“No…I mean…I don’t know.” I wish I had all the answers. Or any answers, for that matter. “What if you take her with you and—”
“Where would a seventeen-year-old guy with a part-time job take a thirteen-year-old girl? Should we flee to Europe? Or maybe somewhere tropical like Bora Bora?” He sounds angry, but I know that his rage isn’t directed at me. It’s aimed at the hopelessness of his situation.
I have an urge to hug him, but I don’t move. I don’t want him to think that I feel sorry for him. Sawyer hates pity. “So what are you going to do now?” I whisper.
“What I always do, Silver. Ride to live.” Smoky white puffs of breath escape from his lips and float through the darkness. “I’ll get out one day. I’ll earn my way up in this sport and find a way to escape. That’s the only reason I started taking those sponsor meetings. I’ll get money and get us out. Maybe I’ll even let my mom come.”
“And you’ll take me with you.” It’s not a question, but a simple statement.
He smiles sadly and says, “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“And we’ll live happily ever after.”
“Definitely. We’ll have the best life ever. My mom will get treatment for her addiction to Asshole, I’ll snowboard, you’ll take pictures, and Lyla will play the piano. We’ll come back to visit your parents—once they calm down and get over the fact that I stole you away. But Lyla and I will never have to see Asshole again.”
For now, it’s just a fantasy we spin to escape reality, but who knows? Perhaps Sawyer and Lyla will get away from their father one day.
But that day never comes. At least not for Lyla.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Our three-hour snowboarding lesson had wrapped by mid-afternoon, but not before ensuring that I was appropriately tortured. There wasn’t a single place on my body that didn’t hurt. Snow was supposed to be fluffy and fun. To me, it equaled rock-hard pain.
The appendages I’d used most for breaking falls—knees, butt, and hands—had received the worst punishment. Each tumble down the hill had threatened to be my last, but my allergy to quitting had forced me to bravely endure the discomfort until Connor finally called an end to our session.
By the time Maddie and I had dragged our gear to the parking lot, Adam was already waiting for us in the car. Unlike me—with my messy hair, broken body, and bruised ego—my brother looked as perfectly put together as he’d been when we parted. Years away from the snowboard clearly hadn’t done much harm to his natural skills.
I couldn’t help but think that there was something missing. It was as if his passion had deflated. Years ago, returning home from a day at the slopes meant that Adam’s cheeks would be flushed, his eyes glimmering with excitement. Today, he just looked like the Adam I’d grown to know over the years. Adam the Future Doctor. Cool, collected, reserved.
In order to compensate for the chillness and the quietness emanating from his end, Maddie kept both the car temperature and the conversation on high. I was beginning to sweat through all my layers, so I took off my dark purple ski jacket and placed it on the seat next to me. I fished out my cell phone and busied myself with scrolling through the missed calls—five from my mother—and checking new texts.
The first message was from my old roommate, telling me that she’d found someone to take over my lease. Emily still had one more semester to go before graduating, so we’d been trying to find a new tenant to replace my empty room in our small on-campus apartment.
There was also a text from my mother, asking why I hadn’t called her back, followed by two from Sawyer. We’d exchanged numbers as he walked me home last night, and my heart skipped a beat when I realized that this was our first text communication after years of complete radio silence.
His first message had a picture of a restaurant at the top of Blackcomb Mountain, accompanied by the words: Lunch in a public place? The second message had come in an hour later and said: Or private lessons? It also contained a photo, but this time I was the subject. The picture looked to have been snapped from atop a chairlift, probably on his way up the mountain to one of the terrain parks. I was lying on my back, arms, legs, and snowboard sprawled helplessly in the air. He’d caught me right after a bad fall. I couldn’t make out my face very clearly, but I knew that there was an expression of frustration painted across it.
After my initial embarrassment had died down, a small smile started to tug at the corners of my lips. Picture texts used to be our favorite way of communicating when we were younger. Sawyer’d had an ancient cell phone with a horrible plan, but he’d been keen on wasting all his data on photos for me. It had provided a way for us to share our days when we couldn’t be together.
