“JJ? Are you ready to go?”
I’m expecting him to come out and compliment me, like he always does, to take my hand and twirl me about for the rove of his eyes. I can hear his wolf-whistle already and see the faintly devilish curve of his grin.
Wow. Maybe we don’t have to go out to dinner at all, I have enough to eat right here…
I’m grinning at a joke he hasn’t even told, but the grin fades, anyway.
There’s no answering shout from inside. No click of the door opening.
Maybe he’s already waiting downstairs? But there’s no answer to my shout, and as I check from room to room I feel something growing uncomfortably in my stomach, pressing up against my lungs so that I can’t breathe properly.
“JJ?”
But he’s nowhere.
Six fifty-two, the blinking light on the hob tells me.
When I open the door to check if his truck’s in the garage, I know exactly where JJ is. It’s a surety that hurts.
From through the wall comes the easy, rocking beat of something—reggae or ska, I’ve never been able to tell the difference. It’s not a genre I listen to.
It’s the genre that JJ listens to when he’s in his gear room.
The gear room is the other half of the annex that holds the garage. I think the people who lived here before us used it for storing fishing and camping gear. The realtor suggested we use it for another two vehicles. JJ smiled and said that was a good idea, and then as soon as we moved in claimed it for storing all of his snowboarding equipment.
When we were first together, I used to go in there all the time. He’d be sharing beers with whoever was around, and we’d stand out there with the music on while they worked on their boards, or cross country bikes. While they looked at maps or Googled how you got to whatever crazy remote place they wanted to ask Vertex to fund next.
I went there less and less, toward the end. When things were falling apart. It was a place that he went to where I couldn’t follow him.
Or wouldn’t. Not anymore. Not once I’d learned what it cost.
Now I look at the door, and the sinking feeling in my stomach is now so deep that I could fall into it.
When I push it open, I can see through and out into the yard. JJ has the door rolled up, revealing the gorgeous Jackson summer evening. The relaxed, rolling beat of the music is so at odds with the tightness in my chest that it feels somehow offensive.
JJ decorated this room. I had nothing to do with it. Racks of snowboards line the walls. The bikes are suspended in another corner. There’s a fridge—which has only ever held beer and salsa for dipping tortilla chips—and shelving filled with boxes that hold helmets, body armor, goggles, carry bags, boots. All the extravagant amount of gear that JJ needs for his work.
In the center of the table is the large wooden work table, where a vise currently holds a snowboard I don’t recognize.
That’s not weird in and of itself. Even when we were together the first time, I didn’t know all of JJ’s boards by sight. Sponsors gave him so many that he could hardly keep up. Some of them he’d hardly ride before giving them away to younger boarders he thought were cool and deserved a leg up in an industry that rewards its elite athletes orders of magnitude more than it does its up-and-coming talent.
I always thought that said a lot about him, that he’d do that, when at least a couple other boarders at his level were famous for giving their unwanted boards to girls they’d slept with as some kind of weird trophy.
The board isn’t strange. What I don’t expect is JJ standing over it with a plastic scraper, running it along the board’s base with a careful strength that peels back layer after layer of wax.
His hair is still ruffled from exercising. He hasn’t even taken off his track pants and compression shirt, and his hair is still scrunchy like it is after exercise and before a shower.
It’s just one moment. It’s just one date. But all of the other moments press tight around me, here in this house with so many memories.
I’m trying to call JJ, again and again, hours after he promised he’d ring me from the field. I go to sleep on my own, the other side of the bed cold and empty as if he has never been here, as if he’s never coming back.
When he texts the next morning, he’s all apologies—but I won’t see that until after Chase uploads an Instagram video of JJ crashing into a tree.
Sorry, JJ texts. I told him not to post that until I talked to you about it.
I’m alone at Bryn’s second birthday, helping his moms with singing the song and unwrapping his presents.
JJ’s left a card and a generous gift.
I’m thinking: is this what he’ll do for our children, too? Will I be the kind-of-single mom who hosts all of her kids’ birthday parties alone because Daddy’s somewhere else?
I’m listening to Erica scream, and I’m thanking God that it’s her man, not mine.
What makes JJ look at me? I don’t even know. Just suddenly his face is turning as he straightens, and where for a moment I expect to see his face cold and bruised and blood-streaked—snow in his eyelashes, snow in his mouth, the hungry drowning snow—there’s only a smile, wide and warm and excited, before his gaze dips down my body.
Realization hits him like a bucket of cold water, wiping his face to a wide-mouthed surprise.
“Oh, shit.”
His dismay is genuine. I don’t care. All of that hurt is coming up as anger, tightening the muscles over my back and neck, making my heart beat harder against the too-tight hold of my ribs.
“Yes,” I agree with a snap. “Oh shit.”
“I am so sorry. Fuck. I totally forgot.”
JJ doesn’t know what to do with himself. He tosses the plastic scraper, complete with its trailing wax fronds, onto the table. He rubs his hands over his track pants, taking a step toward me. His face is crumpled with distress and guilt.
