Ride

by Harper Dallas

  Pop-pop appears in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame with a smile twitching into the bush of his beard. “Don’t worry about your boots. Come on.”

  Pop-pop never suggests that I come in with my boots on. I look at him for a sign of something bad, but there’s no hint of that on his face. The edge of a grin is still there. His movements are rushed as he reaches for my shoulder, shepherding me inside.

  Mom leaps up from the kitchen table as soon as I get in. If Pop-pop weren’t so relaxed I’d be more worried about the tension faintly lined at her forehead. She hugs me too tight, her sigh tickling at my ear. “Oh, Brooke.”

  It’s only when she lets me go that I see the letter in her hand, clenched so tight that it’s crumpled.

  “It arrived for you," Mom says. “And look.”

  Illuminations. Right there on the cover. The logo of Chase’s sponsor, and beside it the name of the competition I’ve spent the last five years wanting to win.

  It’s only a little pang, now. It’s been weeks and weeks, and I can see one of those drinks in the store without thinking about Chase’s helmet instantaneously.

  Or at least, not every time.

  “Go on, then,” Pop-pop says with a nudge to my shoulder. The usual steady cadence of his voice has an unfamiliar edge of hurry to it. “Open her up.”

  Mom’s smile is tight with anxious nerves, and once I take the letter her hand moves to my arm for a squeeze. She doesn’t quite step back from my space. “Do it. I need to hear or I’ll go crazy.”

  I open the envelope, and everything changes.

  “You look amazing.”

  I pause from checking myself in the mirror, looking across to Alex where she’s perched herself on the edge of the sinks. She looks amazing. With her large, dark eyes and the tawny warmth of her skin, Alex is always stunning. Now she’s a showstopper, wearing a red dress that could be painted on and lipstick that would make a grown man cry.

  I look …

  “Amazing,” Alex repeats. “I don’t understand why you’re so worried. You’re a beautiful woman, B.”

  Am I? With my unruly hair, and the bump on my nose from an old break, and the freckles I’ve always felt self-conscious about. Alex managed to persuade me that a dress was right for this, though I’m not as full on as she is. My own is a semi-casual sundress, nice rather than killer, with little strappy sandals.

  I smooth my hands over the unfamiliar fabric covering my thighs, looking into the mirror at the girl I don’t recognize. How long has it been since I wore a dress? Since I let Alex lend me lipstick and line my eyes?

  It’s stupid, but for one moment I wish that Chase could see me like this.

  “Come on,” Alex says, reaching out for my hand. “We’re going to be late. And you want to catch that woman from Wild, don’t you?”

  I do. I want to speak to Catherine more than anything. I knew only two things about this awards ceremony: that Alex would be my plus one (how could I pick between Mom and Pop-pop?) and that once Catherine arrived, I was going to grab her.

  The venue is incredible. Alex tugs me out of the restroom and up the stairs to the rooftop bar where the awards ceremony is taking place. Around us the lights of Miami sparkle, the city glowing beneath the perfect cloudless sky. To one side the view sweeps out over the sea, softly dark in the night.

  I didn’t expect early May to be so hot. The night breeze licks warm over my skin, and it feels almost unreal: that I’m here in Florida, a guest of Chase’s sponsors. That my dreams are coming true.

  I only wish that I could have brought Mom and Pop-pop tonight, but they assured me they’d have a wonderful time watching the live stream from the hotel. We’ll have the rest of the weekend for sightseeing together—a “celebratory gadabout,” Pop-pop called it.

  The event is crowded with competitors and the press. Athletes, too. It makes me think of Hanne, who left me an entire two-minute voice message of her squeeing—or having some sort of fit, it was hard to say. It makes me think of JJ, who sent me the most beautiful card written in a faltering handwriting I hardly recognized.

  It makes me think of Chase, who’s a continent away. I saw on the net that one of his sponsors has taken him out for a shoot in Alaska, and I know how much it will mean for him to be there. More than that: I know how happy he’ll be. Remote from everyone, in all that endless wilderness.

