know I’m losing it and need to get out of Dodge. I hope to hell that last signal will not be necessary, but it relaxes me to know it’s there if I need it.

  We’re in a little room in a tower near the base of the mountain. One wall is all windows and it’s high enough to see the entire slopestyle course. I have no idea what kind of arrangement Gabe came to with the Olympic people as far as licensing and footage is concerned, but I guess billions of dollars talks. We’ve got television screens in here so we can get close-ups of what’s happening out on the course in real time, and we’ll be heading down to interview some people at the bottom later.

  It’s a sweet setup for sure, and if things were different, it would be a dream gig. If, say, I was gearing up to compete in my own event in a few days and they wanted me to weigh in on the slopestyle competition for shits and giggles.

  The feeling of weightlessness as I launched myself off the lip of the pipe and flew.

  Shit. I have to focus. I knew this would be tough, but I underestimated the physical response I would have to being this close to the course. In Mammoth I hung back, kind of like I did in Breck. I kept to the condo and the lodge and talked to people there instead of hauling my ass onto the actual mountain. Nobody pushed me because Mammoth isn’t just a regular mountain, after all. It’s the mountain, the place I crashed, and maybe someday I’ll be strong enough to hike up to the place it happened, but not this year. Maybe not ever.

  I dipped my toe into the water in California, sure, but today has been a full body polar plunge and I’m struggling.

  I never even competed in slopestyle either. If I’m this messed up today, then the half-pipe event is going to bury me.

  “Who do you like to win?” Gabe asks.

  That’s a no-brainer right there. “Zeke has it in the bag. His run was in a whole other league.”

  The top twelve riders from today will advance to the final. They get two runs and use the top score, and Zeke could easily skip his second run and skate through if he wanted to. His technical abilities and style were noticeably more advanced than even his closest competitor. He’s kicking ass, and the course is made for someone like him, so he’s fun as hell to watch.

  The setup they have going on here in PyeongChang is pretty crazy. I may have never competed in slopestyle, but my whole body is itching to strap on my board and get out there to try it out, just for the pure joy of it. There are six sections: three jumps and three rail features. The rails come first and offer tons of different lines that really let the creative riders shine. The third one even has a little snow bowl that’s new for a course at this level and looks fun as hell, especially for a guy like Zeke who popped out and hit the gnarly curved rail that the more conservative riders shied away from.

  It’s the jumps that are really calling to me, though. Angled takeoffs, half-pipe style ramps, and a huge money booter at the end to send you flying. Zeke nailed a triple cork on his first run, and I’m pretty sure he’s gonna go for a
quad next. If not today, then definitely in the final.

  He wasn’t the only guy to hit the triple, and every single time a rider attempted it I swear I could feel Gabe and Alex desperately trying not to watch me. None of us even named the trick, which is piss poor announcing to be honest. We all talked around it, and I kept my gaze straight ahead, focused on the course, and schooled my face so no emotion showed.

  I’m going to have to be the one to break the silence. Gabe is too decent a guy to throw out the words if he thinks hearing them will hurt me. I study the paper Alex pressed into my hand a few minutes ago. The first guy up is a Canadian who attempted the triple in his first run but didn’t hit the landing exactly right: he wobbled and dragged his hand. Excellent. No time like the present. He’s sure to dial it in this round to up his score.

  “Think McMasters will land the triple on that final booter?” I ask.

  Gabe’s eyes widen slightly but he plays along. “He’s hungry for it. He’ll definitely try again, and I saw him land it at practice earlier in the week.”

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding with a rush and smile at Gabe when he gives me a nod. Done. Floodgates open. Then McMasters’s name is echoing around us and the crowd goes fucking nuts, and I don’t have time to think, all I can do is try to keep up as the riders come, one after the other, swooping and grinding and flying through the course.

  As the round progresses, I use my cheat sheet more and more. I may remember every single instance that someone tried the triple, but the rest of the tricks blend together occasionally and the paper in my hand saves me. I lose the names of things a few times, but Gabe is quick to jump in if he senses I’m struggling, and I figure out that throwing in a quick story or fact about how it feels to actually do a trick compensates for not actually labeling it.

  In a fucked-up way, it actually reminds me of riding. Of the way I would change lines in the backcountry if a hazard popped up on the route I planned to take, or how I’d switch up my runs in the pipe if the riders ahead of me did something similar to my usual. I was good at thinking on the fly back then, and the circumstances might be different—and not to my liking—but it’s actually comforting to realize my ability to adapt is as strong as ever. Makes me feel like myself again, like I’ve discovered a part of the core of me that remains unchanged.