Shattered: An Extreme Risk Novel

by Tracy Wolff

  I don’t know what I would have said—maybe “Don’t come” or “Be careful” or “I love you.” Who knows, but it would have been a lot more important than an offhand comment about a bunch of fucking cookies.

  I finish the call, just as we pull onto the tarmac at the Salt Lake City airport. Like any big airport, it’s got a smaller terminal and separate tarmac for charter flights—I know ’cuz I’ve gone this route with Z a few times before. A couple years ago, he got a wild hair up his ass about boarding Patagonia, so we flew down there by private charter. The boarding was sick as hell—we nearly died, but that’s pretty much to be expected when you’re riding lines that are close to fucking Antarctica.

  We’ve ridden other places through the years, too—Italy, Japan, New Zealand, Switzerland. We’ve even been to Chile before, a couple of times. But not like this. Never like this.

  I climb out of the car, look up at the small but fully loaded jet in front of us. And wonder how the hell I’m supposed to get my brother up there and maintain his pride. There’s no ramp, no lift, just a narrow set of stairs leading from the tarmac to the plane. The only way Logan is getting up there is if I carry him, and he’s going to hate that. Now that he’s starting to build up arm and shoulder strength, he really likes being in control of his chair. Really likes being able to get himself around from place to place.

  Victor has climbed out behind me, is staring at the same staircase. “He’ll understand, man,” he says with a supportive clap on my shoulder. I make a face at him, but he just nods encouragingly. I decide to take his word for it—no other option at this point, anyway. After all, he’s been Logan’s relief aide for months now. He knows how my brother reacts in situations like these, probably better than I do.

  “Logan, I’m going to get our gear loaded, and then I’ll come back for you,” I tell him. “Okay?”

  I don’t mention the stairs, or the fact that I’m going to have to carry him up them. But then, I don’t have to. He’s staring out the window at them, a resigned look on his face. For a second, I try to think of something to say, but there’s nothing. So screw it. Let’s get this show on the road.

  It takes a couple of trips, but eventually I get all our stuff over to the guy who’s in charge of loading the cargo area of the plane. I’ve got two boards and a suitcase for me, but Logan has a bunch of stuff—between his chair, his medications, his damn video games and his clothes—it’s amazing there’s room for anybody else’s shit.

  I’m just walking back to pick up Logan when I see her climbing down the stairs. Tansy. We’ve talked on the phone and via email numerous times since that disastrous night in my kitchen, but I haven’t seen her face-to-face since she snuck out while I was talking to Logan.

  She looks good. The spiky, blue hair is gone and so are the ripped jeans. She’s wearing a long purple skirt instead, along with a black T-shirt that reads, Lettuce Turnip The Beet and a vintage blazer. She’s got Chucks on her feet and enough hemp and leather jewelry on to stock her own flea market booth. Her now purple hair is slicked back from her face and she’s wearing a flower headband. Ironically, I’m sure, since this is definitely her hipster look.

  Who is this girl? I wonder, as I meet her eyes. She’s like a chameleon, changing color and camouflage every time I see her. From floral sundresses to bitch boots to hipster tees. Which one is the real Tansy? And why do I care so fucking much?

  “Hey, thanks for coming,” she says as she walks over to me. She’s got a cool, practiced smile on her face but her eyes are looking through me instead of at me. “Timmy and his parents are already on the plane. He’s so excited to meet you that he can barely sit still.”

  “Great.” I try to catch her eye, to make her look at me instead of over my shoulder, but she’s way better at ignoring me than I’ve been at ignoring her. “You look … good,” I tell her, because she does. The purple skirt hugs her tiny waist and hips before skimming along her legs. My fingers itch to inch the skirt up, to slide it over her slender legs and see if her skin is as soft everywhere as it is on her hands, her shoulders.