  For one aching heartbeat I can feel every mile and every moment between here and the place where Chase and I sat on the snow, talking about what made him most happy.

  It’s over, and tonight is about me. I have to let myself enjoy all these things again.

  It’s not hard to find Catherine. She’s being interviewed by a crew with a video camera, bright lights shining on her face, giving her opinion on this year’s crop of finalists.

  “That’s her,” I say to Alex. “Just over there, by—”

  I see Chase, and the rest of the world doesn’t matter at all.

  I’ve never seen him in a collared shirt before. Perfectly tailored fabric drapes crisp and white over the muscles and planes I know so well. There’s something about that mix of the gentleman and the animal which takes my breath away. The elegance of the shirt. The lick of his tattoo sleeve just visible at his wrist. He towers over everyone else, turning down to them an only-just-there smile.

  The one he gave me, before we said things weren’t serious and they were.

  I can’t help myself staring. Everything else fades to a dull monochrome, and Chase stands out vibrant. His huge hands cup a champagne flute. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His stubble is perfectly rough, and every inch of his skin is flawless.

  Of course they would invite Chase. I knew they would. He’s in one of the finalists’ photos—and more than that, he’s Chase Austin. They couldn’t possibly have a bigger-name extreme athlete in attendance.

  I was just sure he wouldn’t come, because why would he want to see a not-even-real ex instead of boarding? Why would he rather be anywhere than Alaska?

  Alaska, the thing that he loves.

  But here he is, with every woman in the room unable to take her eyes off him. It doesn’t matter. We can always sense each other. Chase turns his face to mine, and in all the world there’s only us.

  “He’s here?”

  Alex’s whisper brings me back to life.

  What your heart is for.

  But I can’t. Not tonight. Not now. Not after how it went last time. I can’t get hurt again, not before I go up there and accept my award.

  “Brooke?”

  Alex’s reaching hands can’t keep me. I’m already on my way, turning to dodge around a waiter with a tray of canapés. I need to get to Catherine. This is The Plan. Win this competition. Get back on the Wild team. Have my life back how it used to be, safe and steady and successful.

  I can hear Alex bumping shoulders with someone as she struggles to keep up with me. I’m not finding the crowd a problem. Perhaps they can see the look on my face. People part before me, revealing the way to where the reporter is thanking Catherine for her time.

  The cameraman nudges him with the edge of the rig strapped to his chest, nodding my way. Brooke Larson, his mouth shapes.

  I don’t have time to realize how weird it is to be recognized. I’m wired with energy. And Catherine’s saving me anyhow.

  “Brooke! Congratulations!”

  And just like that she effectively shuts the journalists out with a practiced turn of her shoulders, pulling me in for an embrace. The cameraman and the reporter can try to reach me all that they want: they’re blocked by the great flyaway frizz of Catherine’s hair, their voices drowned out by the tinkling of her hippy-style earrings.

  “Your photo—it’s great. I was blown away.” She leans back just enough to see my eyes. “We should talk after this, yeah? About Wild.” Her grin spreads wide. “An Illuminations category winner. This is huge. We should make plans.”

  I’m happy. I tell myself that as I smile and give her a hu
g. This is happiness, and I am feeling it.

  So why are my hands shaking as I take my seat for the ceremony? Why does my skin feel hot, burning on the side closest to Chase?

  I’m not looking. I’m not. But I can feel him there, the way I’ve always felt him.

  Alex leans over and squeezes my hand, giving me a beam. “Here we go. This is it, B. You’ve made it.”

  I’m so hypnotized by the host’s perfect teeth I almost miss my cue.

  “Our Spirit category recognizes images which showcase the unique character of the world’s best extreme athletes. Whether it’s in the surf or on a mountain, the very greatest achievements come with the very highest demands. Our Spirit photographers capture the essence which drives us to climb higher, go faster, and always push for more—no matter what the odds.”

  Alex squeezes my hand so hard it might break.

