Crash (The Wild Sequence Book 2)

by Harper Dallas

The race organizer would clearly rather do anything than interject right now. He clears his throat carefully. “JJ, you’ve got two minutes, tops.”

  I try to smile for him but all I can do is nod, my teeth tight together. “Thanks.” I turn back to Raquel. The woman I love. The woman I want.

  … The woman who’s always accepted what I do, even if…

  “I have to get on that helicopter,” I manage. I try to look in her eyes for the woman I know, the one who’s always supported me in this. The one who’s been a part of it. “We’ll speak after the competition.” I look between her eyes as if one of them might hold the secret to making everything okay again. “It’s important.”

  Her smile is ghastly, muscles pulling without any meaning. It spreads like a wound, all that tender skin opening wide. “I told you you’d made your decision.”

  “Raquel.” I reach for her again, and this time she has to shake me off her wrist. “You can’t do this.”

  But she’s going. She’s pulling away, and she’s turning, and with her head held resolutely high she’s storming across the Vertex tent. People part for her like leaves, like they are insignificant against the force of her leaving. Weightless.

  And I’m left here, and I need to be on that helicopter, and oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

  “Raquel!”

  She doesn’t turn around. All I can do is stand here and shout.

  “Raquel!”

  I stand there shaking, and I don’t know she’s gone forever yet. At least not consciously. But I stand there and shake and feel like I might pass out, because on some level, I’m no fool.

  I know what I just did.

  I know she’s gone.

  JJ

  It’s over.

  Sometimes when you wake up, you get those blissful few seconds when you don’t know what happened. When you just lie there, and you’re not aware of stupid shit you said, or how you hurt people, or the fact that you’re broken.

  I don’t get those seconds. I remember all of it straight away.

  In this moment, I wish I could crawl into a hole and die.

  How could I treat Raquel like that? We’ve had some fights. It’s not always been easy, no more than it is for any couple. But she’s never, ever deserved that.

  And it’s not even what I mean. I want her here so badly. So why did I try my hardest to push her away?

  The last fucking thing I need is for her to leave.

  In this moment, it all hits me: that I’ve lost everything. Thrown everything away. The woman I love. My health. My career.

  I can’t even say it was an accident. I didn’t cause that avalanche deliberately, no. But I knew what I was doing.

  I told you you’d made your decision, Raquel said, and I told her she was wrong. But who was I kidding?

  She was always right. Especially about what would happen to me.

  I lie here in bed, and the backs of my eyes burn, and my throat feels swollen and tingling. When I swallow there’s a lump in the way. I’m broken. I’m ruined. I’ve had to be taught how to wipe my own ass and do up shirt buttons. I’m going to need freaking home care. Less than a month ago I was riding fresh pow in BC. Now...

  At least I have Chase. I remember him being in the chair when I fell asleep, keeping an eye on me, but now he’s gone and instead there’s a note on my bedside table.

  Helping H + H pack the truck.

  You should speak to her.

  I don’t have to ask who he means.

  I can’t remember exactly when Raquel’s flying out, but I know this is the end.

  The least I can do is apologize to her. For everything.

  I feel better once I’ve had a shower and popped a pill. I hate taking them, no matter how much the doctor says I’m way too early in my healing process to start weaning myself off them. As far as I’m concerned, opioids go nowhere good. I’ve taken them before, when I tore my ACL and in a handful of other injuries. But now I take one every day, and I hate it.

  The one good thing about being hurt is that everything—just living, just being in the world—requires more or less one-hundred percent focus. You don’t get a lot of time to have your mind wander if one wrong movement could turn constant background discomfort into stabbing agony. It’s a simple, animal fear, and one which doesn’t leave much space for your higher neurological functions to get involved. The bits of your brains that would think things like, I’ve ruined my life, and, where has she gone?

  Through the big glass windows at the front of the house I can see Hunter’s ass sticking out of the back seat of the truck as he throws bags into it. Hanne is scraping ice from the windshield, her breath misting out from the wool of her scarf.

  I’m glad they’re going. I hate that they’re going. Both things are true. Of course I want them to stay, yeah. But I don’t want them to see me like this. And I don’t want to be an imposition on their lives.

  It hurts, to watch them out there. To look at them and think about what might have been. What should still be.

  Two weeks ago, we were all in Bella Coola, having the time of our lives. My sleeplessness, the pain of watching Chase find love when I’d lost mine—that doesn’t seem important at all, now. What’s important was that we were together, and life felt good.

  And now I’ve dragged Hanne and Chase away from the fun tail end of their season, and Hunter away from his competition. I might have cost him a gold. Probably have. When you’re competing with the very best in the world, you need every edge you can get. Sleep. Diet. Headspace.

  The mental game. And I learned all about that...

  But she’s gone, and there’s no point thinking of her anymore. My body’s tortured enough. I don’t need to do the same to my soul.

  Food. That’s a simple, easy thing to think about as I move slow as an old man to the kitchen. When the home care woman arrives later—I hate to think of her in terms of that word, but there we are—when the home care woman arrives, I’ll send her out with a shopping list. All the things I want. Reese’s Pieces. Dr. Pepper. Hell, I might as well give up on it all and just move onto the potato chips.