  I shouldn’t be thinking like this. She’s the Make-A-Wish girl, for God’s sake. The one who’s in charge of making sure this whole trip runs smoothly. Not to mention the fact that there’s an air of innocence about her, one that’s taunted me every single night since I last saw her. I’ve wanted to wreck her ever since she came to see me at the resort. To absolutely ruin her and to hell with the consequences—for either of us. The fact that she offered to let me … well, that just makes the ache worse.

  I can almost feel her dark pink lips lush and swollen beneath my own. Can almost see her pupils blown wide with lust, her cheeks flushed pink with arousal. The thought does something to me on a chemical level and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to reach for her right here. Especially when I can still hear her agreeing to sleep with me, her voice soft and husky and interested.

  I’ve cursed myself for turning her down a couple of dozen times since then—mostly when I’m lying in bed late at night, with an image in my head of her in those damn bitch boots and a fucking hard-on that just won’t quit.

  But I don’t want her because she feels like it’s the only option. Sure as hell don’t want to sleep with her because of a stupid trip to Chile. I’ve fucked a lot of girls these last six months—because it feels good, because it’s easy, because for those few minutes when I’m inside someone I don’t have to think—but Tansy isn’t like that. She’s no snowbunny out for a quick fuck that doesn’t mean anything even while it’s happening.

  No, Tansy is so much more than that—despite her easy acceptance of those ridiculous terms I set. She’s a strange amalgamation of sweet and sexy, innocent and tough, and it gets to me despite my best intentions.

  Which is just one of the reasons it annoys me that she’s doing such a great job of ignoring me even as she stands here smiling.

  She doesn’t respond to my compliment, but then again, I didn’t really expect her to. Instead, she focuses on Logan, who is waiting impatiently for me to come get him. “He looks happy.”

  “I think he is.” It makes me feel bad. We used to do all kinds of cool things together. I used to take him on some of my boarding trips if they were just for a weekend or if he was off school. Or sometimes we’d just take off for the day, drive around until we found something cool to do.

  Since the accident, we haven’t done anything like that. I’ve been too busy trying to keep shit together to worry about having fun, and as I watch him all but jumping out of his skin with excitement, I can’t help feeling like I’ve fucked up in yet another big and important way.

  Then again, what else is new?

  “I’m going to go get him,” I tell her, turning away abruptly as a new wave of self-loathing hits me. How many ways can I hurt the people in my life? Too many, it seems. Too fucking many.

  “There’s no ramp,” I tell him as I approach the car.

  Logan rolls his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. It’s fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Well, since I don’t plan on crawling up the stairs …”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I bend down, start to pick him up. But before I can do more than get a grip on him, another cab pulls up on the tarmac. It’s loaded down with snowboarding gear and I watch in disbelief as Z, Ophelia, Luc and Cam pile out of it.

  “What—”

  “You didn’t think we were really going to let you do this alone, did you?” Cam asks, moving in for a quick hug. She smiles at Logan, leans down to ruffle his hair before moving back to the cab to grab her gear.

  Z’s grinning as he approaches, backpack slung over his shoulder and snowboard under his arm.

  “You’re an asshole,” I tell him.

  He just raises his brows at me, cocky as shit.

  “Like that’s a shock?” Ophelia asks, dropping a quick kiss on my cheek. “How you doing?”

  “I’m here.”

  She looks at me for
a second, like she’s searching for something. Whatever it is, she must find it, because she smiles. “Yes, you are, aren’t you?”

  Before I can say anything else, Tansy crosses the tarmac. “I’m so glad you could come,” she says to Z, hand extended. “Timmy is nearly jumping out of his skin he’s so excited that he’ll get to see the four of you board. Plus, his parents have been wanting to meet the man who donated the money that made this possible for their son.”

  I turn to her, brow raised. “I thought it was an anonymous donor?”

  “Yes, well, things change,” she says, glancing at Logan to avoid looking me in the eye. “You ready to go, dude?”

  “So ready,” he agrees.

  I start to reach for him again, but Luc beats me to it, scooping my brother up like he weighs nothing—which is far from the truth. But Luc is the biggest of the three of us, with broad shoulders and huge biceps that make just about anything look easy.