  The female host flashes a smile as she takes the mic. “From thousands of images submitted this year, the judges were unanimous that there was one standout winner. The shot was taken this spring in Bella Coola, BC, just days before an avalanche injured both the photographer herself and snowboarder JJ Schneider. Can I please welcome to the stage our Spirit category winner, Brooke Larson.”

  I’m in a dream.

  Amazingly I don’t fall over my feet as I make my way to the podium. On some level I know that the air is full of applause, but it all sounds so very far away. The presenters look unreal. I know them—both ex-athletes, a surfer and a skier. They’re smiling wide as they shake my hand and pass over the award. My face feels strange. I’m not sure it’s making the expression I want.

  I can hear Alex, raucous as ever: “Hell yeah! That’s my girl!”

  I’m meant to face the crowd, aren’t I? To bask in this. And I do, getting as I turn a glimpse of the screen behind me where my photo has been blown up to massive proportions. Chase looks out at us all. At me, really. But at everyone. Bloody and bruised. Defiant and undaunted. Wild.

  Not perfect, but true.

  It’s not like an award ceremony for films or music. There aren’t big speeches. But I’m meant to say a thing. I know that. The other category winners, lined up clutching their awards at the side of the stage, all said a few words. The crowd are looking up at me expectantly, all the teenage snow stars in their T-shirts and baseball caps, all the camera people with their press passes. I find Alex in the front row, and she jabs her neighbor with an elbow as she gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  I don’t let myself look at Chase, but every atom of my body tingles with the presence of his.

  “Thank you. I mean—thank you so much.” God, I sound awful. But my voice gets stronger when I decide what I actually want to say. “I want to dedicate this to JJ. I know you’re watching this. Thank you. For everything.”

  The crowd erupts with noise for that. They know JJ too. A huge number of them personally. All of them from his films, his magazine shoots, his sponsorship. This is his home turf, after all. The logos everywhere are his logos, as much as they’re Chase’s.

  … Chase.

  “Also.” Oh god, I’m going to say it. “I know Chase Austin himself is here tonight. So thank you, Chase.” Why does my voice crack? “There wouldn’t be anything without you.”

  Anything. It’s not what I was trying to say. It sounds too much. Too vulnerable.

  No one else seems to have noticed. There’s more applause. This time I can’t help but look to where Chase is—the overhead cameras have swooped down to his seat, and his face fills the stage’s side screens.

  His lips are twisted into something like a smile, but it isn’t enough to warm his expression. One of his hands rises in a faint wave of acknowledgement. Maybe he’s not intimidated by the attention—he’s not stammering through a speech like I am—but he doesn’t seem to particularly enjoy it, either.

  “Chase,” the male host is saying, “would you come up here and tell us what this image means to you?”

  Oh my god. They’ve done it with a few of the other subjects here, when they’ve been present. But I assumed they asked. I assumed they planned. In a panic my eyes search for Alex’s. The lights on the stage are so bright, and she’s so close, that I can’t fully make out her expression—but I can see the helpless shrug of her shoulders.

  The big screens capture the rise of Chase’s eyebrows. He shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the hosts. When they beckon to him again, a sigh moves through his shoulders before he grits his teeth and stands.

  He takes the stairs two at a time, those long legs eating up the distance between us with a steady inexorability. I’m frozen just as much as I was on that mountain, watching a wave of brute force coming to sweep me away.

  He’s closer to me than we’ve been since the fight. Since I don’t care.

  His eyes sweep over mine, but I can’t read anything in them at all. His Adam’s apple moves over a swallow.

  When Chase talks to the crowd he’s as easy as I was anxious. His deep voice is a steady rumble, his shoulders relaxed. From here I can see that tiny scar at the edge of his lip I’ve kissed a thousand times.

  “I don’t think I should be up here, because this is Brooke’s work and she deserves every bit of all your attention. But there is one thing I want to say. They gave you this program when you came in.” He holds up his own, open to the page where I can see his bloody face. “And by Brooke’s shot, they say—an honest encounter with the dark side of what we love. And then there’s some shit about injury statistics, which I didn’t need right now, to be honest.”