“How could you forget, JJ? We spoke about it this morning.” Inside of me, all of my excitement is curdling. How could I have been so stupid?
JJ comes toward me. He’s smart enough not to continue trying to pull me into a hug after the first attempt meets with me talking half a step back, holding my hands up to warn him off. I don’t want to be touched—not when I’ve made so much effort, tried so hard to be beautiful for him. For our special night.
“Ah, Raquel.” JJ raises one hand to scrub over his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve fucked this up so badly.”
“I asked how you could forget.”
JJ is already aware that the reason isn’t going to make things any better. I can see it in the way that he flicks a look over his shoulder to the half-waxed board on the table. This stupid music is such a ridiculous soundtrack to everything.
“I was out at the gym when I got a call from the board sponsor… They said they had a guy in Jackson airport with a surprise for me. It’s—”
I wave my hand. I’m not interested in whatever special properties this board has. It could leave a trail of rainbows and fly at sixty feet above the ground; I wouldn’t care. “So you’ve just been here. Working a board you can’t even ride. You know how much this means to me. We’ve been planning this all week.”
I. I have been planning. JJ knows. His head drops for a moment, his eyes closed over a long moment of guilt before he looks back up.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want you sorry.” My voice rises. “I want you to be able to prioritize me. You can’t even do it when you’re injured, JJ. Let alone—”
But I cut myself off. I’m not getting into this. The press of my fingers to the corner of my eyes isn’t enough to hold back the tears I can feel glistening there. This time, when JJ reaches out for me, his hand makes contact—and it takes all I have not to lean forward into his arms.
But I refuse to fold. I refuse to act like this doesn’t matter to me. Like it doesn’t hurt.
I step sharply back, my heels ringing out over the cement flooring.
“I’m g
oing to go on my own.”
“I can get dressed quick,” JJ argues. “Just give me five minutes.”
“No.” I look back at him so he knows that I mean it. “No, James.”
I want to be alone.
I make it to the restaurant. I don’t make it inside. The crying catches up to me when I’m reaching to pull the keys from the ignition, catching at me like a thing that’s chased me all the way here.
I don’t want this to be how it is. I don’t want this to be us.
I know it’s only one meal. I know he’s excited.
But this is the thing I’ve been most afraid of.
What if this is how it’s going to be?
What if this is him choosing again?
I cry against the steering wheel until I can hold it together enough to fix my face in the rearview mirror, and then I go inside to cancel my reservation. I wouldn’t enjoy it, anyway.
* * *
It’s dark when I get back to the house. I’ve driven in circles, wasting time around town. There hasn’t been anything else to do.
I just didn’t want to come back and have JJ know that I didn’t go off and have the nice dinner on my own. It felt so pathetic.
The house is dark. The music is off, the garage doors closed until I open one with my beeper. JJ’s truck is parked in its place, which surprises me. If he’s still here, why is everything so dark?
I check my face one last time in the visor mirror before taking a deep breath and getting out of the truck.
All I want to do is make myself a herbal tea, find some leftovers in the fridge, and watch something weepy on the television. Preferably without seeing JJ at all. Though I’m bracing myself for it, anyway.
I don’t even know what to say to him. I don’t even know what I think.
I’m so hurt. I’m so angry. I’m frustrated at myself for being angry over something that isn’t even too big. But I don’t want to second guess myself. My feelings are valid. I have a right to be able to rely on him.
Especially after everything that happened.
I’m so busy thinking about everything, worrying my keys over and over in my hand, that it takes me a moment to realize what I’m seeing.
When I open the door to the foyer, the sound of music greets me. Frank Sinatra—my kind of thing, not JJ’s.
But it’s JJ who’s standing in the hallway, wearing a collared shirt and a jacket, holding a bouquet of at least two dozen red roses in his arms.
His smile is rueful and soft. I don’t often see JJ nervous, but now he is, concern threaded over his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
I have to put down my purse to take the roses from him. My brain hasn’t been able to catch up with what’s happening. I can only look from the blooms to him in confusion, my heart swelling with some intense feeling when it’s already so tender.
“… How did you get these?”
JJ’s smile only uses half of his mouth. “I called in a favor at the florist.”
They’re beautiful. The smell of them is heady, luscious. I can’t stop myself from dipping my face into them, closing my eyes to take a deep breath of their floral sweetness.
“They’re beautiful.” It’s true. I tuck them into the cross of my arms as I look back to JJ.
I have no idea what to say.
JJ turns his body slightly, indicating the way to the dining room. “I know I can’t make it up to you. But I’d like to treat you anyway if you can still eat anything more. Would that be okay?”
My nod feels somehow creaking. JJ must see that I’m still unsure. His held out hand is reassuring and, when I shift the roses to my other arm so that I can take it, he squeezes my fingers gently.
“You’re looking so beautiful tonight.”
I look across and up at him. “I’m really mad, JJ.”
And I am, it’s true. But this isn’t shouting—and I don’t need to. JJ doesn’t look away from me, though I can see the pain in the warm brown of his eyes.
