Ride

by Harper Dallas

  It still feels special coming back to Chase’s place, even after all these days. We take the now-familiar turn-off, passing under the blackness beneath the trees, and then we step into the open and once more it takes my breath away. The house built into the side of the hill, three stories stepping like stairs down the slope. The sheet-glass walls looking out over the once-in-a-lifetime view.

  Hundreds of feet below us the valley spreads, and beyond the snow-capped mountains reach up to the star-spangled sky.

  I know JJ’s place is a mile down the road. I know there are other luxurious houses nestled across this hill. But this place feels like a secret. A treasure. A world where we’re entirely alone, just us, free to be whoever we want to be.

  Chase has stopped too. His face tilted upward he pauses, slow breaths furling and unfurling his ribs where they rest against mine. When he turns down to me he has that look in his eyes. The one he only gets for the mountains, and for me.

  “You wanna do some stargazing?”

  I couldn’t fight the spread of my smile if I wanted to.

  Chase catches my lips for a savoring kiss before he squeezes my hip. “I’ll grab us a nightcap. Why don’t you get the blanket from the couch?”

  After two weeks here, I’m sure I know every inch of the house. Maybe I know it as well as Chase: he did say he only spent thirteen nights here last year. When I arrived the house felt like it, too. Beautiful, well equipped, and cold as any hotel room Chase visited.

  But now it’s different. Together we’ve passed through this space and changed it, our echoes warming the rooms. I pause by the flowers Chase brought back from town for me, dipping my face to the lilies’ delicate petals to breathe deeply of their scent. I pass the gym where in the morning I laugh to watch Chase’s yoga. I trail my fingers over the throw left hanging at the back of the couch, still rumpled where Chase threw it before he carried me to bed last night. When I pick it up I press it to my face, breathing in his smell.

  Chase is already on the outdoor couch by the time I get out to the deck. For a moment I stop and simply look at him, my heart beating so hard in my chest that I feel it might fly away. It’s all so impossibly beautiful. The endless Wyoming sky studded with stars. The moon as full and round as a silver penny. The mountains over the valley, shadowed with night and highlighted with starshine.

  But none of it is so beautiful as Chase. He has his legs up on the couch’s L, the two tumblers of whiskey balanced against his thigh, and he looks out on the mountains with the same wonder as he always has.

  He’s so deep in his thoughts that I’m almost beside him before he looks up. His smile spreads slow and deep, his hands reaching for me.

  “You took your time. I’m freezing.”

  He isn’t really annoyed, and it isn’t cold that drives his reach for me. We giggle as we try to get settled, our legs tangling together, Chase having to catch the tumblers before they go rolling away.

  Once we’re lying side by side Chase drapes the blanket over both of us before sliding his arm over my shoulders. I hook my leg over his, tucking my foot between his shins. Together we breathe, looking out over the wilderness.

  Our own private world.

  Every night we watch the stars together. When it’s too cold we pull the indoor couch up to the huge windows, peeking out at the sky. On nights like this we curl up out here. It’s still chilly. But beneath the blanket, our jackets about us, we feel warm enough. Just so long as we’re wrapped up in each other.

  Sometimes we talk about what we did in the day: hiking or mountain biking or driving. Sometimes we sit in silence. But tonight, after we’ve had time to appreciate the beauty of the constellations above us, Chase rests his head against mine and begins to speak.

  “Felicity loved the stars,” he says, his voice soft with love instead of being cracked by pain. “I tried to convince her once that the Big Dipper was really the Big Turtle.” His laugh is soft, a single puff of barely-voiced air. “I think I managed it to get her to believe it for a year or two.”

  My heart beats very slowly. I take a careful sip of my whiskey, trying to feel for any tenseness in Chase’s body. But it isn’t there.

  In the night his confidences unfold, secret flowers blooming in the darkness.

  “I think she would have loved you. I mean, she was just a kid. But she’d be your age, just about. I think you two would get along.” His fingers find my hair, stroking so gently over it as his voice goes on and on, the truth carried by the night breeze to the valley. To the mountains. “She loved boarding, too.”