I took a picture of a tiny rip on my right knee where the fabric of the snowboard pants had torn from constantly being forced to grind against the packed snow. I added a frowny face and pressed “send.” My legs were tender to the touch, and I could envision the myriad of scrapes and bruises that would be revealed once I finally peeled off the pants.
Still can’t relax and let go? he immediately sent back. The swiftness of his reply delighted me, especially since I was feeling slightly disappointed for missing out on the lunch invitation.
Don’t think I ever will, I answered. Same old problem.
I know a perfect way to get you to lose control. ;)
His response was only a string of black text, but it sent a shiver of excitement through me. The quake began at my fingertips and quickly spread throughout the rest of my body. My mind couldn’t help but wander back to the memory of his mouth against mine, his strong hands on my body, making me lose all control.
But then my brain shifted gears and reminded me that I had pulled away and erected a barrier between us, and Sawyer had promised that he wouldn’t kiss me again. Was he already going back on his word? I was still trying to think of how to reply when my phone buzzed again.
I’ll pick you up from your place in half an hour.
Sounds good. It was easy to appear cool and collected when I knew that he couldn’t see my expression. What should I wear? I added, partly because I wanted to know what kind of weather to dress for, but also because a slightly perverse part of me hoped he’d say “Nothing.”
Instead, a dress warmly appeared on my screen.
Crap.
But then again…that could just mean more layers to play with.
Double crap. What the hell was wrong with me?
Keeping my internal thoughts from leaking into my text messages, I sent back a nonchalant: C u soon.
I took the quickest shower of my life, set a world-record for make-up application, and managed to put on a pair of dark denim jeans and a powder pink v-neck sweater, all in time for Sawyer’s thirty-minute deadline. I didn’t have time to properly diffuse my curls, so as I waited for him to arrive, I parted my hair down the middle and braided each side.
At exactly three forty-five, Sawyer was standing in front of our cabin, wearing a dark gray Quicksilver hoodie, black jeans, and simple black Vans. His cheeks were tinted from the day out in the sun and the cold wind, but he was without a jacket, gloves, or hat. His hair fell over his forehead in messy black waves, partially covering his light green eyes.
When I opened the door, he brushed back his locks in one quick swipe and greeted me with a warm, “Hey, Silver.”
The mere sight of him stole my breath away. I longed to wrap my arms around his neck, pull him into a hug, and squeeze away six years of distance—hell, even this one day of distance. But he also left me breathless for other reasons that had very little to do with the fact that I’d missed his friendship.
The space we’d put between us had given us time to grow and change. My attachment to him had formed from a deep-rooted familiarity. There was no denying that I’d always been drawn to Sawyer, but my current attraction teetered on something entirely different than before. It had matured into a passionate temptation sixteen-year-old Dylan had very little knowledge of. It was ex
citing and scary, familiar and alien, comfortable and dangerous—and, as wrong as it was, I desperately wanted to explore every bit of it.
“Ready to have some fun?” Sawyer asked with a playful smirk.
“Ready,” I managed to reply as I stepped to allow him entry into the foyer.
No, I wasn’t ready to have fun; I was ready to melt into a puddle at his feet. My legs felt as if they were made out of Jell-O—and not even the kind that had spent an entire day solidifying in the fridge.
“I just have to grab my shoes,” I said, scrambling around for my gray crochet Uggs.
Just as I slipped them on my feet, Maddie appeared by my side, holding up a pair of black thigh-highs with six-inch heels. They’d been my go-to party boots for the past two years, but they looked brand new thanks to the little wear they’d received. I’d brought them with the intent to keep warm during nightly outings, while adding some much-needed sass to my wardrobe.
She turned to Sawyer and waved around the black boots. “Thigh-highs with six-inch heels or those things?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as she pointed to the shoes on my feet. Warm, comfy, and sans heels, they were already lived-in—a part of my winter survival necessity, especially now that I was planning on returning to Colorado.