“I know. You have every right to be angry.” He’s not sweet-talking me. He means it. Guilt turns down the corners of his mouth, even as he tries to smile. “I really fucked up.”
“You did,” I agree.
I shouldn’t go with him. I shouldn’t let him get off this easy.
But even after he’s fucked up—even after everything—I look at him and I can’t say no.
JJ
It’s late when I get back to the house. I can feel the grin over my face as I kill the truck’s engine and head inside.
I’m going to be back with the team. Back with my crew. I’m going to get my life back again.
“JJ?”
Raquel’s in the kitchen. I follow the sound of her voice, finding her washing dishes from her dinner in the sink.
“You’re late,” she says, without any accusation. “I was worried—”
I stop her mouth with a kiss, pulling her close into my arms. After a moment she gives in to me, her arms finding a slow belt around my torso, her head tilting. We sway together for one moment, and when the kiss ends she remains in my arms, looking up with a soft smile that’s been pressed into shape by my own.
“You’re in a good mood.”
“Yeah. Mike called me when I was still in town, so I stayed in the truck and had a chat with him.”
Something flickers in Raquel’s smile, but her body is still relaxed as she gently tugs from my hold and turns back to the sink. “Did he? What about?”
I lean back against the sink, my hands braced to either side of me, so that I can look at her down-turned face.
“He had some good news.”
“What kind of news?”
It’s weird that she isn’t excited. She probably doesn’t get it—what’s happening.
“They still want me out at the season starter.”
“Oh.” Her face is placid. “Where is it this year?”
Every season Vertex rents a couple cabins for its snow team, somewhere winter starts early. We all get together, film some promo together, talk about our plans. It’s one of the highlights of the year. Not because I’m crazy about brand stuff—but because of the team. We might only be linked by sponsorship but that doesn’t mean we aren’t friends. Even better, my actual crew is all in the team, so—this is what I’ve waited for, all year.
I’m grinning even wider again. “Mammoth. We’re heading up the last week of November.”
I could swear Raquel’s hands pause in the water for a moment. Underneath my happiness, something feels uncomfortable for a moment. I have the brief sensation of snow packing into my mouth, of whirling and disorientation of the rushing sound of the mountain in my ears.
“They know you won’t be able to ride this season.” It’s a question, though her voice is flat.
The tentative feeling becomes a real one, a solid lump in my stomach. I try to swallow down its tendrils.
“The doctor said I can probably start ramping up from this month. Not on the snow,” I have to admit that. “But you know. Weighted rotations, intense cardio. Getting my core back into shape.”
I’d been excited about that, too. It was the reason for my trip into town, and when the doctor said that stuff, I was just glowing with it. Feeling like I was finally getting myself back again, after all this time.
Now I look at Raquel’s face, angled down toward the water, her brow furrowed and her lips pale and thin, and I feel like I might be sick.
“I need to be there, so they know I’m serious about getting back to work sometime this winter,” I say. The words are starting to trail. I feel as if I’ve walked a long way out over ice that I now realize is dark and shallow beneath my feet.
“Raquel?”
Her hand scrubs under the water. It’s a beat before she looks to me, only for a moment, her eyes unreadable and glossy. “Mmhmm?”
I can feel her pulling away. We’re standing as close together as we were a moment ago, but it’s like the floor between our feet has opened up and we’re being separat
ed from each other. I can feel her withdrawing, and it wakens panic in me. I’ve seen this before, it’s happened before.
Not again, not again, not again.
“Hey.” I force myself to say it through a cotton-wool mouth. She’s looked back to her cleaning, so I reach up for her cheek, brushing my fingers over her soft skin before tucking her hair back behind her ear. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she lies, her hands still again and her lashes fluttering. She swallows before she turns a smile to me. A smile that I hate. “Nothing at all. That’s great news about the season starter.”
“Raquel…”
I’ve always been so bad at this. We’ve always been so bad at this. We just don’t like fighting, and it helps over the small shit. We’re good at prioritizing our happiness as a couple over winning a petty disagreement.
But sometimes… sometimes it really fucks us up. I wish she’d tell me what she’s thinking, I wish she wouldn’t, I wish we could just go and pretend this never happened and watch some TV together—
Raquel pulls her hands from the water and rests the spatula she’s holding on the drying rack. She doesn’t look at me as she starts the sink draining and then reaches for a towel to dry her hands.
“I’m going to go and do an hour of work. I’m behind on my deadline.”
I’m following her before I’ve even decided to. She’s walking too fast out of the kitchen, heading for her office.
“Raquel, please—”
“I just need to work.”
“Raquel.”
She stops, and the look she turns up to me is suspiciously wet, her face twisted with unhappiness.
“Leave me alone. Please.”
I stand and let the hand I’d been reaching for her drop to my side.
She looks at me, before she goes, turning back over her shoulder as she opens the door. Her face shows all the hurt I’m feeling.
Don’t go, I want to say to her. Don’t.
The door clicks shut, and I’m left alone, the silence ringing in my ears. In the emptiness her voice rings in my head.
Crash: The Wild Sequence, Book Two Page 22