  Tansy nods like she’s satisfied everything is going the way it should, then turns and hightails it back to the plane. I have to force myself not to chase after her, not to get in her face until she has no choice but to look at me.

  “Dude,” Luc says to Logan as he carries him toward the plane. “You never said the Make-A-Wish girl was so hot. You’re holding out on me.”

  I don’t hear Logan’s response, but that could be because I’m all but diving for the cab and the gear Luc’s got stowed in the trunk. Not that I care if he thinks Tansy’s hot. And I’m definitely not rushing to catch up with them or anything. I’m just ready to get started.

  It only takes a couple of minutes to get all the gear stowed in the baggage compartment and then Z, Ophelia, Cam and I are following Luc up the stairs and into the plane.

  My first glimpse tells me Z has really outdone himself this time. Instead of the rows of seats I’m expecting, the plane has two separate seating areas, each with couches that come equipped with seat belts. There’s a room in the back, and I can even see a bed through the open door. For Timmy, I assume, who will probably need to rest for much of this trip.

  I spent some time online last night looking up his type of leukemia. What I found was brutal and it made me feel like an even bigger dick for not wanting to come on the trip to begin with. Tansy was right. This kid has been through hell in his thirteen years and I’m just grateful that no matter how bad it is with Logan, at least he’s made it this far. At least he’s got a long life in front of him.

  “Ash!”

  I turn at my name, see a kid walking toward me. He’s got big blond curls and bigger brown eyes and he’s almost as tall as Logan, but much, much skinnier with purple circles beneath his eyes and clothes that look too big on his body, like he’s recently lost weight. God.

  But he’s grinning hugely, his face is lit up like the Fourth of July. “Timmy?”

  “Yeah! It’s great to meet you!”

  “Good to meet you, too, man.” I walk forward, shake his hand, then turn to shake his parents’ hands, as well.

  Tansy starts to introduce us, but before she can do more than say my name, Timmy’s mom lets out a little sob and throws her arms around my waist. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much for doing this for Timmy. I know it’s a lot—”

  “No, no. It’s great. No problem at all.” I pat her back awkwardly, even as I shoot Tansy a get-me-out-of-this look.

  Of course, she’s so busy smiling at Luc that she doesn’t seem to notice.

  Fantastic.

  “All right, if everyone will take their seats, we’ll be ready for takeoff in just a couple of minutes,” the captain announces as he makes his way through the main cabin to the cockpit.

  Mrs. Varek finally untangles herself from around me. “Thank you,” she says again, a sentiment her husband echoes moments later.

  “Thank Z,” I tell them, shifting their focus to my best friend. “He’s the one who made all this possible.”

  Ignoring the glare he shoots me—there’s nothing Z hates more than having his generosity acknowledged—I grab Tansy’s elbow and pull her toward the seating area where Luc deposited Logan. As she settles into the couch across from me, I relax for what feels like the first time in over a week.

  “Hey, you want a drink or anything?” I ask Tansy a few hours later as I climb to my feet, being careful not to disturb my sleeping brother.

  “Umm, sure,” she whispers.

  “What do you want?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll come back to the galley with you.” She, too, stands up gingerly and I watch with no little satisfaction as Luc—who had fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder—crashes face-first into the couch. If that makes me a bad friend, then so be it. After watching him flirt with her for hours, right under Cam’s oblivious nose, I don’t really give a shit.

  Tansy obviously doesn’t feel the same way, though. She gives a little gasp of alarm as he falls forward, tries to straighten him back up again. Of course, he’s at least double her weight, so it’s not like she makes much progress.

  “Leave him,” I tell her. “That’s not even close to the most uncomfortable place he’s slept this week.”

  She gets a look on her face that I don’t quite understand, but after another minute of unsuccessfully struggling against both gravity and a dead-to-the-world Luc, she gives up with a small shrug and a roll of her eyes.