  I turn the corner, and the world stops.

  She hasn’t gone.

  She’s perfect. There’s never been a moment I’ve been faced with Raquel and haven’t thought that. Every inch of her is beautiful. She’s tiny and yet graceful, slim-limbed in her loose cardigan and yoga pants. Her dark hair is pulled into a sleek, neat ponytail, falling from a high catch to tickle the nape of her neck. I can see her watch at her wrist, the neat little leather strap and the electronic face. Of course she’s still tracking her paces and her heartbeat—Raquel, the perfectionist in everything. I can see the perfect French manicure on her toes and her neatly clipped nails as she fills up the kettle.

  How did I wind up having a woman like that love me?

  I stare, because the whole world has stopped. Because there’s only me and Raquel in the world, and she seems frozen in time. And in the beats my heart skips, I can just look at her, and feel this surging rush of... everything.

  She’s here. Close enough to reach in a few steps. To touch. Because even if she’s going to go—and of course she’ll go—she’s here now. Not gone yet.

  A stay of execution, and even if I know the blade’s going to fall just the same, I am so fucking grateful for it.

  It’s like an oil painting. A still life. Except it’s my life, and Raquel is moving, only slowly, her charm bracelet shifting slightly as she holds the kettle under the tap. At the side of the stove she’s left one of the mugs she bought—the matching set in pale gray china—and the glass teapot she forgot to take with her. Or didn’t see a point in packing. Or... Anyway, the one I’ve seen and felt a pang about every time I open that goddamn cupboard.

  She must have climbed up on the countertop, to reach that high, if she didn’t ask Hunter. The thought makes me ache.

  She has no idea that I’m here, and the thought might burst inside of my chest as it unfolds. As it spreads to fil
l the empty space instead of me. For this moment, before I speak and we see what the future will actually be, anything could happen. I can imagine that she’s decided to stay. That she won’t go. If I try hard enough, maybe I can pretend for this moment that this is just one morning in our life together. Our old life. The one we should have had. The one where Raquel didn’t go, and I didn’t make the decision.

  The one that changed everything.

  The words cluster in my chest and burn in my throat, making my vision hazy.

  Raquel.

  What could I ever say, except for her name?

  I don’t have to, because Raquel turns around. God, she is so beautiful.

  A start runs over her slim body. My hand darts out, as if she might drop the kettle. But she doesn’t. She holds it tighter, and she simply looks at me: her lips slightly parted. Her eyes wide. Her lashes fluttering, those dark, dark pupils deep enough to fall into.

  We’re here, and in this moment we are naked for each other. Revealed. Unable to lie at all.

  “Good morning.”

  I could listen to her voice forever, that hint of husk that’s always made me think of how she sounds when she wakes up beside me. Sounded.

  “Morning,” I say, the word hardly making a sound.

  She’s been up all night. You’d have to know her to tell. Her makeup is applied perfectly. I don’t know exactly what it is she puts on her face to get that glow, but I know it matters to Raquel that she achieves it. I know she’s good at it, good at looking like nothing is wrong. But I can see the faint red tracery beneath her perfectly mascaraed lashes, and the slight puffiness of her lightly-glossed lips from where she’s been nervously biting them.

  Raquel would look flawless to anyone else, but I can see that she’s been up half the night crying. There’s nothing more I want than to be able to reach out and hold her. It’s the last thing I can do, now.

  Why is she here? Why is my ex-fiancée, the one I insulted last night, still in our kitchen? My kitchen. The one she’s trying to end her legal tie to.

  I would think it’s a dream, except it’s so real, having her here. I’ve seen Raquel doing this a thousand times: opening the cupboard for her tea.

  She huffs a little gust of air that’s not quite a snort as she pulls out the packet of pu-erh.

  “Is this from...?”

  She trails as she realizes what she’s said. What she’s done. Recalled our past life, the dead one. The one we buried together, apart. Her words draw attention to all the distance between us, making old wounds ache again. A long-healed break hurting in the winter.

  What can I say? Except, “yeah.”

  Raquel’s grateful that I responded as if that were a normal question, not freighted with the month of all these years and all these broken things. I can see it in her little smile, her nod, the way she flicks her bangs out of her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be buying your own herbal tea.”

  “Nope.”

  Are we going to keep pretending? That this is normal. That this is okay. The deceit is so precious that I want to keep it going. That I never want it to end.

  We look at each other, and the look is so full of portent that I swear all the universe revolves around us. Us two, here, looking at each other, the potential singing between us. All that weight. All that history.

  “You should take a seat,” Raquel says finally. I could swear she has to tug herself away. “There’s stuff for brunch in the fridge. Hanne might make you something before they head to the airport.”

  I nod numbly, watching as Raquel fills the tea pot’s little mesh cage with dried leaves before putting the pot away. Stupidly I wonder if that means... But she’s already left the tea here for over a year. Leaving it again isn’t exactly a sign. Maybe I should have sent it back with her sister, anyway? But I’m rambling, and none of this matters, and...