“Which one is more fitting for what the two of you are about to do?” Maddie’s voice was heavy with innuendo. “The idea of Dylan losing control in these seems a lot more interesting, if you ask me.” She filled his vision with the tall, leather boots, brandishing them in front of his face.
The corners of Sawyer’s mouth curled up. I couldn’t help but feel like he was enjoying the mental image. His heated gaze drifted over to me, nailing me in place, as his eyes slowly made their way south. They glided down my face, lingering on my mouth, then slid down the rest of my body, finally coming to rest at my feet.
“The flat ones will do just fine,” he said, eliciting a frown from Maddie.
“But long, leather thigh-highs—”
“Are hot, sure. But if a girl is sexy, she’ll be sexy in anything.” Sawyer not only got points for those words, but also for saving me from the high-heels.
His answer seemed to soften my best friend. For a moment anyway, until her mind returned to its permanent home in the gutter. “Or nothing,” she added with a wink. “I getcha.”
Once again, Sawyer’s eyes were on me, “Or nothing,” he repeated.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about last night…when I had been in almost nothing. My cheeks grew hot as I tried to expunge the image of his bare chest from my mind before my face betrayed my thoughts.
I turned to my best friend with a warm, but stern smile. “I’m quite capable of dressing myself the rest of the way. You can go back to trying to undress my brother,” I joked. “Feel free to borrow the boots.”
She and Adam had early dinner reservations in the village, and she had high hopes that some good conversation and delicious food would help loosen him up.
Her eyes lit up. “I have your permission?”
“You have my permission,” I told her. After almost twenty-four hours of listening to her talk my ear off, I was ready and willing to sacrifice my brother if that meant that Maddie’s focus would be on her own affairs instead of mine. “But if anything actually happens between you two, I insist on never, ever, ever hearing any gory details.”
With that, I grabbed my jacket and followed Sawyer to his car.
“Don’t tell me that you’re still driving Old Stally?” I asked as I climbed into the shiny black Land Rover.
Sawyer had bought the piece of junk on a used car lot his senior year of high school. The previous owner hadn’t done much maintenance on it, so it continuously stalled at every single stoplight. Whenever Sawyer gave me rides, I had to allot at least double the time for the trip to account for countless Old Stally resuscitations.
“I fixed up the body and put in a new engine, but I just can’t seem to part with the damn thing,” he admitted as we pulled out of the driveway.
“It’s almost an entire century old, Sawyer. How could you still be holding on?” It wasn’t like he didn’t have the means to replace it. Thanks to his immense talent and countless sponsors, Sawyer had gone from rags to riches the day he left Denver.
“Habit, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Old Stally and I just seem to work. We’ve been through a lot of shit together.”
I smiled. “I can relate. Remember the time your carburetor pump blew and I threw open the passenger door and nearly rolled out onto the highway?”
Laughter bubbled up within his chest. “If I hadn’t grabbed you before you jumped…”
“I would’ve ended up as road kill,” I finished, laughing.
The pad of his thumb grazed his lower lip. “I know it may sound cliché, but I think if you find a good car, you should hold on tight.” His eyes shifted to me for a brief second and his jaw tightened. “Same goes for women.” His voice dipped to a low, gravely murmur, and the meaning behind his words forced my breath to catch.
I’d been making fun of Old Stally, but my own heart was currently stalled in my chest. Finally, as Sawyer’s gaze released me, I took a deep breath and laughed nervously.
“What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I’m trying to decide if your thoughts on cars and women are sexist, sweet, or a bit of both.” I was also putting in an effort to keep things lighthearted. We were supposed to be maintaining a distance, and I was trying not to cross any lines I couldn’t come back from.
But why the hell did every one of his words and actions have to pull me so tightly into him?