  Both are obviously directed at me, and I can’t help but feel a little thrill. It’s pretty much the most interaction she’s had with me in the seven hours since we left Salt Lake City. She’s talked to everybody else—Timmy and his family, Logan, Z, Ophelia, Cam. Has spent hours chatting and laughing with Luc about anything and everything.

  But me?

  She’s had absolutely no interest in talking to me at all. Until now.

  “Thank you again for doing this, Ash,” she says as we make our way to the small kitchen at the front of the plane. “Timmy is so thrilled and—”

  “You don’t have to keep doing that, you know.”

  “Doing what?” She looks mystified.

  “Thanking me. There are other things we can talk about.” I sound more impatient than I mean to, but come on. She and Luc talked about everything from what makes Chile such a kickass snowboarding destination to their favorite kind of chocolate and everything in between—not that I was listening, or anything. And all she has to say to me is thank you, over and over again?

  It’s annoying.

  I don’t want her gratitude, especially not when I was such a dick to her. And I sure as hell don’t want her looking at Luc with those hazel eyes of hers all sweet and innocent as he closes in for the kill. I don’t know why it bothers me—maybe because I know she is sweet—but I can see her getting caught up in him. Surely there’s something we can discuss besides the ridiculous gratitude she keeps throwing my way.

  It’s not like I deserve it. It’s not like I’m here for any reason other than I was totally maneuvered into it by my little brother and best friend. She knows it, I know it. Pretending otherwise just makes me uncomfortable.

  I grab a Coke from the narrow fridge at the end of the kitchen, watch as Tansy grabs a Dr Pepper. I wait impatiently for her to respond but she never does. She just takes a long, slow pull from her drink and then turns and starts back toward the couches.

  But not before I see the flash of strangled emotion in her eyes. I curse myself. I wanted to make things easier between us, to get rid of the awkwardness and instead I just made it worse. Not that I blame her for being uncomfortable—I did just jump down her throat for nothing. For less than nothing.

  I reach out then, snag her elbow before she can get too far away from me. “Does anyone ever thank you?” I ask, when she stiffens at the contact.

  “For what?”

  I give her an are-you-kidding look. “For all of this.”

  “This is my job. I’m supposed to do ‘all of this.’ ”

  “No. I don’t think so.” The plane hits an air pocket and we drop a little. Tansy st
umbles and I reach out to steady her before she can slam against something. As I do, I try to ignore the fact that she smells like vanilla and brown sugar and everything sweet in the world. Just like I try to ignore the images running through my head, of her beautiful, delicate body moving beneath mine.

  “What—” Her voice breaks a little and she wets her lips before trying again. I’m absurdly happy to see that small sign of nervousness. Of awareness. Her voice never faltered once when she was talking to Luc. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re really good at this,” I tell her once I drag my thoughts out of bed with her and back to the subject at hand. “You totally went above and beyond what anyone else would do.”

  “I think you have me confused with you and Z. I mean, you could have said no. This is eight days out of your life. Eight days, when the average Make-A-Wish lasts one. And as for Z …” She smiles so sweetly that I can barely resist the urge to lean forward and lick my way across the generous curve of her mouth. “None of this would be possible without him. Of course, he takes being thanked about as well as you do.”

  “Yeah, well. That’s Z.” She starts to turn away, but I take hold of her elbow, hold her in place. “Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”

  She freezes for a moment, then shrugs. “I get a paycheck. Same as everybody.”

  “I don’t buy that. There are a lot easier jobs out there.”

  I’m trying to hold her eyes, to see what’s going on inside her head, but she looks away again. This time, though, her shoulders are tense and so is her jaw. She doesn’t look upset exactly. Just … uncomfortable.

  “I’m new,” she finally says. “I haven’t been doing this very long. In fact, Timmy’s the first wish I’ve gotten to handle completely on my own.”

  “Really? That surprises me.”

  If possible, she stiffens even more. “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’ve done a great job with it. Organizing a trip down to Chile on such short notice couldn’t have been easy.”