  “I’ll get my tea,” Raquel continues as if I’m not there, briskly moving to dust tea fragments from the teaspoon over the sink, “and then I’ll go to the office. I need to start work.”

  Does that mean...?

  Please, God. Please.

  Raquel shrugs stiffly. “I’ve told all my clients I’ll be working remotely for a while. So... I’ll need to know which desk you use the least, so I can set up there.”

  I have to ask. I could just pretend, live in this blissful ignorance. But it isn’t right. Instead I have to force myself to take the leap. To look at what’s really in front of me.

  I clear my throat, trying and failing to sound casual. “Does that mean you’re staying?”

  Raquel freezes. It’s a long moment before she looks to me, her eyes as dark as the night that hides familiar things, making them terrifying—and yet still you hope to feel them when you reach out and touch.

  “Yes,” she says, without a question mark—but still it’s a question.

  I nod carefully, afraid to touch this perfect thing. This beautiful, fragile hope that I don’t deserve or understand.

  “Okay.”

  Part 2

  Spring

  Raquel

  “You’re what?”

  I always knew that Claire was going to react like this. That’s why I left it a couple days to call her. I press my lips tighter together, leaning down to scrub more angrily at the desk which doesn’t deserve it.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “There isn’t a way it can be like which would be a good idea.” Claire sounds flustered. “Raquel, this is insanity. You can’t live with your ex-fiancé.”

  She doesn’t need to say it. I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since the words came out of my mouth this morning. What kind of idiot agrees to live with the person they’re trying to move on from?

  But it all came together last night, when I lay in my bed and could feel it—JJ’s pain and his fear, seeping through the house. I could feel it as if it were my own. And after this year, I’ve learned that distance won’t cure the connection we have. I can’t run away from my problems.

  I’m going to stay and face them head on. I’m going to choose my destiny. I’m going to woman up, and I’m going to do what has to be done.

  Even if it kills me.

  “I’m going get the last of my stuff out of this house,” I say, straightening up and wiping the back of my hand over my brow. Maybe if I say this steadily enough, I’ll believe it. “I’m going to keep consulting remotely. And then as soon as JJ is well enough to live on his own, I’m going to get out of here and move on with my life.”

  “Without JJ?”

  I attack the table again. “Without JJ.” It sounds strange around my gritted teeth.

  “Raquel…”

  I know what she’s thinking. You still love him. It makes me scrub harder at the table, which doesn’t deserve this treatment. The cleaner has kept everything spotless against JJ’s best efforts.

  “I don’t want him hurt.” It comes out as more of a snap than I mean it to. “I’m not petty enough to want him to suffer just because he chose it over me.” Well, not physically. “And I definitely don’t want him back just because he can’t do it anymore.”

  That idea makes me feel sick. To think of JJ only having me because he can’t have what he really wants…

  I’m no one’s consolation prize.

  “I just want him to get better,” I tell her. “So we can sell this house, and I can get on with my life and stop—stop worrying all the goddamn time.”

  Claire’s still silent. I sag back against the chair, suddenly tired.

  “I just want it to be done,” I tell her, and it sounds more honest than anything else. “I’m so tired.”

  “Of course,” Claire says finally, her voice soft with care and worry. “I understand. I just—I’m so worried about you, Raquel. What does Meaghan think about this?”

  Meaghan has been my best friend since we were on our college gymnastics squad together. Claire assumes that because Meaghan is my best girlfriend, she’ll agree with my sister.

>   Meaghan, of course, thinks her own way every time. They might agree on how much they love me, but not what that love means.

  “Meaghan just wants me happy,” I say, which is truthful.

  “This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Claire says, but it’s with a tone of acceptance. “Just remember you can always move back in with Mom and Dad.”

  “Great,” I say dryly. “Exactly what I planned for my life at thirty.”

  It doesn’t take much to set up working from here. One of the good things about performance consultancy—especially for businesspeople—is that I can do so much of it remotely. Phone calls, Skype sessions, email: I can get a lot of good work done without ever leaving my office.

  Back when I used to work with athletes, it was different… but that feels like a lifetime ago.

  I asked JJ which desk he used the least, but I know that he doesn’t use either of them. His whole life has been activity—motion and physicality. He can hardly sit still at the best of times. It’s why he did so badly at school. I can’t imagine that being injured will make him enjoy staying in one place any more than he did before.

  So I take my old desk, one of the items of furniture I never cleared out of this house. It seemed too heavy and too complex to move, and now I’m glad it’s here: the familiar reclaimed wood and old steel, sleek under my hands.

  There isn’t much I need to make it feel like home. I write what’s missing out on the tiny notepad in my purse that holds my shopping lists. A potted plant; diffuser sticks; candles. Maybe a lamp, if I see something I like.

  It’s going to look nice. I’m going to make this room my haven, and whenever I’m in here I’m going to be insulated from anything that’s going on outside. The physio can visit. The cleaner can come. JJ can go about his life, and I’ll be safely cocooned in this room. I hold the thought to myself as I take one of the trucks downtown.

  The florist’s is my last stop. I’m coming back to balance my purchases on the passenger seat when my phone goes off.