“Cody, this is Mara,” he says softly.
I wave.
Jesse laughs.
“Oh right, he can’t see me.” I cover my face. “Hi.”
“He can’t hear you either.”
I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve never met a dead person before.
This moment is important and I’m ruining it with being awkward. I focus on the epitaph carved into the granite. “I am free.”
“It’s a line from a John Denver song,” Jesse explains.
I nod and read the rest of the engraving, “Cody Cerro Hayes, May 27, 1991 - January 1, 2015. Beloved son, brother, friend.”
“I wanted to add ‘selfish-asshole’ at the end, but was vetoed by the rest of the family. Cody would’ve agreed with me. I know it would make him laugh.”
“You’re so calm about this.” I lean against his side.
He lets go of my hand and pulls me close. “I’ve had a couple of years to adjust. When you leapt into my arms at the Onion, everything was still raw. I was pissed off, hurt, and numb. Going through the motions of living, not really awake.”
“Understandable … How did he die?” I know I can find out online, but I want Jesse’s version, not a twisted tabloid story.
“Bike crash.” The words lack emotion.
“Like a motorcycle?”
“No, he was on a mountain bike.”
Makes sense given he was an adrenaline junkie. “Sounds like he died doing what he loved.”
Jesse shakes his head. “He was drunk and riding the wrong way through traffic at the beach in San Diego. Car pulled out and hit him.”
I don’t know what to say, so I remain quiet.
He squeezes my arm. “He wasn’t wearing a helmet because he thought he was invincible.”
Suddenly his gift of a ski helmet doesn’t feel so random.
“When I got the call, I thought his friends were joking. I hung up on them. There was no way my brother could be dead. He was one of those people who sucked every drop out of life, living high off of adrenaline and adventure. No way would he die riding a bike down a street. Too basic. If he was going to die, he’d go out spectacularly, pushing himself to a new record or a jump no one else has ever managed. God, I was pissed at him for being reckless and stupid.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist in a side hug, I listen as he vents.
If his dog or cat died, I’d know what to say. I’d talk about the temporality of life and how lucky we are to love and be loved. Depending on how sentimental he is, I might offer a copy of the Rainbow Bridge poem. People are different. We have layers upon layers of emotional ties to the people in our lives, be they family or friends. No matter the status of those relationships at the time of the death, loss is loss, and it’s never easy to say good-bye.
I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears slide down my cheeks.
“Please don’t be sad.” Jesse kisses the top of my head.
I shrug and sniffle.
“Please don’t. Cody hated sadness. Said life was too short to spend it miserable.” He releases a small sigh.
“Well, he’s not here to see it.” I wipe my damp face.
“Fine. I hate it when people cry and I can’t do anything to fix it.”
“Sometimes people are sad. Like when they’re standing next to a grave of someone who died way too young.”
Jesse winds his other arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Bringing you here.”
I blow out a long, shaky breath. “I’m not. Cody’s important to you.”
He turns me in his arms so we’re facing again. “I brought you here, because you’re important to me. I want you to know me. All of me. My history, my dreams.”
Is it wrong to make out in a graveyard? Will the dead care? Because his words make me want to do naughty things to him.
While I’m debating my next move, he kisses me. There’s zero hesitation or second-guessing. His mouth softly presses against mine, and before I can overthink it, I’m kissing him back.
His arm tightens around me while his other hand cups my cheek. I press myself closer and weave my hands around his waist. Cursing the layers of coats and clothes between us, I still manage to squeeze his ass. It should be memorialized in marble.
Our kiss shifts into soft, gentle brushes of lips against one another before he breaks away. My breath comes in pants as I try to recover.
Someone coughs nearby.
My eyes bug open and I try to jump away from him, but I’m still caged within his arms. So instead of a clean getaway, I squirm and twist like a fish on a line.
Jesse laughs at my flailing. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Do you make out in churches, too?”
He laughs, and then releases me, but grabs my hand.
The only other person crazy enough to be in a snow-covered graveyard in March is a short man in an old-fashioned overcoat, wearing a cap last seen in a production of Newsies.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” He grins at us from a few feet away. In his hand he holds a bouquet of plastic flowers. “I’m glad to see young love is alive and well.”
“We’re not—” I begin to say, but Jesse interrupts me.
“You weren’t.”
He waves us off. “I used to sneak into the local cemetery with girls when I was a teenager. Almost zero chance of being discovered, especially if you go at night. Most folks would never think to go to one after dark. Spooked by the idea of ghosts. But if you think about it, you won’t find a more private place to be alone.”
The little old man is a class A Romeo. I bet he had all sorts of women on the line when he was younger. I stare at his face under his old-fashioned cap and try to imagine the man he used to be. It’s not difficult to see the twinkle in his eye.
“We didn’t come here to make out—”
“Excellent advice—”
Jesse and I speak at the time. I give him major side-eye.
As we stand together, our new friend pulls a mini of Bailey’s out of his pocket. “Amelia loved her afternoon cocktail.”