  It’s just the beginning of a truth I’ve never heard before. The way Chase told his story to me—when he was hurting, when he was angry—it was an ugly story of guilt. But here in the soft hold of the darkness I can see the edges of something else. A story of a girl who loved the mountains and wanted to be in them. A story of a horrible accident. A story where Chase doesn’t have to hate himself forever for not being able to save her.

  Maybe it’s a story Chase will be ready to tell me one day. I’ll be here, when he does. Listening. Accepting. To that story, and the story of his parents. Maybe one day that can look different, too.

  One day. When Chase is ready.

  For now I stroke slowly over her name, the still-warm memory that Chase carries as a part of himself. I think of how big a love this must have been, to leave so much pain behind it. How much she must have meant to him, that when she left Chase inked her into his skin so that he could carry her with him, always.

  In the night my voice is so quiet, and when I tilt my head to find Chase’s face his eyes reflect the brightness of the stars.

  “She was lucky to have a big brother who loved her so much.”

  I can see Chase’s arguments. He’s carried all that guilt and self-hatred so long that they’re instinctive. They’re the defense that he carries ready against any suggestion that he’s deserving of forgiveness. Of compassion.

  Of love.

  I can’t take that weight from him. But I can share it. I can tell him another story. My story. One that’s about his goodness rather than his guilt. One that’s just as true.

  I used to find it terrifying, being honest. But I’m not that person anymore.

  “You saved me,” I whisper. “Chase. You saved me.”

  I love you can be said with our mouths, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s in the slow treasuring of Chase’s kiss. It’s in the cup of his fingers at the back of my neck.

  It’s in the way he looks at me as if, like in the mountains, he sees more beauty than he could ever have believed.

  Laax. Bella Coola. Miami. Jackson’s Hole. I’m used to being in airports with Chase, now. I’ve even learned that there’s no point trying to stop him carrying my bags. While he lifts them out of the truck I rifle through my purse, trying to find my keys.

  Chase interrupts me with a tap of his toe to my calf, flashing me a grin. “You sure you’ve got enough?”

  Oh, god. What if I left something back at the house? I scan over the bags that weigh Chase down. The Illuminations prize came with so much photographic equipment that even he can hardly carry it. I don’t know how I’ll manage at the other end. But if I’ve forgotten anything … Oh my god, I’m screwed.

  “Yeah.” An edge of panic catches in my tummy. “I mean, I think so? I picked up the telephoto lens—I’m sure I did—”

  Chase stops my worrying with a kiss. When he pulls back he licks at the corner of his mischievous grin. “I’m fucking with you,” he admits. “You’ve got everything.”

  I laugh at myself, at my anxious perfectionism and pre-trip nerves. I laugh at how amazing this is: to be standing in the bright Wyoming sunshine with Chase at my side, so happy that I glow. How has so much changed in less than a month?

  It’s normal now that Chase takes my hand, his fingers squeezing tight over mine. “Come on. Don’t want you to miss your flight.”

  Inside the airport it’s surprisingly busy. As I check my bags Chase hovers behi
nd me. After a few weeks in Jackson, I’m not surprised that it doesn’t last very long. Here in snow country he’s recognized every time we go out. I’ve gotten used to it: if I’m going to enjoy the free swag he gets sent by every outdoor outfitter under the sun, I have to accept this, too. It’s like the calls from journalists and the texts from his agent: this is part of what Chase does.

  A few months ago I would have been so worried to see Chase surrounded by fans, but now it means nothing to me. The beautiful girls are just as nonthreatening as the pimpled teenage boys. All of them can fawn as much as they want. It’s me that Chase can’t stop looking toward, smiling the smile that only I will ever see.

  As I walk over to join them, my bags safely checked, I catch the end of Chase’s words.

  “Yeah, I’ll be around more.” He finishes his signature with a flourish, passing the notepad back to its teenage owner. “If my girl’s happy to come over here.”

  My girl.