  It’s pretty dark humor. The audience can’t decide whether to laugh or not.

  Chase looks to me. His lips part, his tongue testing their curve. Everything else is blurred, and he is so real. I can see each bristle on his jaw. The beginnings of lines about his eyes.

  His hair has flopped forward again, the way it always does. Someone needs to brush it back.

  When he turns back to the crowd his voice is strong and sure. “I don’t think this is about dark shit. It’s about what’s beautiful. Everything worthwhile has risks. We have to open ourselves up to hurt to do anything worth doing.”

  He swallows again. His eyes flick sideways to mine.

  “There’s no guarantee of safety. But we have to try, or else why the fuck are we here?”

  Under the applause Chase kisses my cheek, his hand finding my hip the way it used to. His breath blossoms warm over my neck, a heartbeat of closeness before he begins to step back.

  “Congratulations. You deserve it.”

  And then he’s gone.

  31

  “Drink.” Alex shoves the glass into my hand.

  I push it away, trying to make my laugh casual. “I don’t think I can drink any more champagne.”

  “B, you just won an Illuminations award. You’ve wanted this since you were like, fifteen years old.” Alex’s voice is strained with despair. “All you should drink for the next year is champagne.”

  I know that she’s right. I should be having the time of my life. I’m at the exclusive Illuminations after-party. I’m surrounded by world-class athletes and photographers. My peers. My heroes. The people I always wanted to be when I grew up … and now I am one of them.

  We’ve posed for press photos, Alex shoving me forward for the limelight. We’ve had glass after glass of champagne foisted on us. I’ve talked on the phone to Mom and Pop-pop, who are so excited to see me but insistent that I should enjoy this. The party for us. For me.

  Instead I feel hollow, and in the downstairs clubbing area we’ve moved to I can’t see Chase anywhere.

  Alex can read my mind. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

  My guilty look must be confession enough.

  Alex sighs. Both of the fresh-filled flutes are put down on a table, her hands reaching for me instead. “B.” She looks at me earnestly, pressed close so that I can hear her voice over the music’s pounding bass line. The rhythmic flash of lights casts shifting shadows ov
er her face.

  “I want you to enjoy tonight. I want you to have fun. And you’re clearly not, because all you can think about is Chase.” Worry twists at the edge of her lips. Something is turned over in her mouth before after a deep breath she squeezes my arms. “This is it. It’s make or break time. Are you forgetting about him and moving on? Or is this the real deal? Because if it is, you need to find that man and actually talk to him.”

  I can’t answer. Not properly. My heart hammers in my chest. “He’s not here anymore.” It sounds weak, but it’s true. “I haven’t seen him since the ceremony. He’s probably already on a plane back to Alaska.”

  Alex bites her lip. She must think I’m insane. But she doesn’t let me go, and that worry isn’t a lack of support.

  “Then let’s do this,” she says with sudden decision. “Get your phone out.”

  Everything worthwhile has risks.

  It sounded like he was talking about me. About us.

  I think about what Pop-pop said, too.

  I have no idea what to type. Alex draws me into an out-of-the-way corner so that I can hunch over my cell while she takes charge of brushing away anyone who comes to congratulate to me.

  Hi. Brooke here.

  That’s stupid. He knows my name.

  I haven’t seen you at the party. Are you getting your flight now?

  That sounds even worse.

  “This isn’t War and Peace,” Alex moans, but the tease is gentle. “Go on.”

  My fingers are clumsy over the keys. Thank god for autocorrect.

  Can we talk?

  The answering buzz takes only a second to come through.

  I wave the little screen at Alex. “I don’t have any signal.”

  Alex rolls her eyes. “Then go outside.” She shouts after me as I turn to go: “I’m coming out in ten minutes unless you text me, okay? Don’t forget!”

  It’s not going to take ten minutes. I’ll send the message. Chase won’t reply. Or he’ll say, I’m on the way to the airport now. Or, Did you think what I said was about you?