We fell into a comfortable silence, and I became lost in the scenery around us. Bluish-white mountain peaks surrounded us from every side, dark green needles poked beneath blankets of snow. I relished in the beauty of our surroundings, trying my best to soothe my nerves and keep from doing any of my “nervous tells.”
My braids prevented me from tugging on my hair, my jacket kept my collarbone safe, which left my breath and my bottom lip. I focused on relaxing my breathing, but the anticipation of Sawyer’s surprise left me trembling with excitement. Every so often, my lip would drift between my teeth. The subtle action didn’t escape Sawyer’s intense gaze.
He cleared his throat and glanced down at my legs. “How are you feeling? Still sore?”
“You’d think I’d spent the day battling in a warzone instead of frolicking on a posh winter resort,” I said with a deep sigh. “I’m seriously never going to be able to just let go and board.”
“Let’s hope this helps.” With those words, he pulled into a small, nearly-empty parking lot on one side of a tall cliff. Below us was an icy river, above us, a tall, bright green bridge. The words printed on the sign above the bridge nearly sent me into a terror-induced cardiac arrest.
“Bungee Jumping?! Are you freaking insane?”
Sawyer grinned. “Total loss of control,” he whispered huskily.
“More like total loss of mind,” I shot back. “You’d have to be brain dead to willingly place your trust in a tiny piece of rope!”
“How about placing your trust in me?” he asked, holding out his hand.
A million questions flooded my mind; most of them centered on the safety of the jump and Sawyer’s undeniable insanity.
“You can bungee jump in winter?” I croaked.
“This place is open all season. It could be worse—I could’ve brought you to one of their night jumps.”
He hopped out of the car and made his way over to my side. “Will I have to carry you out?” he asked as he reached over me to unbuckle my seatbelt. I was immediately enveloped by his familiar scent, and my anxiety slowly thawed under the warmth of his firm body.
“You actually may have to,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to move my legs, albeit now for much different reasons than fear of bungee jumping.
He stiffened as my breath landed on the bare skin of his neck, then quickly
peeled off the seatbelt and took a step back. “Let’s go, Silver. Time to live a little.”
“Or die a lot.”
Reluctantly, I slipped out of the car and followed him toward the narrow bridge. From there, only a burst of motionless images remained: waivers were signed, instructions explained, and harnesses fitted. Voices, commotion, and the clicking of gear gave way to the deafening sound of my breath and pulse. I was desperately trying not to look at the two-hundred-foot abyss below.
Aside from the three employees, Sawyer and I were the only ones on the bridge. Since I was up first—when the hell had I agreed to that?—one of the staff members positioned me on the edge of the jump deck.
Oh, shit. I looked down. Oh, fuck.
“I can’t do this,” I started to step away from the ledge.
“Hey, Silver,” Sawyer called out. I focused my blurry gaze on him as I tried to steady my breathing. “You’re gonna be fine!”
“A rope,” I whispered hoarsely. “Just a tiny rope. I don’t trust it.”
Before I knew it, I was scrambling away from the ledge. The tall male operator stood in my way, preventing me from moving.
“Please,” I gasped, trying to get past him. “I can’t…I can’t.”
Clearly accustomed to people chickening out at the last-minute, he gently guided my arms away from the ledge. “Arms out.”
As he moved his foot between my legs to slowly steer me closer to the edge, my eyes shot out to Sawyer. “I don’t want to!” I yelled, suddenly starting to hyperventilate.
Sawyer jumped over the spectator partition and placed his hand on the guy’s arm. “Hang on,” he said. “Can we get a second?”
The young man looked over to his colleagues and shrugged. “Sure, but you gotta have your chat on that side.” He led us away from the jump deck and unhooked my harness.
“Do you really not want to do this?” Sawyer asked when we were out of earshot.
A big part of me wanted to do it—badly. If for no other reason than to prove to myself that I could. But there was a tiny, nagging voice in my head that told me I was crazy to even contemplate the thought of doing something so stupid. That voice, I immediately realized, belonged to my mother.
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