He opens the bottle, sips about half of it down, and then pours the rest onto the snow near the flower carved headstone. After he sets the roses on the headstone, he kisses his fingers. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”
We stand quietly for a moment in respect.
He clears his throat again before speaking. “Life’s never long enough if you love someone.” He tips his cap and walks toward the main entrance.
Jesse and I remain standing in silence for a minute or two.
Finally, I speak. “If I turn around and there are no footsteps in the snow, I’m really going to lose my mind.”
His shoulders vibrate with laughter. “You think he was a ghost?”
Closing my eyes, I turn around. “Are there roses on the grave?”
“No.” He almost pulls off sounding serious.
“No Bailey’s flavored snow?”
“Who would waste perfectly good Bailey’s by pouring it on the snow?”
I peel open one eye and confirm the footsteps in the snow and the roses on the grave. “If this were a movie, he’d be the ghost of love past.”
“This is real life. There are no such things as ghosts. When we’re gone, we’re gone. Ashes to ashes.”
Says the guy bringing a woman to his brother’s grave.
“Before you can call me a hypocrite, I know Cody’s not in there.” He nods toward the headstone. “I don’t know why I brought you here. I could’ve told you all of this in a warm bar where drinks are poured in glasses and not on the ground.”
I step up on my toes to kiss his cold cheek. “Thank you.”
“Ready to go?” He drapes an arm around my shoulders.
I nod and wave at his brother’s grave. “Bye, Cody. You’re brother’s pretty amazing.”
“He can’t hear you.”
“I know. I said it more for you.”
Leaning down, he gives me a quick peck on my lips. “Thank you.”
Chapter 26
Jesse
A WEEK AFTER my weird trip with Mara to the cemetery, Abe and I are on avalanche patrol. We take the snowmobile to the boundary of the ski area to check out a reported avalanche after we got dumped with a foot of snow overnight. Abe carries the explosive kit in case we need to blast potentially dangerous build-up on the trails.
When I said Cody wasn’t in there, I meant it. For my grandmother’s sake, we interred some of his ashes in the cemetery. Old school and superstitious, she prepaid for the headstones and bought the row of plots next to my grandfather. A year after Cody died, we buried her next to her husband. I guess I should’ve introduced Mara to the rest of the Hayes clan buried alongside Cody, but meeting one dead family member was enough for one day.
“Looks like there was a natural slide in the out of bounds area last night or earlier this morning. I don’t see any tracks.” Abe points to the small debris field on the other side of the rope separating the ski area from out of bounds. The snow looks like someone stirred it with a big fork.
“Think we’ll need to blast again?” I ask. Abe’s the resident explosives guy, aka the coolest guy on patrol.
“Depends on how much snow we get tonight. All this heavy spring snow on top of the crappy base could slide down the slope like it’s on ball bearings.”
“Like resting blocks on sugar granules.” I poke the snow with my ski pole. “Let’s hope there’s enough solid pack underneath. Ready?”
“Hopefully we’re lucky and the slide took care of the tension.” He pulls down his goggles. “Let’s do this.”
I hop over the crest and ski down the run, making wide, sweeping curves to check out the conditions. Fresh powder covers my legs up to the knees. My boots and skis disappear in the white, creating a wake of spray behind me.
I live for mornings like this. Being the first person to ski a run is heaven.
A few minutes later I hear and feel a loud whompf sound and check over my shoulder. Abe’s about thirty yards above me, having taken his first turn on the steepest section of the slope.
Between us is a slide heading straight for me.
“Slide,” I yell as loud as I can and wave him away. He pulls back and heads to the other side, the part of the slope not moving.
I have two choices: try to outrun the avalanche or ski out of its way. I have about two second to make any sort of escape. “Shit.”
There’s no way I can out-pace the wall of snow, so I head toward the tree line.
Stupid mistake.
I’m skiing on a moving wave of snow and not gaining any ground. More and more snow builds up around me and I know I’m caught.
Grabbing at the strap across my chest, I make sure my beacon is activated before pressing talk on my radio
“Ski patrol.” Steve’s on dispatch.
“Avalanche.”
I get the words out as I’m pushed forward and begin to tumble. I pull the cord and an inflatable ring expands around my head, protecting my head and creating a pocket of air for me. Fatalities in avalanches are mostly from suffocation.
I know I’m still going downhill, but snow surrounds me. I have no idea if I’m covered by a few inches or a few feet. The sound of snow rumbling deafens everything.
Thank God I’m wearing my helmet and goggles. My pack and parka provide some additional padding as I’m shoved around by shifting blocks of snow as heavy as cement.
The sky breaks into my view for a few seconds. I gulp a mouth of fresh air and pray I’m okay.
Snow continues to roar and slide around me, churning me back under before I can get my bearings. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a ski and both of my poles, but I can’t see my hands.
My only reality right now is roiling snow and praying I don’t get slammed into a tree or break my neck.
Dying in an avalanche is not how I’m going out. I know the stats. If Abe isn’t caught, he’ll have already radioed our location. The avalanche team will be on their way.