  I don’t get time to appreciate Chase’s words. I’m already treated to his touch, his arm slipped low about my waist as the turn of his back shuts out the rest of the world. The fans disappear. They never mattered, anyway. All that counts is the sweep of Chase’s thumb over the line of my ribs and the rumble of his voice.

  “We better get you on this plane or you’ll miss your connecting flight to Christchurch.”

  New Zealand. I still can’t believe it. I was nervous about taking Chase’s advice and turning down the Wild offer. Surely just one award wouldn’t mean that I’d have that many more opportunities. Surely the safety of a regular staff gig would be better than risking it all on getting freelance work.

  But the offers came rolling in from all around the world. Catherine called to congratulate me on my decision—as a friend, not as a potential employer. A few days ago I confirmed with the crew I want to photograph, in the place I want to go.

  Not as an employee. Not as staff. Just as me, Brooke Larson. Independent photographer. Illuminations winner. An exciting new talent. I know so because Chase cut out that article and stuck it on the fridge—after reading it twice.

  All these years of work. All the dreams I’ve fought for. I’m living them now, and happiness burns fierce and bright in my chest.

  I’m so excited. I can’t wait to be there. To see the landscape. To meet new boarders. To begin building my portfolio for next year’s Illuminations competition. There’s still the overall winner prize … and I’ve always been ambitious.

  But I don’t want to leave Chase. The feeling has grown and grown over the last twenty-four hours. It throbbed as I watched him cook me dinner last night. It cut like a wound this morning when I lay beside his sleeping body, pressing featherlight kisses to his cheek. Now it burns in my chest, making tears prickle at my eyes.

  I tug on the lapels of Chase’s jacket, pulling myself into his chest where I can bury my face in the familiar scent of his skin. The words won’t be steady no matter how hard I try.

  “You’ll be careful?”

  Chase huffs a laugh, his arms wrapping tight about me. “I’m not the one who gets in avalanches.” His humor is frayed. He’s tried so hard to hide his concern for me, to be excited and supportive. But all morning it’s been on his face, this worry that he doesn’t want me to see.

  “You be careful too,” he whispers into my hair. “I need you coming back to me.”

  “I promise.” I lean back so I can press a kiss to his lips, fierce and yearning. “I promise.”

  “Good. And you better FaceTime me when you get in, okay?” Chase’s voice is steady, but all of his love and all of his worry are clear in the way that he squeezes me tight. For a moment he lifts me clear off the floor, his bear hug holding me safe as I fly. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I want the hug to last forever. I know that it can’t. Chase has his dreams and I have mine, and we want each other to be happy. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Wanting the very best for someone. Knowing that they want the best for you, too.

  Chase believes in me more than anyone ever has, and it gives me the strength to spread my wings. I know he’ll be waiting for me when I get back. Just like I’ll wait for him. Always.

  When Chase sets me down I rearrange my backpack over my shoulder and try to find a smile. “Okay. Let me know if you see my keys? I couldn’t find them today. Not that they’re very important …” It’s not the keys I really want, anyway. I just like knowing that it’s there in my bag, the key chain Chase bought for me.

  The key chain that Chase fishes out of his pocket, handing it over to me with an absent shrug.

  “Oh, yeah.” His voice is casual. “Found them yesterday.”

  I slide the keys between my fingers, giving him a grin. “And you just held on to …”

  There’s a key that shouldn’t be there.

  I stare at it for a long moment. It’s just a key. There’s nothing special about it. It’s metal and key-shaped and totally ordinary. No one else would see anything exceptional.

  Only I know that it matches the one Chase carries himself.

  I can hardly find my voice. “Chase, is this …?”

  Chase is looking down to me intently, his smile replaced by something more serious. A question ticks his eyes between mine and a smile haunts the edge of his lips.

  “If you want it,” he says quietly. “I’m kinda hoping you do.”

  It’s only been a few months. It’s only been one month, if you don’t count all the time we were stupid. But I think of the way Chase looks in the morning and the way he feels at night. The secret smile that only I see.

  Chase was right. When you know, you know.

  Yes, I say. Not with words. They’re too small, too fragile. I say it with my kiss, and Chase answers with his own. Beneath the hungry claim of his mouth I shiver, and I know that this is home.

  When the kiss breaks we still can’t let go of each other. Chase bumps his nose to mine, humming happiness low in his throat. I drop my cheek to rest at his collarbone, closing my eyes so that I can better hear the precious beat of his heart.

  My plane. I have to go. But still the gravity holds me here, the one that we’ve always felt. The force that’s always pulled us into each other, even when we couldn’t admit it to ourselves. I squeeze once more at his arms, savoring the feel of the hard muscle beneath his jacket. It’s so hard to let go. I have to force myself to step away, taking a deep breath.

  “You’ll be here when I get back? I mean, if you aren’t filming. If you’re free—”

  Chase stops my mouth with the press of his finger. “You’re babbling nervously,” he murmurs, amusement quirking at the edge of his grin. But he isn’t just correcting me. “You know, I was thinking Chile. Best slopes in the Andes. What do you say? A week or two between projects. Just you and me.”

  I’ve never heard anything better. Chase kisses the spread of my smile.

  “I’m yours, Brooke Larson. I’m never letting you go.”

  Epilogue

  Have you ever had one of those moments where you look at your life and can’t believe how lucky you are?

  I don’t mean the money or the success. I know every bit of blood, sweat, and tears that went into getting that shit. I wrote those checks in broken bones, and I’ve got the scars and the metalwork to prove it.

  I mean the stuff that you don’t deserve. The times that people give you more than you could ever have dreamed of. When they give you second chances you never earned, and you decide that from then on your whole fucking life is going to be about living up to the man they see when they look at you.

  I stand by the wood pile, my breath billowing in the freezing Mammoth night, and look across the yard to Brooke’s family home.

  She got all weird the first time she brought me here. Like she felt it was too small, too normal. I don’t know what she thought a cop’s salary was like, but I didn’t grow up in that insane house in Jackson’s Hole. Back in Breck we were just an average family. At least until my first prize checks c
ame through.

  I was always gonna love it here. There’s not one single thing about Brooke that isn’t precious to me. But this house … It’s special. The clutter everywhere. The furniture that’s decades old. The scuffed wooden paneling and the shelves stuffed with Brooke’s school projects.

  When I first came here, it’d been so long since I had been in a family home. I’d visited JJ’s parents, sure, and Hanne’s. But this house was different. I wasn’t just a friend. I was Brooke’s partner, and the way Brooke’s folks welcomed me …

  It was so different from the place in Wyoming. That was just a building I left my shit in while I ran away to Japan or Switzerland or Russia. What’s a house without other people in it? Nothing. So I stayed the fuck away.

  Then Brooke moved in, and that all changed. She made it home, with her photos and her equipment and her crazy fridge magnet collection. Mammoth. Vail. Baker. It’s only gotten worse in the time we’ve been together, ’cause now there’s Tokyo fighting for space with Machu Picchu and fuck knows where we’ll put the new ones.

  She’s so crazily messy. She’s so messy it drives me crazy, and I fucking love it.

  I fucking love her.

  Which is why tonight is the night. As soon as she told me she wanted to go hang out with Alex, I knew that this was it. No more second guessing. No more doubts. Just committing to a line which scares the shit out of me way more than any fucking mountain ever has.

  I stoop to pick up an armful of wood from the pile before tramping back inside, opening the kitchen door with my elbow and kicking off my boots. Inside it’s half-dark, still smelling of the mac and cheese Brendan made earlier. His granddaughter’s favorite meal, because god knows Brooke wouldn’t recognize a healthy macro balance if she tripped over it.

  In the main room Heather and Brendan are squabbling over which board game we’re gonna play. The sound leaves a grin on my lips as I dawdle past the photos in the hallway, looking at every one just like I always do. They never get old. Brooke and Alex with skateboards and scuffed knees. Brooke and Alex both dressed as Wednesday Addams for Halloween. Brooke and Alex as each other’s dates for junior prom.