What feels like falling forever finally stops. Abruptly as it started, it’s over. I open my eyes, hoping for ski and trees, but I’m surrounded by muted blue light.
I’m alive.
For now.
I do a quick mental assessment of my body. Nothing is screaming like it’s broken. I wiggle my fingers. I can feel them. That’s good. Same with my toes. Excellent. No spinal injury.
Not sure which way is up, I study the color of the snow. The lighter the blue, the closer I am to the surface. Complete blackness would be the worst-case scenario here.
Houston, we have blue snow!
Which is always better than yellow or brown snow.
While I’m able to wiggle my fingers, I can’t move my arms. One is pinned across my chest. The other is pressed against my side. Or at least I think it is.
Fern will find me.
Shit. No, she won’t. She’s at the ranch with Mara.
I trust Abe and Zane one hundred percent. I know they’re the best team on the mountain. But it’s not the same.
Having faith I’ll be freed soon, I focus on keeping my breathing steady so I don’t hyperventilate or pass out. Mara’s going to freak out when she discovers I’ve been in an avalanche. She’s still skittish about the mountains. Unlike my brothers and me, she didn’t grow up living and breathing the adrenaline only life in the mountains can provide. I’m not a risk junkie like Cody. Nor am I a boring office dweller like Wyatt, who lives in Denver with only a distant view of the mountains. I’ve tried to contain my wild side through ski patrol. Facing the reality of risks gone wrong helps ground me. Unlike Cody, I’m okay living with limits. I like being boring and I’m okay with being alone.
Or I was.
Mara has changed that.
Life isn’t about cheating death or hiding from it.
We’re here to enjoy being alive and if we’re lucky, sharing our life with someone else.
Mara is my someone.
The snow above me crunches and shifts. Barking and voices filter through the dense pack.
Black paws break through the blue snow. Sunlight filters through the whiteness until I see blue sky.
“We thought we lost you.” Abe’s face appears above the hole. I’ve never been happier to see his scraggly beard.
“It’s good to be found.” I smile up at him.
Chapter 27
Mara
JESSE ALMOST DIED yesterday.
He keeps telling me he didn’t.
I remind him he had a near death experience.
He assures me he’s fine.
Avalanches are great white walls of death.
He says they happen all the time.
He could’ve been killed.
He reminds me he’s the one who called to tell me about the slide.
At first he left out the part about being buried alive.
He thought I’d freak out.
How silly.
To celebrate not being dead, he’s taking me to dinner.
By dog sled. He called Mr. Anderson and asked for a favor. Our driver, Rogan, stands at the back of the wooden sled, steering the team of ten happy, barking malamutes along a groomed trail through bare aspen trees and tall pines. The twilight sky casts everything in a blue light and the snow glimmers purple against the growing shadows. Jesse and I sit under a pile of cozy blankets in the chilly night air.
“This is the single most romantic thing to ever happen to me. Or anyone. I’m willing to throw down with anyone who challenges me.”
“Throw down? Really? Have you ever thrown down with anyone before? What do you even mean?” He bites the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing at me.
“I’m a scrapper. I have secret ninja skills.” I make a karate chop in his general direction, which isn’t easy to do given we’re wrapped in blankets on a sled speeding through the winter twilight. I overestimate my chop and end up bonking him in the nose.
>
“Ouch!” His hands come up to cover his face, muffling his voice. “Okayibelifyou.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined our romantic moment.”
I notice his shoulders are shaking. It could be the motion of the sled as we fly over the snow behind a team of dogs. Or he’s crying from pain.
“Are you okay?” I’ve broken his nose. Worst thing ever.
I can hear the sound of his sobbing. I’ve brought the man to tears.
Hold on, that’s not the sound of crying. He’s laughing.
“You’re faking!” I twist away from him, but there’s really nowhere for me to go given I’m sitting in his lap.
His eyes become visible as he spreads his fingers over his face. “Is it safe or are you planning to go all ninja on me again?”
“You’re officially shunned.” I cross my arms to emphasize I’m done.
“I’ve never been assaulted by someone wearing mittens before.” He wraps his arms around me in a hug … or to restrain me.
“This might not be the last time with your attitude.” I stick my tongue out.
“No more mittens for you. You’re reverting to being eight and throwing snowballs at me.”
I make a sour face. “Ugh. You don’t want to know the eight-year-old me. Total nerd with frizzy hair and an overbite.”
He leans down, closer to my ear. I feel his warm breath on my skin when he speaks, low and growly. “Go on … I’ve always had a thing for smart women. My first crush was the school librarian.”
He runs his hand down the side of my neck before tilting me back to him.
I inhale as he presses his mouth against mine. The heat of his mouth contrasts against the cold air, warming my lips with his own. Still attached to me at the mouth, he leans us forward to reclaim the blanket, cocooning us underneath the thick wool.
Beneath the added privacy, his hand leaves my neck and skims over my shoulder before finding my breast. I’m wearing too many layers, but somehow the heat and pressure from his palm penetrates down to my bare skin. I shiver, but not from the cold.
Crazy Over You (Love with Altitude #2) Page 18